Meredith is managing okay since she left her hometown of Crossroads, Montana—at least she’s working, paying the rent and putting food on the table for herself and her child. But no matter how much time passes, she can’t forget Pete, the only man she’s ever loved. Meredith wonders how she can move on, when just looking at her little boy painfully reminds her of everything that’s happened.

Her son is five when Meredith returns to Crossroads to claim The Serenade, a popular hotel, bar and restaurant, which she inherits from a dear friend who treated her like family when her own family did not. A single mother from a rough background, Meredith knows life is not all roses, and that she will have to work even harder than ever with her new responsibilities. But she has no idea of the obstacles that she must overcome, now that she has moved back home to claim her inheritance and hopefully reunite with Pete.

5-star praise for Crossroads Serenade:

“I do not often feel like I can pick up a book and feel as “at home” as I felt while reading this book…a thought provoking and dramatic story line…”

“…the story unfolds in such a natural way that it makes you feel as if an old friend is sitting at your table sharing coffee and a tale about her life…more than just a romance novel, it is a story about an enduring love for a man and the many choices we have to make in life.”

an excerpt from

Crossroads Serenade

by Laurie Adair Grove

CHAPTER 1

    I will never forget his last words to me, in a letter I received when I was living far from home. “I know you are quite familiar with the workings of The Serenade, dear Meredith, but I trust you to follow my business plan until you are strongly on your feet.”  The handwriting was strange to me—pained and spidery. “Sam at the bank will be your financial advisor—check in with him often. Charlie and Mona will share my estate equally with you, although you are receiving The Serenade and some bare land, and they are receiving all bare land…”

      “Mom?” Grant, my five-year-old son, asks from the back seat, jolting me back to the present. “Is this the place Uncle Duck left you?”

    “Yes! This is it!” I say, reaching across the seat behind me to tousle his black hair. I rummage through my purse for the keys Sam Overgaard had sent me.

    “Why is it so dark in there, Mom?”

     I look back at him, noting worry in his blue eyes, even in the dimness of the car’s dome light. “It’s dark because it’s been closed since Uncle Duck died. Nobody’s in there. But we’re going to change that!  I love this place, Grant. I hope you will too.” I open my car door and take a deep breath of the fresh northern Montana air. “Smell the air, Grant—it’s the best in the world!”

    “It’s too cold!” he says as he opens his window. Before he closes it he takes a loud, deep breath that I’m sure to hear. “Yep!  That’s good air, Mom!”
The darkness of this late May night can’t hide the surrounding beauty from me. I know in the light of day I’ll see a wide expanse of prairie, dotted with craggy outcroppings and stubborn patches of deep snow, the magnificent glacier-laced Rockies on the horizon beyond. Close by, red paintbrush, purple bitterroot and yellow sagebrush buttercup will just be beginning to bloom, and ponderosa and quaking aspen around the property will provide shade on the warm summer days to come.

     “Well, it’s late, so let’s go take a quick look around inside, and then we’ll carry some things in so we can get settled for the night. There will be time for exploring tomorrow,” I say as I take Grant’s hand to climb the fifteen flat log steps to the hotel entrance. “Now let’s hope Mr. Overgaard had the electricity and phone service turned on for us, like he said he would.”                I separate the hotel lobby key from the others on the ring Mr. Overgaard had sent and unlock the massive double pine doors. Something skitters across the floor in the beam of my flashlight, making us both jump. “Probably just a mouse,” I say, trying to sound confident. I find the switch by the door. “Much better,” I say, silently adding a ‘thank you’ to Mr. Overgaard. I lead Grant down six steps into the main body of the lobby, and my heart leaps with pleasure that everything seems to be exactly as it was the last time I saw the place. Three enormous unlit chandeliers, fashioned from wagon wheel rims and wreaths of antlers hang suspended over the lobby by sturdy black chains, the air around them bisected by huge round yellow pine beams. A polished river rock fireplace and chimney dominate the left side of the lobby. Groupings of comfy overstuffed chairs and sofas fill the remainder of the room, more worn but still the same pieces I remember. The jewel of this room, though, is the magnificent hand-hewn knotty pine staircase to the second floor, which houses the hotel rooms.

    “I’m scared, mom,” Grant says, squeezing his arms around my waist.

    “Hey, honey, there’s nothing to be scared of,” I say. “When business really gets going and this place is full of customers, it’s a lot of fun. You’ll see. Do you want to see the building tonight?” I ask.

    “Will it be dark?”

    “I don’t think so, but we don’t have to go anywhere that the lights don’t work.”

    “Well, okay, then, but only in the light places.”

     A few hours later, after a tour of the restaurant, kitchen and hotel, I tuck Grant into his sleeping bag on one of the sofas in the lobby.  The odor of mice had permeated the entire place in the year it stood vacant. I imagine a lot of mice families have taken up residence. I’m grateful that rodents and some cracked ground floor windows are the only problems I am aware of as I sink wearily into an armchair next to Grant. I can almost hear Uncle Duck’s jolly, booming voice resonating throughout the establishment, greeting customers and friends. He wasn’t actually my uncle at all, just a dear friend who left me the gift of his beloved Serenade!  And now I’ve come back to reopen it! And to try to do it justice after the years of tender care that Uncle Duck put into it. I guess he saw some strength in me that I hadn’t seen in myself.

    Of course Pete comes into my mind, as he does every day, unbidden or not. I remember his angular jaw and handsome nose. The cowboy hat he loved to wear which hid his sandy brown hair, and the musky scent of leather and hay that seemed a part of him. His hands were roughened by the nature of his work, but his caresses were tender, and his breath was warm and sweet when he leaned down to kiss me. As I do on so many lonely nights, I imagine his arms around me again, and remember the time we made love.

     Crossroads, Montana, is the town I call home. Many of the twelve hundred inhabitants are descendants of the Swedish immigrants who founded it in the eighteen-eighties. It is surrounded by a sea of prairie, which is then embraced by jagged mountains. The highways from Crossroads lead north to Browning and Glacier Park, south to Choteau and Great Falls, west to the Hungry Horse area, and east to Conrad.

