Sammi placed her overnight bag into the back of the van and closed the lid. She went back into the house through the garage into the kitchen. Martin was sitting at the table hunched over the bowl of cereal she had placed for him. He looked up and smiled at her.
“Do you have any plans with your father while I am gone?” she asked as she joined him at the table, coffee cup in hand.
“I don’t. He might. I don’t know,” Martin said through a mouthful of crunchy goodness.
She smiled at her teenager dressed in a dark blue hoodie and blue jeans. She had, unknowingly, dressed the same way. She shook her head.
“What?” Martin asked watching her as she laughed in response. He let her stop before he followed up with a second question. “What do you think you will be doing in Candlelight?”
“I don’t know,” she sipped her coffee. “It has been awhile since I have been home. Especially since Mom died.”
“I like Candlelight,” Martin nodded. “I miss Grandma, too. Who do you think sent you that postcard?”
“I don’t have too many friends still left there,” Sammi explained. “I don’t know but I will know soon. Where is your father?”
“You know, Dad. When you need him to be on time, he is always late.”
“Hmmm,” Sammi said as she thought that too much of her opinion of her former husband has definitely rubbed off on her son. She will have to be more careful in the future. She met Kevin when they were in college at Mizzou at a dorm party and found they were both interested in journalism. They eventually fell in love, married, got jobs for different newspapers in Columbia, had a family and got divorced thirteen years later. She sighed out loud.
“You okay, Mom,” Martin asked her.
“Sure,” she smiled at him. “Put your things in the dishwasher and go get your backpack. We will wait for him outside.”
“Okay,” Martin got up and did what he was told.
Sammi followed him to the dishwasher and placed her cup inside it. Before closing the door, she reached into the cabinet above it and pulled out a bright red travel mug. She filled it with the remaining coffee from the coffee pot and placed it inside the dishwasher, shut the door, and started the machine. A car honked.
“He’s here Mom!” Martin called from the front of the house.
“Okay, wait for me!” she called back. She hurriedly wiped the table with the sanitized wipe she pulled from its yellow container, threw it in the trash can as she hurried to the front door.
Martin was waiting for her there and she hugged him.
“You have your phone? Your homework?” she asked him as she watched him nod yes. “I should be back tomorrow before you but if not, don’t go anywhere. Call me if you need to.”
“You, too.”
“I will. Let’s go see your father before he honks the car again.”
The car horn blared again.
“Too late, Mom,” Martin opened the door and they left the house.
—
Fred was making good time as he headed west on I-70. He had just passed the Church Street exit at Wentzville and had his cruise control set at 73 miles per hour. He didn’t like going much more than three miles faster than the posted limit. His wife thought he was weird. On his radio, the CD player had the soundtrack of Neil Diamond’s Hot August Night blaring. Neil Diamond was the one thing his parents got him hooked on and this was the best of the best. Neil was singing I am, I said, and Fred’s thoughts went to his hometown of Candlelight. It has been awhile since he had been home. His parents moved to Florida when they retired a few years ago and he had no reason to go there. But Candlelight was a cool place to grow up. He could go anywhere and not be far from home.
His childhood home was next to the Fuller’s, the home of the owner of the Candlelight Factory, the place which the town was named. It was a candle factory. His Dad was the account manager and his Mom worked in sales there. His best friend, or one of his best friends, was Chuck Graham who lived a block over from him and next to the malt shop. Chuck also lived just down the road from Candlelight Park and the baseball fields they played at everyday of every summer. Yeah, he and Chuck, Chris, and Dave, all dreaming of life in the major leagues. He wondered where they were and what they were up to since they were last together and just when was that? His cell phone interrupted his thoughts and Neil Diamond. He pressed the phone button on his steering wheel.
“Hello, Al.”
“Hi,” his wife Alverta responded. “I was just wondering how you were doing?”
“I’m getting there. Columbia exit is not too much farther.”
“Good. The boys are fine. Nothing going on here, I just miss you. Maybe I should have come with you.”
“Nah, I don’t know where this is going with this postcard thing.”
“But I am so curious!” Al screamed. “I can hardly wait to find out. How fast are you going anyway?”
“You know me, Al.”
“Three miles over. Go faster.”
