Christmas Home (The Coming Home #6)

48. Clyde

forty-eight

Clyde

I hadn’t seen Ruther since he left for Nashville. I’d talked to Anita about the letter and about Corey’s rebuke. She basically said they weren’t wrong. Just because I was hurt didn’t mean my hurt wasn’t bleeding over onto Ruther.

In the café, I’d overheard Jake and Doc talking about a meeting where Ruther and Corey would be making a presentation about their development project. The meeting was in the evening, so I didn’t have to miss work.

I rushed up to my apartment after my shift, showered, dressed in half-decent clothes, and rushed to the town hall. Ruther and Corey were sitting at the front of a packed meeting room. I didn’t want to make a scene since I was late, so I slipped in the back but could still see.

Doc, as mayor, called the meeting to order and began discussing topics like the cost of the Christmas concert and lighting this year. I hadn’t thought about that, but I guess the event cost money, even though volunteers did most of the work. That just reminded me I needed to pay closer attention to things like that.

“Now,” he said once he finished telling everyone that the budget was still intact, “let’s get to what we came here for. As you all know, we’ve been discussing the development of the old motel site across the railroad tracks and have been lucky to have attracted a man who has a long history with our community, Mr. Rutherford Crawford.”

There was light applause but some tension as well. Shit, I hoped that didn’t mean they wouldn’t get their plan approved.

“I’ll turn the meeting over to Mr. Crawford and his business partner.”

Ruther stood up and scanned the crowd. When his eyes met mine, he paused briefly, smiled, and began talking.

“This project is one we’re excited to offer. As you can see, Corey is placing boards with sketches of the project up behind me. Lance McCartney, our architect, is also here tonight to answer any questions you may have about the design.”

“Will the houses be affordable?” Mr. Kim Banks called out not far from where I sat.

Ruther nodded. “Construction costs, as you all know, have gone up in recent years. The price will reflect that, but yes, we consider them affordable.”

And just like that, questions began pouring out from the gathered townspeople. I could tell Ruther had prepared a speech, but after pausing, he smiled and began answering questions. Sometimes Corey chimed in, and sometimes Lance would stand up and answer questions.

A full thirty minutes passed before Doc stopped the questioning, probably because it was getting silly. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your feedback. At this point, I’d like to open the floor to the public for remarks.”

Chris’s parents stood up immediately and went to the microphone. “As you know, we moved here after our son Chris took over the library. We had to search for months to find a place to live, and even finding a rental property was near impossible. Had Roth and Chris not redone Mr. Crawford’s mansion, we would still probably be looking.”

I looked at Ruther just in time to see him cringe when they mentioned the mansion. I was just about to go to him when Chris slipped over and patted his shoulder. That kind gesture seemed to help Ruther shake it off just in time for several more people to stand up and go to the microphone.

One after another, they talked about there not being enough places to buy. “My mother wants to move to Crawford City to be closer to her grandchildren, but there’s nothing for sale that she feels comfortable buying,” Mrs. Cox said.

“It took five years of searching for my wife and me to find a place,” James Lacey added.

Every comment was more of the same. People were frustrated because they couldn’t find local housing, some said they had been forced to buy in Mayville because nothing was available here.

“I want to go on record saying I appreciate that these boys respected our history enough to be building houses that look like they belong in these parts. All those ugly boxes others are building these days would be wrong. Just look at these designs. These fellas seem to know us, and for that, I’m thankful.”

I didn’t recognize the man who’d said it. He was probably in his eighties, but when he sat down, I saw a couple of faces I did recognize. Both were women who sometimes came into the café for breakfast.

“Are there any other comments?” Doc asked when he sat down.

“Yeah, let’s get this vote done so they can get started,” Donald Chris yelled.

Doc chuckled. “Well, okay, then.” He turned to the council and said, “All those in favor of approving the Friends’ Development, raise your hands.”

All nine members of the council raised their hands. “Seems it’s unanimous. Guess you boys better get to work,” he said, winking at Ruther.

The applause this time was loud; everyone jumped up simultaneously and rushed over to Ruther and Corey, shaking their hands.

I watched with pride before I darted out the back and toward home. I was so excited for Ruther and Corey. They were going to do some good here. Maybe one day I could buy one of the homes they’d be building. Mrs. Cole said she might give me a raise after the first of the year. I doubted I’d ever make enough money to actually buy a house, but I still liked that dream.

It didn’t matter though. I loved my apartment over the café. It was spacious, comfortable, and in a perfect location since I worked so many hours. I’d already decided I would use my raise to pay rent so Mrs. Cole never felt like I was taking advantage of her kindness. Crawford City was now my home, and I’d do everything possible to keep it that way. I needed the kind of stability I’d found here and thanked the good Lord that he’d seen fit to help me find these folks.

As I got ready for bed, I thought of Ruther. That’s when it hit me. A letter. Old school, just like he wrote to me.

I was sure I didn’t have any paper, but I went to Mrs. Cole’s desk in the guest room and opened it to find stationary with the cutest little butterfly on top. I silently thanked her for leaving it there.

Dear Ruther,

555-345-0000

Since I met you, you’ve been taking care of me. You’ve been making special accommodations, supporting me, and letting me have space, like you said in your letter.

I’ve never had anyone care about me. Not like that. People don’t make special accommodations for me. They’ve used me, pushed me around, and too often hurt me. You didn’t do any of those things, and because of that, I think I’ve had a really hard time trusting you.

No, I know that’s why I’ve had a hard time trusting you. I know that don’t make sense, even as I write it. Why would I trust some man who wants to knock me around and not someone who cares about me and is willing to help me?

Anita, my counselor, says it’s because we trust what we’ve always known. I think she’s right. I think, because you are special, letting you in scares me.

The fact is, Ruther, I know you were struggling too. But I let my own troubles stop me from seeing yours and supporting you.

I’m ashamed of that, and I vow to be different from now on. I vow to support and nurture you just as you have me.

I love you, Ruther. I love you like I’ve never loved any other man in my life. Even though that scares me and makes me want to run away, I won’t. Even if, after all this, you’ve decided you just want to be friends, I can be the best friend you’ve ever had.

If you want more, I will do what I can to be more for you as well.

I know this is probably ridiculous, but tonight as I watched you and Corey answer the town's questions and commit to building desperately needed homes, I felt so proud to know you.

The talk at the café this week and likely many more to come will be all about your project, and I know I will beam with pride every time someone says your name.

Thank you for all you’ve given me these past few weeks and for the summer we had. You’ve helped me grow and heal.

I look forward to our growing relationship, whatever that may be.

Oh, the phone number on the top? That’s me. It’s time I gave that to you.

With all my love,

Clyde

I put the letter into an envelope I found in the same stationary kit and wrote Ruther on the front. I placed it on the table and went to bed, determined to get up early enough to drop it into Ruther’s mailbox before work.