     Our first morning in town, there is a sharp rapping at the hotel doors, and I jolt awake, reminded suddenly that Crossroads is like any other small town, where news and gossip travel at the speed of light.

    “Who do you think it is, Mom?” Grant asks, his voice hoarse with sleep.

    “I don’t know, but I will in a minute,” I say. I’ve slept all night in the chair, and I need to stretch out and have more sleep, not visitors, after our long drive. I hoist my sleeping bag up and wrap myself in it, then trudge barefoot, freezing my feet, across the lobby to one of the many-paned windows. Drawing back a gingham curtain, I peek out at the parking lot. “It’s Dave!” I run to the doors and yank one open. “Oh my goodness!  It’s so good to see you!” I shout, joyfully throwing my arms around him.

    “Hey, Meredith, great to see you!” Dave Bunsen, Crossroad’s police chief, is a large man in his mid-thirties. He hugs me back in a great big bear hug. I pull back from him and see him surveying the lobby behind me until he sees Grant, a lumpy cocoon on a sofa.

    “That’s Grant,” I say. “I imagine you’ve heard I have a son now?”

    “Yes, I did!” he says.

    “Grant, can you wake up enough to come meet my friend Dave? He’s a policeman here,” I add.

    “I…I guess so,” Grant stammers, unzipping the sleeping bag. In a few moments he’s standing next to me, his toes curling up off the cold floor, while he looks up at Dave curiously.

    “I’m happy to know you, Grant,” Dave says good naturedly. He sticks his hand out to Grant, who answers with a small handshake.

    “Do you want to go warm up?” I ask Grant, to which he nods and runs back to his sleeping bag.

    “We got in late last night and it took a while to get situated, so we were sleeping in,” I say, knowing that I must look pretty messy. “I slept in a chair all night—just fell asleep there!”

    “I’m sorry I disturbed you,” Dave says. “Sam Overgaard told me you’d be coming in, and I wanted to be the first to greet you.”

    “I’m glad you disturbed us,” I said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve really missed you and Roma,” I say, referring to his wife who was one of my high school friends.  “How is she?  Is she still teaching kindergarten here in town?”

    “She’s doing well, thanks, and yes, she’s still teaching,” he says. “I’m guessing Grant is about kindergarten age?”

    “Yes, he is. So Roma will be my son’s teacher!” I grin. I love it that one of my old friends will be teaching my son.

    “Sam said he told you about those real estate developers who were here last year, after Duck got sick?  That was really something. Duck sure got tired of their pestering! He told them he already knew who he was leaving the place to. So of course everyone was speculating about who it would be,” he explains. “I thought it would be Mona or Charlie,” he adds.

    “Well, Uncle Duck was always surprising people, wasn’t he?” I say, not wanting to discuss the terms of the will.

    “Yes, he marched to his own drummer, and he didn’t care what other people thought. I sure do miss him,” he says.

    “Me too,” I say.

    “I’m glad you decided to move back,” Dave says, “but I’m sure it was difficult to pull up stakes out there in Oregon to come on home.”  There’s an awkward pause while he waits for me to say something, but I don’t. I’m happy to see him, but I feel cotton headed from fatigue, and I’m not ready for a lot of talk. “Anyway,” he continues, “people will be glad to get their old jobs back if you’ll have them. Some of them are driving to other towns for work now.”

  “Uncle Duck did suggest it as an option in the business plan he left for me. I want to have this place open by the Fourth of July at the latest. That’s what I’m aiming for, anyway.”

    “It’ll be great to have The Serenade open!” he exclaims, then grasps me by the shoulders and holds me at arms’ length, looking me over. “You look good, Meredith. Healthy. I guess being away hasn’t hurt you, but I hope things’ll work out for you so you’ll want to stay home.”

    “I hope so too,” I say. I want to find out if he knows anything about Pete, but I don’t want to bring that up in front of Grant.

    “Well, I have to get on back to the office now. It’s great to see you,” he says again.

    “You too! Don’t be a stranger, now,” I say, hugging him again before he walks out the door.

     I turn to see Grant snoring peacefully, so I burrow my way down into the seat sprung chair and doze off too, awakening later to a beautiful blue skied Sunday morning.

    When Grant wakes up we munch on some cold cereal, then go outside. I show him the bark of the ponderosa trees which comes off in chunks resembling jigsaw puzzle pieces. Then I point out the quaking aspen trees, and a grove of scrubby, pungent junipers behind The Serenade.

    “This will be a great place for you to play when the weather is good,” I tell him, imagining him making roads and little towns between and under them, pushing his toy trucks and equipment to imaginary destinations. We walk around outside the building, and I point out the nearest part of the acreage Uncle Duck left me, which begins at the edge of the junipers. “Look at the mountains!” I exclaim, pointing to the snow covered range in the distance. “Those are the Rockies!  Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, Grant?”

    “It just looks cold to me, Mom,” he says.

    “I don’t suppose I thought much of the view when I was five, either,” I say. “I guess you have to be older to appreciate it.”

    “I’ll ‘preciate it when I’m older, too, okay?” Grant says, looking up at me.

    “Okay,” I say. I survey the land around us, pointing out and naming some of the spring wildflowers.

    “They’re nice. I ‘preciate those already!” he says, making me chuckle.

     “I guess we better go inside,” I say. “We have a lot of things to do to get this place ready. I lead him inside the hotel lobby and upstairs to the two adjoining suites that will be our home. Each suite has a small bedroom, sitting room, and bathroom—plenty of space for the two of us. I help Grant get started unpacking his things.

    When he is happily sorting through his box of toys I go down to the hotel and start looking over the list of names of employees Uncle Duck left for me. There are twenty-eight, including waitresses, hostesses, cashiers, busboys, cooks, bartenders, desk clerks, hotel maids, laundry workers, and a handyman. The hotel is only busy during the tourist season, primarily inhabited by vacationers on their way to or from Glacier National Park. Most of the hotel employees I hire will only stay on for the season, except for a few, who will be offered jobs in the  restaurant, because it operates more to capacity year-round. With the exception of bookkeeping and the handyman’s job, (although I can turn a wrench and drive a nail), I’ve worked in every position at The Serenade, so I’ll be able to jump in anywhere that I’m needed.

