“It’s about time,” sang out Rachel Goodman, when Lucy finally pulled open the screen door at Jake’s Donut Shop. She was fifteen minutes late for the weekly Thursday morning breakfast get-together that was a ritual for the Gang of Four, as they called themselves. In addition to Lucy and Rachel, the group gathered at the booth in the back included Sue Finch and Pam Stillings. Pam was married to Lucy’s boss at the Pennysaver, Ted Stillings, whose many hats included those of publisher, editor-in-chief, and primary newshound. Lucy worked part-time, writing features and helping Phyllis, the other staff member, with listings of local events.
“Sorry,” said Lucy, taking her usual place. “I had another confrontation with Mimi Stanton about my lilacs. She says they’re a traffic hazard.”
“That’s what they told Miss Tilley,” said Rachel, who provided home care for the town’s oldest resident. “The town sent a bunch of highway workers to cut down her privet hedge. She pulled a Barbara Frietchie, you know, declaring that they might as well cut off her “old gray head” before she’d let them clip her hedge, so the foreman relented and they just gave it a little trim.”
“Tinker’s Cove is really changing,” mused Sue. “Remember when it used to be a quiet little fishing village, with a handful of summer people? Now there’s summer traffic all year ’round. You can’t even get a parking spot on Main Street anymore.”
“What happened?” asked Rachel.
“Growth,” said Pam. “It’s supposed to be a good thing.”
“Well,” said Lucy, as the waitress set a cup of coffee in front of her, “I wouldn’t mind all these new folks if they’d know their place. Take Mimi, for example. She doesn’t have the good sense to know she’s new in town and maybe she ought to keep a low profile and learn how to blend in before she goes around ripping up people’s prized lilac bushes.”
“She’s not really new,” said Sue, sipping her coffee. “She’s worked at town hall for years. The family’s been around forever; they lived in Gilead until Fred built that new subdivision. He’s got another project going out by the yacht club. Luxury condos. Sid’s been putting in a lot of custom closet shelving for him. California style, you know. The closets are as big as my bedroom.”
“Who has that many clothes?” wondered Rachel, who was still wearing the sandals, jeans, and ponchos she wore in college.
“I do,” said Sue, a noted shopaholic. “In fact Sid’s promised to do one for me. In Sidra’s old room.”
“Don’t you want it for her? When she comes home with the grandchildren?” asked Pam.
“No sign of that yet,” said Sue, pouting. “So I might as well have the closet.”
They all laughed.
“What about you, Lucy? Any sign that Toby and Molly are going to start a family?”
“Heavens, no,” exclaimed Lucy, raising her eyebrows. “They’re not even married.”
“That doesn’t stop anybody these days,” observed Pam.
“Besides,” finished Lucy, “I’m too young to be a grandmother.”
They were still laughing when Lucy’s standing order of two eggs sunny-side up with a side of corned beef hash, no toast, arrived.
“Before you got here, Lucy,” began Pam, “we were trying to think of a way to raise some money for the Hat and Mitten Fund.”
“More money?” Lucy broke one of the yolks, letting it run into the hash. “I thought you were all fixed now that the children’s shop at the outlet mall gives you all their leftovers at the end of the season.”
“That’s worked out great,” admitted Pam. “But now I think we really ought to help out with school supplies.”
“School supplies?” Sue was skeptical. “What do they need for school besides a pen and a pencil?”
“That was the old days,” said Pam. “Now all the teachers give out lists of supplies that they expect each child to have, things like floppy disks and calculators and separate notebooks for each subject. Even tissues and spray cleaner for their desks. It adds up, especially if you have three or four kids.”
“We never had to supply all that stuff,” said Rachel.
“That’s because the school provided it, but those days are gone. The school budget has been cut every year and there’s no room for extras.”
“It’s true,” agreed Lucy. “We have to pay a hundred dollars so Sara can be a cheerleader.”
“You’re letting Sara be a cheerleader?” Rachel, a fervent women’s libber, was horrified.
“It’s a sport,” said Lucy, defending her daughter. “You should see the flips and stuff they do.”
Pam rolled her eyes. “It’s simply another example of female submission to male dominance. Why can’t she play football?”
“Football’s so violent,” objected Rachel.
“She doesn’t want to play football, she wants to be a cheerleader,” said Lucy.
“This is getting us off the track,” said Sue. “We all know how difficult it is for many working parents to pay for these required school supplies. The question is, how can we help?”
“I’d like to set up a revolving fund that I could dispense to families as the need arises,” said Pam. “I’m pretty sure that once we get it going we’ll get donations from local clubs and businesses. What we need is some seed money.”
“How much do you need?” asked Rachel.
“Maybe two or three hundred dollars,” said Pam.
They all sat silently, staring at their plates.
“A magazine drive? That way the kids could help themselves,” suggested Lucy.
“The PTA’s got that locked up. We can’t compete with them.”
“How about a giant yard sale,” suggested Rachel. “Why, my cellar alone…”
“No way. What do we do with all the leftover junk?”
“I know,” said Sue. “Let’s have a bake sale.”
“But we haven’t had one in years,” objected Pam.
“I know. That’s why I’m sure it will be a huge hit. People will line up to buy all the goodies they’ve been missing.”
“Like Franny Small’s Congo bars,” sighed Pam. “Remember them?”
“Do I ever,” said Lucy, patting her little tummy bulge. “I think I’m still carrying them around.”
“They were worth it,” said Pam.
“No, no. If I’m going to put an inch on my hips it’s going to be from Marge Culpepper’s coconut cake,” declared Sue.
“How did she get the frosting so light?” asked Lucy.
“It was a real boiled frosting, made with a candy thermometer and everything. So amazing. Nobody cooks like that anymore,” said Pam, with a sigh.
“It’s a good thing,” said Rachel, who was a health nut. “We’d be big as houses and our arteries would be clogged with trans fat.”
“If I’m going to die from eating I want it to be from Cathy Crowley’s rocky road fudge,” declared Lucy. “I’d die happy.”
“Oh, yeah,” sighed Pam. “That’s the way to go.”
“I think it is,” said Sue. “A bake sale is definitely the way to go. I mean, if we’re this excited about fudge and cake I bet a lot of other people will be, too. And we can charge a lot because everything will be top-quality and homemade.”
“Affordable luxuries,” agreed Rachel. “Very hot right now.”
“So we’re agreed?”
“Agreed. All we have to do is call for donations.”
“I can’t,” said Pam. “I’ve got to help my mother move into assisted living next week.”
“And I’m visiting Sidra in New York,” said Sue.