—
Earlier that same morning, Chris Stevens had packed the car with not only his overnight bag but those of his twin girls. That was a direct result of the previous night’s dinner conversation which he was playing over in his mind. After he got home and completed his usual routine of disrobing, showering and a quick shave before dinner he headed for the kitchen. Cheryl was at the kitchen sink washing a head of lettuce, shredding off some of the leaves and placing them in a bowl beside her. She is a petite woman, barely five foot tall, wearing blue jeans and an oversize baby blue sweatshirt. His Mom would call her hairstyle pixie as it was short and colored a bright rusty red.
“Where are the girls?” Chris asked her as kissed the top of her head.
“I don’t know but hopefully doing their homework,” Cheryl replied as she picked up a pair of scissors and attacked the lettuce in the bowl.
“I see we are having a salad for dinner. Anything you need me to do?”
“You could set the table for me,” Cheryl said as she walked to the stove.
Chris opened the cabinet next to the sink and removed four white plastic glasses and matching plates from it. He carried them to the kitchen table and set them in the middle of it. He looked up toward the entryway and saw his two girls walking through it.
“Hi guys, how are my girls today?”
Jill walked up to him and gave him a big hug. She was definitely the daddy’s girl for the two of them. Jennifer just rolled her eyes as she walked by causing him to laugh. Jill let go of him and sat at the table as Jennifer went right to a kitchen drawer to get enough silverware for all of them. Chris walked over to her and gave her a quick hug. She leaned into the hug and closed the drawer. Chris continued to the refrigerator and grabbed the pitcher of iced tea he knew would be there. He returned to the table at the same time Cheryl was placing a casserole dish of lasagna in the middle of the table. He smiled thinking he was a happy man.
“Salad,” Cheryl said as she sat in her spot at the table,
Chris followed her direction and sat down, opposite her, to his left sat Jill and to his right was Jennifer.
“Grace,” Jill said as she reached out for her parents’ hands and the family formed a circle.
“My turn,” Jenny said. “Dear God bless this food we are about to eat and the hands who made them, amen.”
After the commotion of filling plates and glasses and things had a settled into a nice rhythm, Chris began the conversation.
“Tomorrow, I will be heading to Candlelight for the weekend…”
“Why?” Jenny asked.
“The postcard,” Jill reminded her.
“Oh, yeah. Who sent that to you again?”
“Your father and I thought it would be a good idea for you two to go with him.”
“What?” Jenny stopped eating her salad.
“Yay!” Jill cheered.
“You go, then and I’ll stay with Mom.”
“No, girls. You are both going with him so after dinner I want you to pack your backpacks for the weekend. Don’t worry about your toiletries, I’ll pack them with Dad’s stuff.”
“Toiletries?” Jenny said. “What’s that?”
“You know, your toothbrush, hairbrush, that kind of stuff,” Jill told her.
“Shut up,” Jenny yelled across the table from her sister.
“Girls, please stop and just eat,” Cheryl instructed them. “Anything else you want to add, dear?”
Now Chris shook his head at the memory of it and looked at the teenager beside him. Jill was asleep. Her seatbelt was stretched across her cheek as she leaned against the door. He sat up a bit and looked at his rearview mirror to view the daughter in the backseat. She was looking at her tablet with headphones stretched from ear to ear. He smiled to himself and drove toward Candlelight.
—
It wasn’t a tough decision for David to go to Candlelight, he needed a break from work, and he was long overdue to visit his parents. Everett and Marie Manson still lived at the corner of third and Main across the street from Farmer Dell’s Chicken and Vegetable garden. He sent an email to his boss last night and he was in the middle of packing an overnight bag that he had placed on his bed. He was wearing blue jeans and his black and gold Missouri sweatshirt, and he placed an extra pair of tennis shoes inside the bag. Next to the bag was the postcard and he picked it up and read it again.
“You are invited to participate in a Scavenger Hunt. If you are interested, please bring a quarter, an ornament, and a bar of soap to the location on the front of this card at 12:00 Noon on Saturday, May 7.”
He walked inside his closet to the small dresser where on top he had a small jar. It was into this jar that he daily emptied his pocket of pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters, if he had any. He took the jar and gently shook as he watched the coins bounce until a quarter fell out of it. He picked it up and returned to the bed and tossed it on top of the postcard.