    Uncle Duck built a successful enterprise, and I know he wants me to be successful too, so I read and re-read the detailed business plan he left for me. It’s overwhelming. I wonder what on earth Uncle Duck was thinking when he decided to leave The Serenade to me. He didn’t have children to leave it to, but I wonder why he thought I was a good choice. I’m honored, and I’ll do my best not to let him down, but I’m scared to death.  I can’t wait to talk to Charlie and Mona, who were both with Uncle Duck from the beginning of this enterprise thirty years ago. Charlie was the first cook Uncle Duck hired, and Mona the first waitress. I doubt that either of them wants to work anymore, but I feel comfortable asking for their help, even if they turn me down.

     I hadn’t been back for several years, and being a single working parent, I had only had time for the rare phone call to old friends. I guess I never even imagined something happening to Uncle Duck—that he could get sick and die.

    “Duck didn’t want to disrupt your life,” Mr. Overgaard had told me on the phone. “He didn’t want you to see him sick and weak. He was so proud of the way you turned out—smart, considerate and loving. He always said if he had had a child of his own, he would have wanted one just like you. That’s why you have been left this inheritance,” he explained while I wiped away tears with my sleeve and tried to choke back sobs. “He trusts you to carry on with The Serenade. It will provide a good living for you, if you want to put the effort into it.”

    I told Mr. Overgaard I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to manage a business, but he assured me that he would advise me, just like Uncle Duck had said in his letter. Uncle Duck had left money earmarked just for operating expenses, and if I didn’t want the challenge, I had the option of selling out or hiring someone else to run it.

     “It’s a tough decision, Mr. Overgaard,” I had said. “I have to think of how this is going to affect us. I mean, I have a job here and Grant loves his babysitter…”

    “Take your time, Meredith,” he’d said kindly. “This isn’t a decision to be hasty about. Why don’t you think it over for a few weeks, and get back to me.”

    The next two weeks I mentally sorted out whatever reasons there were for either moving back to Montana, or staying put. I wasn’t sure at all that I could do Uncle Duck proud, but I thought from the beginning that I should try. I was also hopeful that Pete might come back into my life, even though that was a long shot. Grant and I would be giving up some good things we had gotten used to in Oregon, too: the mild winters, day trips to the beach, and some good friends we had made. But the biggest reason to stay away from Montana was that my stepfather, Raymond, still lived there. And if I never saw him again, it would be too soon.

    “Meredith!  Are you really back?” Mona exclaims when I call her. “I thought for the longest time that you had dropped off the face of the earth, then outta the blue I hear from Sam that you’re splitting Ducks’s estate with Charlie and me!”

     “I know, I can’t believe it myself,” I say, not sure how to talk about it.

    “I bet you ‘bout fell over when you heard,” she says.

    “Yeah. But we lost Duck, and that’s what I can’t believe the most.”

    “I know,” Mona agrees.

    “I wanted so badly for him to meet Grant,” I say, “and now it will never happen.”

    “Is Grant your husband? You actually gave up on Pete?”

    “No, no. Grant is my son,” I say. “He’s five. Nobody told you?”

    “Your son? I doubt many people know about him, if I don’t,” she says, and I’m sure she’s right. “Well, congratulations! I would have said it sooner if I’d known,” she says, and just by the way she clips her voice at the end of the sentence, I know her feelings are cut to the core.

    “I’m sorry, Mona. Someday I’ll explain it all to you—why you and nearly everyone else didn’t know about Grant. But anyway, I haven’t given up on Pete,” I say, hoping to change the subject. “In fact, I’m hoping I’ll see him. Maybe at our grand reopening, even.”

    “Wait a minute, back the truck up. Why can’t you tell me about Grant now?”

    “It’s a long story,” I explain. “I’d rather tell you in person.”

    “Dang! Way to leave me hanging,” she says. “Well, I guess I have to wait.” She coughs and says, “Okay, so what’s the date you’re hoping to open up?”

    “Toward the end of June—or the Fourth of July at the latest!  So, I’m begging here, Mona, will you come back to work?” I ask sweetly.

    “I’ll come back to help you start up, hon,” Mona says. “But don’t be expecting me to want to work forever! After all, I’m over fifty now, though you wouldn’t know it to look at me!” she laughs, which triggers another cough.

    “I’m sure you look as young as always,” I say, glad that Mona’s still struttin’ her stuff. I thank her several more times for agreeing to come back. “Hey Mona, where is the land Uncle Duck left you, anyway? Is it just out of town here?”

   “It’s about sixty miles south of town!  In fact, it’s just next to the southern part of Pete’s parents’ ranch.”

    “Oh! So are you going to move out there?” I ask casually, hoping Mona didn’t realize how the mention of Pete’s parents, whom I adored, thrills me.

     “I think I’ll just hang on to it for now. We were already having a new house built right next to our trailer, since we love the property we’re on and don’t want to leave it. I wouldn’t want to live clear out there anyway. Too far away from everything. I mean, you think I’m uncultured now?” she says with a laugh, setting off another round of coughing. “Hang on a sec, Meredith,” she says. Through a muffled receiver I hear her shout, “Evan, bring my smokes, will you hon?”

     “Mona, you quit smoking!  I remember! I was a junior in high school, and I was working here part-time. What happened?” I ask, remembering the terrible nicotine fits she had suffered through.

    “I dunno, hon. Things set me off and I start up. I should try again. Evan sure has been on my case about it. Don’t worry, I still never smoke inside. Anyway, getting back to the subject—maybe I’ll sell some of the property just so we’ll have the money to go visit Jody and Frank in Arizona now and then. I miss them and my grandkids so much, but they’re so busy all the time. I only get to see them a few times a year.”

    Before we hang up, Mona says she’ll be happy to help me get started again. “It’ll be kind of like my tribute to Duck. I think he’d appreciate it,” she says, to which I truly agree.

