Read Online Kimberly Stuart by Act Two: A Novel in Perfect Pitch - Free Book Online

On the left a large limestone sign proclaimed Maplewood to be the home of Sauerkraut Days, Moravia College, and the Girls’ State Basketball Champs of 1987. Jayne slowed as we entered town, turning north as soon as we reached the stop sign by Bud’s Feed. I felt a sinking in my chest and thought of the sad migration of those pathetic people in The Grapes of Wrath . If Steinbeck had been alive, I would have called him to commiserate.
    â€œHow many people live in Maplewood?” I asked, barely resisting the urge to let my forehead fall on the window glass.
    â€œJust a sec. Would you mind giving this to Emmy?” Jayne handed me a graham cracker. I turned in my seat and held it out for the baby. Emmy snatched it from my hand and made a sound that, in New York, would have meant she was getting mugged.
    Jayne returned to my question. “Ten thousand or so. I think they say twelve thousand, counting the students and surrounding areas.” She waved to a woman passing us on the sidewalk. “That’s Anne Marie Morris. She owns the flower shop down the way.”
    I thought of the buckets of fresh flowers perpetually stocked and ready for the taking in my corner grocery in New York. A pang of homesickness flooded over me. I looked out my window, knowing my face would betray my misery. After all, it wasn’t Jayne’s fault she knew nothing better. Born a Maplewoodian, destined to die one as well.
    The center of town, labeled Downtown Historic District by helpful signs, offered a smidgen of promise. No need for subway plans, but at least I could see signs of life. We passed a hardware shop, a barbershop, and the town library. Students lined the steamed-up window seats at Wired, a coffee shop representing a sliver of hope. At least it wasn’t Denny’s. Most storefronts displayed Moravia’s mascot, which looked to be a close cousin to the meerkat. The blocks right off the town square marred the view. Strips of seedier looking businesses—a grouchy looking gas station, an auto repair shop, a Subway badly in need of paint—hovered just outside the perimeter like a group of social misfits at the senior prom.
    Perhaps it was the cold, but the people of Maplewood appeared to move in slow motion. Jayne would have been killed by now should she have driven like that down the streets of Manhattan. I glanced at the speedometer: We were racing through the historic district toward Moravia’s campus, hovering the whole way just above six miles per hour. I didn’t know the official speed limit, but none of the cars in the other lane seemed to be going any faster than my chauffeur.
    â€œThat was city hall. And there’s the courthouse. Jill’s Book Nook is on the corner, in case you’re looking for some pleasure reading.”
    â€œWho’s the man on the horse?” I pointed to a statue on the edge of an abandoned park. A flock of swings danced a jagged waltz in the wind.
    â€œOh, that’s Josiah Woods. Town founder and inventor of the safety pin.”
    Did I detect pride in her voice? “Very useful, the safety pin.”
    She nodded. “Isn’t it, though? Believe it or not, I used to be so embarrassed about it. Other towns around here make fun. During ball games in high school, the other teams would call us the Maplewood Pinheads.” She laughed. “Isn’t that hilarious? I think it’s funny now, but that was the beginning of a long phase of hometown-hating that I had to go through before coming back here.”
    We passed another stately limestone sign reading “Moravia College, Established 1894.” The minivan crawled up a wide boulevard lined with trees, student housing peppering spacious lawns on either side. The windows of the dorms sported various levels of free speech, ranging from leftover strands of Christmas lights to a triumphant Bob Marley flag bedecked with marijuana leaves circling Marley’s head. I stared at the