“A bar of soap,” he mumbled as he headed to the guest bathroom. The overhead light sprung to life as he entered the hall. He turned into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch, bent down to the cabinet below the sink, and saw what he was looking for, a small box labelled Dove. He grabbed it, turned ff the light and returned to his bedroom. He tossed the soapbox next to the quarter, turned and went back to the hall.
“And now the ornament,” he said to no one as he paced through his home to the kitchen and through it to the mudroom. He pushed open the door to the garage. He walked to the right of the door to a ladder hanging on the wall, grabbed it, and opened it. Directly above him, a box was placed on the rafter and it was labeled Christmas. He stepped up the ladder, grabbed the box and returned it to the floor of the garage. It was a square container and he opened it to reveal the careful way he had packed it. He removed the five strings of re-boxed multi-colored lights that were on top to reveal the six strategically placed shoeboxes to fit the square. He carefully pulled one out, placed it on top of the others, and opened it. Five red, round, glass bulbs with ornament hooks attached are lined on one side with five matching white ones opposite, just the way he packed them. He withdrew one of each, placed the lid back on and replaced the shoebox, then the lights, closed the box and returned it to the rafters.
As he returned to his bedroom he wondered out loud, “What is Mom going to think of this?”
—
It wasn’t much of a decision for Chuck to make, he owed his Mom a visit. It was Linda who suggested they make it a family event. Fred and Charlie were just as excited to see their G-ma, too. After breakfast and a quick watering of Linda’s flower baskets, they packed the car and began the journey. He drove, she had shotgun, and the boys were laughing in the back seat. Linda turned up the volume of the radio.
“So what do you think?” she asked him.
“Of what?” he looked at her sideways. “I hate driving on this street. There are so many traffic lights before we get to the highway.”
“You always say that and back to my question, please,” she laughed. “And don’t play with me, you know what I am asking about.”
“The scavenger hunt?”
“The scavenger hunt,” she laughed again.
“Yeah, Dad,” Fred chimed in.
“Yeah,” Charlie spoke up, too. “What’s with the quarter, bar of soap, and an ornament anyway?”
“What’s a scavenger hunt?” Fred asked.
Linda turned down the volume on the radio and they waited for Chuck to explain.
“Well.” He began as he took his foot off of the brake and slowly eased the car to the third of four remaining traffic lights until reaching the highway. “A scavenger hunt is a game.”
“A game?” Charlie interrupted.
“Yes, a game. Everyone one or every team is given a list of identical items, crazy items, and are given a time limit to go find the items.”
“If it’s a game, how do you win?” Fred questioned.
“At the end of the time limit whoever has the most items, wins.”
“Wins what?” Charlie again.
“Whatever the prize is,” he said as he slowed the car to a stop.
“Did you play this game?” from Fred.
“Yes, when I was a kid. We would play it at our lock-ins at church.”
“Lock-in?” Charlie asked.
“A whole other conversation, boys,” Linda interrupted.
“Did you ever play, Mom?” Fred again.
“Yes, I did. When I was a cheerleader. Our squad did one once as a get to know each other thing.”
“How do you get the items?” Fred asked.
“You went around the neighborhood banging on doors asking people,” Chuck responded. “You couldn’t play that way today.”
“Why not?” Fred asked.
“So, Dad, do you know what the prize is for this scavenger hunt?” back to Charlie.
“You know, I don’t know.”
Linda reached into her bag and pulled out the postcard again and read, “You are invited to participate in a Scavenger Hunt. If you are interested, please bring a quarter, an ornament, and a bar of soap to the location on the front of this card at 12:00 Noon on Saturday, May 7. Well, today at noon seems to be the time limit.”
“A quarter, an ornament, and a bar of soap. I wonder what someone wants with those?” Fred asked.
“Nothing. The items are just things to ask for,” Chuck said.
“What’s the prize?” Charlie asked.
“I don’t know,” Charlie answered. “The highway at last.”
“I have a better question,” Linda said as she reached for the radio again. “Who are we playing against?”
“You know, honey,” Chuck glanced at his wife as he accelerated onto the highway. “That is a good question.”
My First Stories 