    Charlie, true to form, grumbles his way though the conversation when I call. Finally he agrees to come back to work.

    “Sam told me you would probably call,” he says, “and I already decided to help out, so don’t think you’re talking me into something,” he says. Just like Charlie, I think, always wanting the last word. I don’t expect him to bring up any particulars, like the inheritance, and I’m right.

    I’m grateful that I’ll have Mona and Charlie’s experience and friendship on this journey. Energized by their promises, I spend the remainder of the afternoon calling the other former employees, explaining the tentative plans. I told everyone that Grant and I will be living upstairs in the hotel, so everyone will know to expect a child around much of the time. I also explain that he comes with a set of rules intended to keep him safe and out from underfoot.

     By mid-June I’ve gotten all of Uncle Duck’s former employees to agree to come back, with the exception of two; a hotel desk clerk, and Tom, the handyman. Danielle, a barmaid, had asked if there was an opening for a friend of hers, so I’ll tell her about the desk clerk job—see if her friend fits the bill. Tom says he’s just too old to come back full-time, but says he could help out until I find someone. I accept the offer, thank him, and make a note to talk to Mona about placing an ad in the paper.

     If we stay on track, we’ll be opening in two weeks. Mona and Danielle have been helping me get the place cleaned and organized, and Tom has been helping, but he reminds me every day that he’s retired.

    I grab a cup of coffee one afternoon and sit down with Mona at the break table in the kitchen. “We’re one person short of a full staff now,” I say.

    “When you say it that way, it sounds like we’re running a nut house,” Mona says, and we both laugh.

    “No, I mean we still need a handyman, but I just hired Cathy Olson as the other desk clerk,” I say. “That was the friend Danielle wanted me to hire. I knew her from high school. Back then she was not a pleasant person, but hopefully she’s over it.”

    “Oh, the Olsons. Yeah, I remember reading about her mom in the paper a few years ago,” Mona says. “She was in a horrible car accident that left her paralyzed.”

    “That’s right, that’s what she told me,” I say.

    “I heard that when she was well enough to leave the hospital, Mrs. Olson insisted on having Cathy come home from college to take care of her. She absolutely refused to have anyone else. She just died last spring,” she adds.

    “That’s really sad,” I say. “I doubt Cathy really wants or needs to work here, but maybe she’s  just bored, waiting to go back to college in the fall?” I suggest.

    “Why do you say that?” Mona asks.

    “Well, she’s an Olson, you know?  Her great grandfather was a founding father of Crossroads, her father’s at the bank with Mr. Overgaard…”

    “Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” Mona says. “So maybe she is just bored, after all. So all we’re looking for is a handyman?”

    “Yes, I hope we can find someone just by putting an ad in the Bugle,” I say, referring to our local twice weekly paper. “I’ve never written a newspaper ad. What do I need to say?”

      Mona takes a cigarette out of a white leather case on the counter. She holds it between two fingers but doesn’t light up. She walks slowly around the table, her hands on her shapely jeans-covered hips. She bites her lip while she thinks. “Hmm…how about this: ‘wanted: able bodied hunk of a man, tall and dark, or tall and blonde, with broad shoulders, rippling muscles, who can fix anything he lays a hand on?’”

      “Uh, Mona, are you and Evan still happily married?” I ask with a laugh.

      “Yeah, but I’m not dead!” she says, grinning. Mona has spunk that belies her age. When I started here at the age of sixteen, there were six waitresses, but it was Mona who took me under her wing. It wasn’t long before she had me jotting down orders in waitress shorthand, asking customers ‘what can I get for you, hon?’ and balancing plates up to the crook of my arm. The tight pink uniform dresses that Duck had ordered were perfect for her curvaceous build, but even now, looking down at my less than full bust, there’s no getting around the fact that all girls are not created equal.

    “I think we better stick to business, Mona,” I say now. “But I agree—a hunk of handyman would be okay.”

    “Hey, Meredith, I want to talk to you about something else,” Mona suddenly says in a serious tone.  “Grant won’t hear us if we keep our voices down.”

    I stand and look over the waist-high wall of the play area Tom built for Grant in a corner of the huge kitchen, and see that he is happily playing with his toys.

    “Okay, what is it?” I ask, figuring that not being in on my private life is really eating away at her.

    “I know it’s none of my business, but as an old friend I’m going to risk you being mad at me and go ahead and ask.” She looks me in the eye and says, “What happened with you and Pete?  Duck never mentioned it, even when I asked if he knew anything. And Pete certainly never said anything after you two split up. I only saw him a time or two after you left. And what about Grant? You told me you wanted to tell me in person, so here we are.”

    “Like I said, it’s a long story,” I say with a sigh.

    “I’m listening,” she replies, sitting back down at the table.

     I refill our coffee cups, then sit down across the table from her and tell the story of  what I was going through when Grant came along, and why Pete and I broke up—what only a few other people already knew. The telling of it exhausts and saddens me, as it does whenever I find myself reliving the details. When I’m finished, I just hold my head in my hands, staring into my cup.

    Mona comes around to my side of the table, leans down and hugs me. “Thanks for telling me,” she says. Then she adds, “I’m here for you,” like she always used to say when I was struggling, whether it was from something that happened on the job, or something harder, like dealing with Raymond.

    “Thanks, Mona. Just seeing you every day is a real help.”  I sit up straight and push my hair back from my face. “I have a question for you, now. Do you know anything about Pete these days?”

     She doesn’t speak for a long moment, then says quietly, “he was married for a while.”

    “Oh?” I ask, as my stomach sinks to my feet and a lump rises in my throat. “Who to?”

    “A girl he met at college, after you two split up. But it didn’t last. I think they were married less than two years. I don’t know where he’s living now, but his folks are still out on the ranch,” she adds. “Why don’t you call them and ask where he is?”

    “I don’t know. That just seems so forward,” I say. “His folks and I really got along well, but after this long they really might not want me back in the picture.”

    “But what if they do?” she asks. “What if they miss you?”

     “I don’t know,” I say. “I need to see Pete first.”

