Second Chances in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #3)

34. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

B ased on the reactions of the men she’d encountered at the VFW, Diana did not expect a good response to her ad. She had a better chance of someone seeing her notice in The Lavender Bay Chronicles.

But a few phone calls did come from the veterans. And within the first few days.

And suddenly, she had a lot of anxiety about it. She wished she’d never asked them to tack up that card. Up until that point, all her clients had been women. And that had felt safe. There were so many unknowns. Strange men coming to the house. The increase in business. The new direction her life was taking.

“What is the matter with you?” Millie asked, unable to hide the exasperation in her voice.

Diana paced back and forth across the kitchen floor, smoking a cigarette. The day wasn’t half over, and she’d already smoked her daily allotment.

Her mother looked at her, her expression both expectant and worried.

Diana kept walking, looking at the floor as she spoke. “A man is coming.”

“I suppose with a name like Willard, it would have to be a man,” her mother replied, not understanding.

Diana shook her head and took another drag off her cigarette. “I’ve never had a man for a client before. I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll treat him just like you treat all the ladies who come to the house,” her mother said simply.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can and you will,” Millie said firmly.

Diana pointed to the headscarf covering her head. “What about this?”

“What about it? He’s coming here for you to do some mending or sewing for him. Does your injury interfere with your ability to sew?”

“Of course not,” Diana snapped. She stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor and folded her arm across her belly, as nausea had set in. “Look, when he gets here, turn him away.”

“I will do no such thing.” There was sharpness in her mother’s voice. “Honestly, I think you’re worrying for nothing.”

It turned out that Millie Quinn was right. Diana had been worrying for nothing.

Willard Hefferle was young, barely into his twenties, skinny, and had served two years on a naval destroyer in the Pacific. He referred to Diana as “miss” and her mother as “ma’am.” But he was also more nervous than Diana. And she soon forgot her own anxiety in an effort to calm him down.

She led him to the spare room where she did her work. As he walked in, he tripped over the carpet and went sailing into the bookcase, rattling it, everything on the shelves doing a slight dance before settling down. When he turned around, his face was puce. He fingered the brim of his fedora and stuttered, “I-I-I’m s-sorry about that.”

Diana was quick to reassure him. “No harm done.”

Perspiration broke out on his upper lip. She threw open the window. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve g-g-got two j-job interviews next w-w-week,” he struggled to get out.

“Very good,” Diana said. “Where at?”

“One’s at Ch-Cheever Aviation, and the other is at G-G-Gibson’s G-Grape Jelly factory.”

“I used to work at the Cheever plant,” Diana said.

“Did you?” he asked, genuinely surprised. His face had returned to a normal color.

“During the war. I worked with the buffers.” She didn’t go into her accident, deciding to keep that to herself. “Who is your interview with?”

“George Treadwell,” he replied.

“He’s a fair and decent man,” she said honestly of the plant foreman. She nodded toward the brown paper bag at his feet. “What have you brought for me today?”

He pulled out a couple of shirts and a suit. All were crumpled. His face went red again. “I was h-h-hoping to get these l-laundered and pr-pressed for my interview.” He reached into the bottom of the bag. “And here’s my tie.”

The tie was hideous, but Diana said nothing. It looked like an old man’s tie. She took the suit in her hands and held it up, inspecting it. It was older. “When was the last time you wore it?”

“B-before the war. My mother’s f-f-funeral.”

“Have you tried it on to see if it fits?”

“No.” A frown distorted his youthful features.

“Put it on, so I can make sure it’s fitting properly.”

His face went scarlet.

“I’ll step out of the room. Holler when you have it on.” Before he could respond, she left and closed the door.

It wasn’t long before he popped his head out. “I’m r-r-ready.”

The suit hung on him. He looked like a kid playing dress-up.

“It looks as though you’ve lost weight since the last time you wore it,” she said.

“The war. But I’m working on getting my weight back up.”

Diana got her box of straight pins. “I’m going to take it in for you so it fits properly. When you put the weight on, bring the suit back to me and I’ll take it back out.”

He frowned again. “W-w-will that be expensive?”

“No,” she reassured him. “You’ll get a discount for being a veteran.”

His smile was the first genuine one since he arrived. “That’s what they said at the VFW. That’s swell.”

She checked the waist of his trousers, tacking in pins where she’d take it in. The length was fine. Then she worked on the jacket.

When she finished, she asked, “When are your interviews?”

“Next M-M-Monday and Wednesday.” And then, “Oh, and there’s a b-b-button missing on one of the sh-shirts.”

She nodded and penned some notes in her little notebook. “How about Saturday? Can you pick them up then?”

“That would be great, m-m-miss.”

“Call me Diana.”

She instructed him to remove the suit carefully so as not to dislodge the pins. He emerged from the sewing room, and she saw him out, telling him she’d see him Saturday.

When she closed the door behind him, her mother asked, “How did that go?”

“Fine, actually. He was more nervous than me,” Diana admitted.

“See, I told you it would be all right.”

Willard was back first thing Saturday morning. Millie had laundered and ironed his shirts and hung his suit out on the line to freshen it up. Diana had him try on the suit one more time to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. She’d made him a tie, a simple navy one to go with his suit.

“Oh g-g-gee, is that extra?”

Diana shook her head. “No, that’s on me.”

“Th-thanks. That other one is my d-d-dad’s tie.”

She’d figured as much. She took a step back to get a better look at the cut of the suit, making a twirling motion with her hand. “Turn around slowly, Willard, so I can see how it fits.” He did, and she had to admit she was pleased with the job she’d done.

She left him alone to change back into his clothes. While she waited in the kitchen, she did her sums with a pencil on a scratch pad and applied the discount.

She heard the door open, and he called for her. She took the suit from him and placed it carefully on the hanger so it wouldn’t wrinkle. When she told him the total, he nodded, pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, and counted out the money into her hand.

“Thank you, Willard.”

He smiled, proud to have a proper suit, pressed shirts, and a brand-new tie. “You know, m-m-miss—er, D-D-Diana, you remind me of my older sister.”

“Does she live in Lavender Bay?”

He shook his head. “N-not anymore. When she married, she moved to West Virginia.”

Diana hesitated before saying, “Can I tell you what your sister might say, if she were here?”

“Sure.”

“Take some deep breaths before you go in for your interviews. To calm down. I have to do it myself at times.”

“What c-c-could you be nervous about?” he asked, disbelief clouding his features.

If you only knew. She shook her head and said instead, “Remember, you served your country, so you can do this. Surely, a job interview wouldn’t be as hard as fighting in the war.”

“It’s a different kind of hard.”

“Well, you’re not alone. Everyone is nervous at job interviews.”

“They are?”

She nodded. She removed the shirts, neatly pressed and hanging on hangers, from the hook on the back of the door and handed them to him. As she walked him out, she said, “I wish you good luck with your interviews.”

“Thanks, Diana!” He smiled and took his suit and shirts and headed out.

A week later, he called her to let her know he’d secured the job at Cheever Aviation. His phone call made Diana’s day.