we’ll have this area rejuvenated.”
“Waste of time,” his father scoffed. “These little shoestring operations can’t compete.”
“They can under the right conditions,” Tom countered. Before his father could argue, he held up his hand. “Let’s take a tour. Would you like to walk through town hall? It was built in the early 1800s. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places. Someone in town had the good sense to fight to preserve it. All the renovations through the years have been done with great attention to the original detail.”
His mother’s expression brightened. “I’d love to see it.”
“Don’t know why you care about a pile of old bricks,”
his father grumbled, but he kept pace with his wife and son as Tom described the Colonial-style architecture that had been the inspiration for the small, brick building with its white columns out front. It was set at one end of Town Square, right in the heart of what had once been the thriving hub of Serenity. Its sweeping lawn was well manicured, and several towering old oaks shaded both the structure itself and the carefully placed benches. The garden club tended the beds of flowers around the perimeter. Just recently they’d replaced the summer blooms with bright yellow chrysanthemums. Inside on the left was an open area where residents could pay their tax bills. On the right was a large meeting room for the monthly council sessions. A wide staircase toward the back led to the handful of offices housing town officials, including Tom’s large corner office overlooking the square. The office wasn’t huge or lavishly furnished by Charleston standards, but it was impressive just the same. And the furnishings had been chosen with care, most of them at least a century earlier. The desk immediately sent his mother into raptures.
“Oh, just look at this wood,” she murmured, rubbing her hand over the smooth, dark surface. “It’s quite remarkable to be in this condition after so many years. It must make you think about all those who’ve worked here before you, Tom.”
“Don’t know how you can get so worked up over a piece of furniture,” his father groused. “When are we going to eat? I’m starving.”
Tom tried not to let his father’s attitude get under his skin. “If you don’t mind a little exercise, we can walk to Sullivan’s from here,” he told his parents. “There’s no point in moving the car.”
“Whatever you say,” his mother said, then cast one last approving look around the room. “You know, dear, it would be so much lighter in here with new drapes. What do you think? I’d love to do that for you. Something bright, but tasteful, of course.”
“I’m not sure I could accept that,” Tom said.
“You can’t accept a gift from your own mother? That’s ridiculous. It’s not as if I’m expecting special treatment in return. I don’t even live here.”
He smiled at that. “Okay, perhaps I’m being too much of a stickler for the rules. First let me see if anyone would object to new drapes for the town manager’s office. I’ll let you know.”
Back outside, they set off for Sullivan’s, his father striding ahead, even though he didn’t have the slightest idea where they were headed. He finally paused at the corner and glanced back. “Right, left or straight?”
“Straight ahead. It’s two blocks up on the left,” Tom told him.
His father gave a curt nod of acknowledgment and walked on.
“I don’t know what gets into him,” his mother commented with a rueful shake of her head. “He was looking forward to this, but he’s not going to admit that to you.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to,” Tom said dryly. Anything less than a suite in the congressional office building in Washington wouldn’t meet with his father’s approval. His mother fell silent, her expression perplexed. “I still can’t get over the feeling that I’ve seen that young woman before. How odd, since I’ve never been to
“Waste of time,” his father scoffed. “These little shoestring operations can’t compete.”
“They can under the right conditions,” Tom countered. Before his father could argue, he held up his hand. “Let’s take a tour. Would you like to walk through town hall? It was built in the early 1800s. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places. Someone in town had the good sense to fight to preserve it. All the renovations through the years have been done with great attention to the original detail.”
His mother’s expression brightened. “I’d love to see it.”
“Don’t know why you care about a pile of old bricks,”
his father grumbled, but he kept pace with his wife and son as Tom described the Colonial-style architecture that had been the inspiration for the small, brick building with its white columns out front. It was set at one end of Town Square, right in the heart of what had once been the thriving hub of Serenity. Its sweeping lawn was well manicured, and several towering old oaks shaded both the structure itself and the carefully placed benches. The garden club tended the beds of flowers around the perimeter. Just recently they’d replaced the summer blooms with bright yellow chrysanthemums. Inside on the left was an open area where residents could pay their tax bills. On the right was a large meeting room for the monthly council sessions. A wide staircase toward the back led to the handful of offices housing town officials, including Tom’s large corner office overlooking the square. The office wasn’t huge or lavishly furnished by Charleston standards, but it was impressive just the same. And the furnishings had been chosen with care, most of them at least a century earlier. The desk immediately sent his mother into raptures.
“Oh, just look at this wood,” she murmured, rubbing her hand over the smooth, dark surface. “It’s quite remarkable to be in this condition after so many years. It must make you think about all those who’ve worked here before you, Tom.”
“Don’t know how you can get so worked up over a piece of furniture,” his father groused. “When are we going to eat? I’m starving.”
Tom tried not to let his father’s attitude get under his skin. “If you don’t mind a little exercise, we can walk to Sullivan’s from here,” he told his parents. “There’s no point in moving the car.”
“Whatever you say,” his mother said, then cast one last approving look around the room. “You know, dear, it would be so much lighter in here with new drapes. What do you think? I’d love to do that for you. Something bright, but tasteful, of course.”
“I’m not sure I could accept that,” Tom said.
“You can’t accept a gift from your own mother? That’s ridiculous. It’s not as if I’m expecting special treatment in return. I don’t even live here.”
He smiled at that. “Okay, perhaps I’m being too much of a stickler for the rules. First let me see if anyone would object to new drapes for the town manager’s office. I’ll let you know.”
Back outside, they set off for Sullivan’s, his father striding ahead, even though he didn’t have the slightest idea where they were headed. He finally paused at the corner and glanced back. “Right, left or straight?”
“Straight ahead. It’s two blocks up on the left,” Tom told him.
His father gave a curt nod of acknowledgment and walked on.
“I don’t know what gets into him,” his mother commented with a rueful shake of her head. “He was looking forward to this, but he’s not going to admit that to you.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to,” Tom said dryly. Anything less than a suite in the congressional office building in Washington wouldn’t meet with his father’s approval. His mother fell silent, her expression perplexed. “I still can’t get over the feeling that I’ve seen that young woman before. How odd, since I’ve never been to
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