    “Okay, have it your way. I’m just trying to help,” Mona says with a sigh.

    “And I appreciate it, I really do,” I say, patting her arm. “But I have to go with my instinct on this.”

CHAPTER 2

     Pete McBride was a new student in our high school the first day of winter term our junior year. Mr. Buxton, our homeroom teacher, had assigned him the only empty seat in the room, which happened to be next to me. Pete had sat down at the desk the teacher indicated, then looked across the aisle and exchanged smiles with me. He smelled wonderfully of leather and hay, and he wore his blue jeans just tight enough to create an effect I really appreciated.

      In the afternoon of that first day I saw him staring out the classroom window across the snow covered prairie toward the jagged mountain range in the distance. Suddenly he glanced my way and caught me watching him.

    “Daydreaming?” I whispered.

    “Yeah. Something I do when I’m trapped,” he whispered back. I felt an immediate connection with him. Another person, looking for a way out. Just like me.

    A few days later, as the homeroom students noisily entered the classroom, I saw Pete at Mr. Buxton’s desk. Mr. Buxton, who was from a ranching family, was talking about cattle, one of his favorite topics. I heard Pete reply that his dad had just bought his uncle’s ranch ten miles out of town, and that he was learning the ropes so he could be a partner with his father some day.

    “But I’m going to college too,” he had added, “to get a degree in animal science. My dad and I think that would give me the best background for the business.”

    I sat at my desk listening to Pete’s quiet, unhurried voice. I noticed when Mr. Buxton spoke, Pete sort of cocked his head, as though he didn’t want to miss a single word the teacher said. Mr. Buxton must have said something funny next, because Pete’s face broke into a wide smile, and he laughed a long, deep laugh. I was determined to get to know this guy.

     In the following weeks it seemed that he was beginning to feel the same about me. If there was time before class we would talk a little, and if not, we’d just exchange a smile or two, but sitting next to each other was good just by itself. I had had other boyfriends, but none that made me so eager to get to school, and certainly none that I daydreamed about or thought about before I went to sleep at night.

    About a month into the term, it was announced that the school talent show would be held in a few weeks.  Though my performing experience was limited to singing in front of my best friend, MaryAnn, and her mom, DeeDee, I loved singing, and signed up to sing in the show.  On the occasions that I had tried to sing for my mom, she said she didn’t have time to listen, and Raymond, my stepfather, just told me to shut up.

     “I’m really excited about the contest, but I don’t have anything to wear!” I said one afternoon at MaryAnn’s house not long before the show.

    “I think I have just the thing,” DeeDee had said. She went in her room and came out with a beautiful long cream-colored dress with a panel of forest green velvet down the front. She held it up on the hanger in front of me, and she and MaryAnn said that it made my eyes look greener and my long hair blonder. “This is a pre-twin dress,” DeeDee had said, referring to the pregnancy that had produced MaryAnn’s baby sisters. “I doubt I’ll ever be that thin again, and MaryAnn doesn’t like to wear that style, so if it fits you, you’re welcome to it,” she added.

     “It’s beautiful! Thank you, DeeDee!” I exclaimed. I tried it on and we all agreed it was a good look on me.

      “Mom, I think since you gave Meredith your dress, she should sing for us,” Mary Ann said with a grin.

    “I think MaryAnn’s right, Meredith. We’ll sit on the couch and be your audience,” DeeDee said with a laugh.

     I was happy to oblige them, and sang an upbeat song that had been popular on the country charts a few years before. When I was finished singing, MaryAnn and DeeDee clapped and cheered.

    “You’re good enough to be on the radio!” MaryAnn exclaimed. Then she and DeeDee agreed that I would win the contest.

     I went home with a hopeful heart, the dress in a plastic garment bag.

    But DeeDee and MaryAnn had both been wrong. The evening of the contest, I was in my room doing my hair when I saw Raymond’s reflection in my mirror as he leaned drunkenly in the doorway of my room. A wave of nausea engulfed me when I saw the familiar look in his eye that meant he was up to no good.

    “Why are you getting gussied up?” he asked in a nasty tone.

    “I’m singing in the talent show at the school tonight,” I said.

    “No, you ain’t,” he said.

    “Mom said I could!”

     I could smell the stink of alcohol on him before he even grabbed my arm. “Did I say it was okay?” he asked, his breath adding to my nausea.

    “You were out of town when I had to sign up!” I reasoned.

    “You ain’t going nowhere, so just take that stupid dress off and wash that crap off your face,” he said, grabbing a handful of tissues off my vanity and smearing the makeup across my face.

    “Mom!” I yelled as I got up and tried to get past him. “Mom! Raymond won’t let me go!”  I yelled again as he smacked me in the eye.

   “She ain’t the one who tells you what you can do. I am. I pay your way, kid. I make the decisions. Why do you think a bunch of people want to hear you sing?  I heard you sing once, and you ain’t no star!” he sneered.

    “You never give me a chance! You always tell me to shut up!” I scream at him.

    “You are such an ungrateful brat!” he yelled back at me, hitting me again, this time across my mouth. I knew the evening was ruined for me, by the pain where he had struck me. And I knew I would look too hideous to perform even if I could somehow get there. I sat back down at my vanity and saw my eye and lip in the mirror, already swelling, then put my head down and cried.

    I was so miserable. It was to have been a very special night. Not only was I going to sing, but Pete and I had planned to go on our first date right after the show. Now, Pete would think I had stood him up.

     The next day I felt as horrible as I had the night before, but I didn’t want to be in the house with Raymond. It was noon and he and Mom were still sleeping, and I was sitting outside on the front porch in the cold, despising Raymond and grieving over the fact that I had lost my chance with Pete. I was pouring my guts out into my song notebook, writing a song of lost love, when I looked up and saw Pete in front of me. I could tell he was as shocked at my face as I was to see him.

    “Pete, I’m so sorry I couldn’t meet you last night,” I started to explain, but my words sounded strange through my swollen lip.

     “Never mind that. Who hit you?” he asked in an angry voice I hadn’t imagined him using.

    “My stepfather, Raymond. It’s nothing new, don’t worry about it,” I said.

