How exactly a master’s degree in English qualified her for inclusion on the Special Events Committee, she did not know. Perhaps her genetic tie to Margaret Meadows, master chef and event coordinator extraordinaire, was sufficient. She curled her lips into a remorseful smile. “I’m only in town until I find a house sitter for my parents. As soon as I can, I’m moving to New York City.”

Mrs. Diefenderfer’s blue-lidded eyes went wide. “New York City? Why on earth would you move somewhere you don’t know a single soul?”

Apparently, Mrs. Diefenderfer never once longed for anonymity. “Oh, I’m not going alone. I’ll be living with my college roommate, Jennifer.”

“New York City…” Mrs. Diefenderfer unzipped her purse and rifled through it. “Mr. Diefenderfer’s cousin Harold lived there in the seventies. He moved back to Scranton in 1984. No place for decent people; that’s what he said.”

Welcome back to Life in Your Hometown. In this episode, Tessa’s Sunday School teacher ambushes her in the Farmers’ Market and tramples her dreams.

She snugged her backpack tight to her shoulders. “New York has changed a lot from what I hear.”

With a grunt, Mrs. Diefenderfer extracted a pencil and notepad from her bag. “Well, in case you change your mind, or if you have some time before you go, here’s the number of the volunteer office at the hospital. You give us a call, and we’ll get you on that committee before you can say Statue of Liberty.” She guffawed and dabbed the corners of her eyes with her pinky fingers. “The Sixth Annual Celebrity Auction is in two weeks. We’re expecting an autographed copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul, and if it doesn’t get here on time, I’ll just spit.”

She crossed her fingers and prayed a silent prayer Mrs. Diefenderfer wouldn’t be reduced to spitting.

“Well, it sure is nice to have you back home where you belong.” Mrs. Diefenderfer came up on tiptoes and scanned the crowd. “Now, where is Mr. Diefenderfer? If he’s eating another sausage sandwich, I don’t know what I’ll do for supper. If you see him, send him my way.”

“I will. And thanks for the invitation.”

“New York City?” Mrs. Diefenderfer clucked her tongue. “We’ll see about that.”

Tessa pushed down the frisson of anxiety the good woman’s tirade triggered in her belly. She’d heard horror stories, too, and she struggled to separate urban fact from urban legend. City life was nearly unimaginable. Where did you get groceries in New York? How did you hail a cab? Did people really ride the subway after dark?