    “It is something to worry about—a man hitting a woman,” he said disdainfully. “I want to see him.”

    “It may not be such a good idea to ask him to come out,” I warned, scared of what might happen, but also pleased that he had referred to me as a woman.

     Pete insisted that I get Raymond. When Raymond finally lumbered out on the porch, still stinking, Pete went up the three stairs and asked him to his face if he had hit me.

    “What if I did?” Raymond snarled, and Pete punched him hard, right in the face, and knocked him out cold.

      Mom, hearing the commotion, had run out on the porch.

    “What happened?” she shrieked. I told her, while Pete stood to one side with narrowed eyes. “I’m having you arrested!” mom screamed at Pete. Then she called the police, which made me angry, since she never called them when Raymond was knocking either of us around.

       I was glad that when Raymond came to, Dave Bunsen had hauled him off to jail for a few days. He told Pete it would be best if he avoided Raymond after this, and that’s what he did. We met other places, at MaryAnn’s house, school and the park, completely avoiding my house from then on.

     When summer rolled around, I got another chance to perform in the beautiful dress DeeDee had given me.

    The Fourth of July brings out a level of excitement in our town rivaled only by the winter holidays. On our first Fourth of July together, Pete was entered in the bronc busting and calf roping in the local rodeo. I knew he had competed in rodeos since he was in grade school, so I was excited for him, knowing that he would get some good scores. He also signed up to ride his beloved palomino mare, Nadia, in the parade.

    I was signed up myself, to sing in the talent show at the fair. “There’s no way Raymond is keeping me from performing this time,” I had told Pete, Duck, and Mona one afternoon when Pete had come to pick me up from my part-time job at The Serenade.

    “Bring everything you need for the performance to work on the night of the third, and leave it in my office. Then you can change for the performance right after you work the next morning,” Uncle Duck had suggested. “That way you won’t have to see Raymond before the show.”

    “If he starts anything with you, I’m going to finish it,” Pete told me seriously.

    “Well I’m not giving him the chance,” I said quickly. I was glad that Pete had defended me, but the idea of him ever punching Raymond again terrified me.

    “You better watch yourself around him, Pete,” Uncle Duck had said. “There’s no telling what he might pull on you, especially now that you have one on him.”

    “He’s never going to get away with hitting Meredith again,” Pete said to Uncle Duck, then turned to me. “I love you, Meredith,” he had said, embracing me. “I couldn’t stand to see you get hurt again.” It was the first time he told me he loved me. My friendships with Mona and Uncle Duck were very important to me, but this was different. It gave me a wonderful new feeling.

    As I was hugging Pete, Mona caught my eye and smiled warmly. She had told me she thought Pete was a nice guy, and I could see that she was happy for me.

      On the morning of the Fourth I set my alarm so I’d be sure to be out of the house before mom and Raymond woke up. I was content to walk to work in the early blue dawn, breathing in the faint vanilla fragrance of the ponderosa pines that were scattered through town. It was hard to concentrate on my customers that morning, though. I was on pins and needles due to both my excitement and nervousness about performing, but I was also worried that Raymond would still manage to spoil everything again. Finally at noon my shift ended, and I went to Uncle Duck’s office to get my gear.

    “Don’t slip out before I get a chance to say goodbye to you,” Uncle Duck had said. “I wish I could be at the show, but I have some business that won’t wait.”

    “I know, it’s okay,” I said, pleased that he was thinking about it.

    “Before you go get ready, I just want to say that I’ve gotten good reports about you from Mona and Charlie. They both say you’re doing a great job,” he said. “Do you like working here?”

    “I love it!” I answered truthfully, beaming with pride over the compliments.

    “Well, we love having you here,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you. Okay, you better go get ready. The show must go on!”

    I was beside myself with joy as I got my things from Uncle Duck’s coat closet and went to get ready in the employee restroom. I put on the dress, then curled my long blonde hair and put a green satin ribbon in it to match the velvet panel on the dress.

    “You look beautiful!” Mona exclaimed as I walked proudly through The Serenade’s kitchen on my way to say goodbye to Uncle Duck.

    I appeared in his open doorway just as he looked up from some paperwork. “My gosh!” he exclaimed, “You look like an angel!”

    “Thank you, Duck,” I said, embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

   “Meredith, will you sing a bit for us?” he had asked. “Some of the song you’re singing in the show?”

     “I guess so,” I said. “If you really want to hear me.”

    “I really do, and I know Mona and Charlie would, too, if they can get away for a few minutes. I followed him to the kitchen, where he told Mona and Charlie what we were going to do, and invited them along.

    “I’m not going,” Charlie grumbled, but Mona told him there weren’t any new customers in the restaurant right then and they could go for a few minutes. She winked at me, a sign I had learned meant that Charlie was just grumbling for the sake of grumbling, not that he was upset with me.

     I walked up the steps to the little stage, then belted out the first verse of the song I had chosen. Mona and Duck applauded, whistled, and shouted for more, and I noticed that Charlie’s brow wasn’t quite as furrowed as it had been a few minutes ago. Happy to oblige, I sang the rest of the song.

    “You sounded so good, if I wasn’t your Uncle Duck I’d kiss you,” Duck said. That was the first time he referred to himself as my uncle, but I wasn’t sure if it was okay. I looked at Mona, who nodded her approval. That’s when I began to call him Uncle Duck, which he loved.

    The experience of singing to a football field full of people that afternoon was the most thrilling event of my life up to that point. I felt pretty in the dress, the sound system worked perfectly, and my voice cooperated, even though I trembled a little at first. By the cheers and whistles of the crowd, I believed I had done a good job, but the most important compliment of all came to me when I met Pete behind the stage a few minutes later. He had wrapped his arms tightly around me, leaned down to kiss me, and told me he loved my singing.

    “You have the most beautiful voice I ever heard, Meredith,” he said as we walked away from the backstage area. “And the rest of you is just as beautiful. I’m the luckiest guy on earth.”  We hugged again, right there on the fairgrounds in front of everybody. Pete stood with his arm around me as we watched the other performers. Between acts people kept coming up to congratulate me on a terrific job, and Pete agreed with every one of them while I thanked them for their compliments.

    Unfortunately, Pete did not place at all in his events at the evening rodeo. The bronc threw him in a few seconds, and the roping calf did not cooperate. I felt a little guilty over my well-received performance earlier in the day.

    The day had soured for Pete not only at the rodeo, but also at the parade that afternoon. A little white poodle had gotten loose from its owner and spooked Nadia, causing her to rear up and throw him off before he even got to the judging stand halfway through the route. I happened to be on the sidewalk close enough to where he landed that I could have reached out and touched him. Thankfully, his pride was injured more than anything else. He had glanced up at me, red-faced, then jumped up and ran after Nadia, swiftly catching her by the reins.

    “I ran into my folks a little while ago,” Pete said as we were walking to his truck after the rodeo.

    “I saw you talking to them, when I was coming out of the exhibition hall,” I told him. “Did they see your performances today?”

 “Yes. We talked about it.”

 “I’m sorry about what happened, Pete.”

 We walked along silently for a few moments, as I imagined what his dad might have said about such a disappointing showing. Probably something upbeat, something positive. Occasionally, when I had been at the McBride’s ranch, I had overheard Matthew giving Pete little pep talks when he was down about something. Pete knew his parents loved him, and I was glad that he had caring parents who took the time to give their son thoughtful advice. Now Pete put one arm around my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze, which I thought came indirectly from his chat with his parents. I happily squeezed him back with the arm I had around his waist.

    “Want to go to the carnival?” Pete asked me.

    “I was afraid you wouldn’t ask!” I answered, and we spent the rest of the evening going on rides and walking down the little midway, our arms locked together much of the time. At the shooting gallery Pete had pointed at the ceiling and asked, “See that huge green stuffed dog? The biggest one up there?”

    “Yes,” I said.

    “I’m going to win it for you,” he said.

    “I don’t need the biggest one,” I said laughing, “Any one will do.”

    “Well, that’s the one you’re getting!” he said. Apparently his luck had changed, and he shot like an expert. We walked away, Pete carrying the huge green dog over his left shoulder. I couldn’t wait to see Mary Ann, to tell her everything about the day.

CHAPTER 3

     I have five applicants for the handyman position, all local men. I particularly like one of them. His name is Jacob, and I’ve seen him around Crossroads all my life, but I don’t know him. I see on his application that he graduated five years before I did, so I wouldn’t have known him in school, but I remember watching him drive at the stock car races during the summers. Raymond, a big racing fan, loved going to the circle track out of town, and sometimes mom and I went with him. I wasn’t really into watching cars chase each other in an endless circle, but I did like watching the guys.

    Jacob, who has been working as a mechanic at the local garage for several years, says that he and the owner have never seen eye to eye and that he just needs a change. He’s medium height, has a muscular build, blond hair and brown eyes. He is qualified for the job I offer him, but it doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes, too. Mona is completely thrilled with the results of her ad when she comes in to work the day after I hire him. The first thing she sees of him is his lower torso and Levi covered legs sticking out from beneath the plugged up sink he’s fixing in the kitchen.

    “Yum! What have we here?” she asks me as she nods toward Jacob’s legs.

    “It’s our new handyman. I’ll introduce you when he’s finished,” I say.

    “Okay, I guess I’ll just enjoy the show for now,” Mona says, and we both start giggling like schoolgirls. Charlie gives us a pained look.

    “Charlie, your old face is going to freeze that way if you don’t cut it out,” Mona tells him loudly. She and Charlie worked together for so long that she knows how much she can dish out and when he’s really had it.

     Jacob finishes up and belly crawls backwards out from under the sink just as Mona and I finish our morning coffee. “Jacob,” I say, “please come over here a minute. I imagine you’ve seen Mona before.  She was the head waitress here as long as Duck was here. And Charlie, over here, was the head cook just as long. This is Jacob Carlson. You may have seen him at the auto garage, where he worked for the last few years.”

    “Welcome aboard, Jacob,” Mona says in her flirty voice.

    “When it’s a half hour before your lunch hour, just write me your order on that pad and sign it. If you get it in late or don’t sign it, you won’t be eating on time, or maybe not at all,” Charlie states gruffly.

    “Yessir,” Jacob says.

    “And I’m Grant!” Grant yells, which makes us all laugh.

    “Yes, that’s my son Grant,” I say. “Sorry Grant, I was going to introduce you in a minute but you beat me to it.”  I turn to Mona and ask her to show Jacob a few things that need his attention.

    “No problem,” Mona replies, giving me a sly look.

     I shake my head slightly, and try not to laugh. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to go take care of some paperwork,” I say. I walk over to Grant’s corner, where he’s building a tower of brightly painted blocks that Mona’s husband, Evan, made for him out of two-by-four scraps. The day Evan brought them in, Grant stacked them as high as he could and knocked them down on the linoleum, making an impressive crashing noise while Evan looked on, obviously pleased that Grant was enthused about the blocks. The next day, however, Evan brought in a thick piece of dark blue carpet to muffle the sound. Now Grant carefully balances a few tiny plastic people on top of the tower.

   “I have to go to my office for a while, Grant,” I say. “If you decide to go outside, you need to come tell me, okay?  Otherwise, you have to stay in your corner so you don’t get in anyone’s way.”

    “Okay, I will, but wait, Mom,” he says excitedly. “Watch how far my mens fly when I knock the tower down!”

    “Okay, I’m watching!” I say, smiling at his word for his little toy people.

    “One, two, three!” he counts and rams a tractor into the bottom of the tower, causing the people to go flying.

    “See that?” He asks, pleased with himself. “My mens went pretty far! Want to watch again?”

   “Honey, I have to go to my office to take care of some paperwork,” I say apologetically. “But I would like to watch another time.”

    Grant turns away from his toys and looks at me. “You never play with me,” he says accusingly. “You say you will, but you don’t. You used to lots of times at our old house,” he adds, his voice sorrowful.

   “I’m sorry, I just can’t play right now. I promise I will as soon as I can.” Mona gives me a sympathetic look, and even Jacob’s face looks touched.

    Grant gives me no reply. Guilt-ridden, I head down the hallway to my office. I’m torn by Grant’s accurate account of the situation, and in a split second I decide to take the day off tomorrow to be with him. I think I’ll show him Lower St. Mary’s Lake, which has always been my favorite place in the area. Right now, though, I need to get some work done. I sit down in front of the beautiful old oak desk, and suddenly an image comes to me of Uncle Duck’s gentle hand as he cleaned the cuts on my face the first day I met him. Grant would have loved Uncle Duck, I think sadly. I imagine him sitting here, in this very chair, when he had first opened the place, doing paperwork, figuring the best way to run The Serenade. Only it wasn’t called The Serenade at first, I recall Uncle Duck telling me.

    He had built the place about thirty-six years ago, just after he came back from military service during World War Two. He first named it The Sentinel, a solid log sentry at the gateway to the mountains. But after a few years, he decided the name was too harsh, more war-like than peaceful, and didn’t lend itself to the kind of good memories he hoped people would have of his place.

    But the locals were already used to it being called The Sentinel, and he wanted them to feel like they were part of any change. With that in mind, he invited his customers and employees to take part in a contest to create and name a new drink, and if it was a good match, the name of the drink would become the name of the establishment.

    Over a few weeks, Uncle Duck tried every one of the hundred-plus entries, and finally chose “The Serenade,” a concoction submitted by good natured Tippy Svenson. Tippy, then middle aged, owned a little market, and had earned his nickname by way of his frequent visits to the bar. The explanation of the name of the entry said, “When I was away in the First World War, I missed my wife terribly. One of the things that kept me going was thinking of how we used to serenade each other with love songs.”  Tippy’s recipe was printed on one side of the little advertisements Duck placed on every table in the bar and restaurant, and on the other side was printed in bright lettering: ‘Sing to your Sweetie, have a Serenade!’ accompanied by a drawing of a drink in a nice glass with an umbrella.

     I met Tippy much later, and never shared a drink stronger than hot chocolate with him, but I will always consider him a true friend. We still serve the winning recipe. Sometimes people will have a few and start serenading their sweetie, or in some cases, anyone who will listen. Not many of them can actually carry a tune, but usually everyone has fun.

    True to his word, Uncle Duck changed the name of his establishment from The Sentinel to The Serenade, and also decided that Saturday nights from late spring through early fall would be Serenade Night. On these nights there would be live music, food and drink specials, and in between sets, the singers in the band would walk around the tables and dance floor and sing to the customers. Also, the customers could sing, during specified intervals. Serenade Night was intended to be simply a fun evening for the hardworking citizens of the area, because goodness knew they needed it.

     In a few hours I’m finished with my paperwork and go into the kitchen. Quietly I tell Mona and Charlie that I plan to spend the next day with Grant, and if the weather cooperates that I will take him to the lake. I remember countless plans over the years that had to be changed due to unexpected storms on the mountain front.

    “Good plan,” Mona says. “You haven’t had a day off since you got here.”

    “And I owe Grant a little time,” I add.

    “It’s not like the old days, is it,” she says, “when we used to have so much fun around here. But I think we’ll get back to that eventually.”

    “Oh, spare me,” Charlie says sarcastically. “You two were a pair of nincompoops. I’m glad you finally grew up.”

    “What are you talking about, Charlie?” Mona says. “We were two perfectly behaved ladies and you know it!” she nudges me and we both laugh. “And we still are!”

    “Oh yeah, you two could barely stop giggling to wait on the customers half the time,” he replies. “At least now there’s a glimmer of hope for you both. Remember that time, right after Meredith started working here, when she got the bean soup mixed up with the dishwater?”

    “I had forgotten about that!” Mona says. “Remember, Meredith? You had a fifty gallon pot of that brown bean soup on the burner, and whoever was washing dishes for some reason put a fifty gallon pot of water on another burner to soak silverware in.”

    “Wait a minute, the dishwater was so murky that the two pots looked pretty much the same!” I defend myself.

    “Why didn’t you ask me which one was which if you didn’t know?” Charlie asks me, just like he had on the day in question.

    “Because she was just a kid, and she was scared to death of you,” Mona says for me.

    “It’s true,” I say, smiling at him. “But I’m not scared of you now!”

    “You were right to be scared of me. Nobody ordered my bean soup for months afterward, and that really made me mad. It’s a wonder we didn’t get closed down!”

    “Oh, we just gave everyone who ate it a free washing out,” Mona says. “Most of them probably needed it anyway,” she says, even getting a laugh out of Charlie.

    “Then there was the time you poured bleach on the kitchen aprons and ruined a dozen of them,” Charlie says, pleased with his litany of my mistakes. “Holes the size of my head in every one of them,” he says, shaking his head.

    “I’d never used bleach before,” I said. Nobody told me how to do it, you just said ‘Do it!’”

    “Again, why didn’t you ask?” Charlie says.

    “Because you were such a grouch, and you still are!” I smile at him. “But I love ya, Charlie,” I say, putting my arm around him. He mutters something unintelligible, but doesn’t attempt to remove my arm.

    “I remember the time I tried to teach you how to make an omelet,” Charlie says to me. “I went through it step-by-step, maybe six times that morning, and you never turned out one that was edible. You any better at it yet?”

    “I don’t know!” I say with a laugh. “I’ve never tried it again!  Want me to, right now?”

    “Like we have time for experiments? How about buffalo burger, and steak?  Did your cooking improve at all, is what I’m asking?”

    “Well, let’s see…I haven’t had a steak or a buffalo burger since I’ve been gone, so I don’t know,” I say. This is fun, so I don’t tell him that I learned a lot just watching him dice, slice, sauté, and bake his way through the day, over and over.

    “There’s no hope for you,” Charlie says in mock disgust. “But you’re not the only hopeless one. I remember Mona was always trying to teach you to swing your behind like she still does.”

    “I quote from Waitressing 101,” Mona says with a grin, “A female waiting tables who swing