Show Me the Way

by Ashley Farley

  Let go, Presley. Time to move on with your life.

  “That’s exciting, Patricia. How do we decide?”

  For the next few minutes, they talk about Patricia’s strategy to get the interested parties to increase their bids. Presley has no sooner hung up with Patricia when Everett returns with the pizza. She brews him a cup of tea, and using washcloths for napkins, they eat the entire pizza straight out of the box. Afterward, they stretch out on the hardwood floor with their heads propped on pillows.

  “So, Presley, I’m curious why you picked little old Hope Springs for your weekend getaway? The inn isn’t that special. There are equally desirable resorts closer to Nashville. Like Blackberry Farm, for example. I’d understand if you were meeting a friend or family member. You had to purchase a plane ticket to get here, for crying out loud.”

  “If you must know, I came here on a mission.” She tells him about the adoption file she found in her mother’s desk and the woman who lives at 237 Hillside Drive whom she believes to be her birth mother.

  Everett brings himself to a sitting position. “Whoa. That’s some story.” With knees bent, he rests his head on folded arms. “Did you know you were adopted before you found the file?”

  “Yes,” she says. “My father died from cancer when I was six, but my mother has always talked openly with me about my adoption. She and my dad couldn’t have children. They were blessed to have gotten me.”

  “That must have been hard for you growing up without a father.”

  Presley hangs her head. “Dad and I were close, and even though I was so young when he died, I still miss him a ton.”

  “Do you have any idea who your birth father is?”

  She cuts her eyes at him. That’s a strange question. Then again, maybe not so strange coming from a male perspective. “No clue.”

  “Did you ever consider trying to find out about your biological parents on one of those websites like 23andMe?”

  “I thought about it a lot, actually. I have the test kit to prove it. But I never pursued it out of respect for my mother—my adoptive mother, that is. It’s funny. Before I found that envelope, I never thought of Renee as my adoptive mother. She was just my mom. I’m grateful to her for giving me a wonderful life. At the same time, I’m grateful to my biological mother for giving me life.”

  “You mean instead of aborting you?”

  At first, Presley thinks Everett is kidding, but his face is serious. And troubled.

  She gives him a shove. “Jeez, Everett. Way to be blunt about it!”

  He shrugs. “Why sugarcoat it? What would you do if you found yourself burdened with an unwanted pregnancy?”

  “That’s a loaded question.” Presley gets to her feet and goes to the window. “Because I was adopted, I’ve thought about it a lot over the years. Putting a baby up for adoption is the ultimate sacrifice. Suffering through nine months of pregnancy, only to give your baby away. I couldn’t do that. I’m thankful I haven’t had to make that decision. If I got pregnant now, at age thirty, I would raise the baby on my own.”

  “What if the baby’s father wanted you to have an abortion?”

  Presley is glad her back is to Everett. She doesn’t want to see his expression, to know what he’s thinking. “I would never do that. It would help if the father wanted to be a part of the baby’s life. A child should have two parents. But it wouldn’t be a deal breaker. I have enough love in my heart to be both mother and a father.”

  “So, you don’t think the father has a right to insist the woman have an abortion?”

  Presley twirls around to face him. “How did this turn into an ethical discussion?”

  “Right. Sorry.” Everett’s eyes are glassy, as though he’s returning from a faraway place. “Aside from the address on the torn envelope, do you have any other documentation to prove this woman is your biological mother?”

  Turning back to the darkened window, she mumbles, “No.” She thinks of Rita and her daughters in their house on Hillside Drive. They’ve finished dinner by now, and the girls are probably doing their homework. She wonders if Rita is folding laundry. Or planning a trip on her computer. Or grading papers if she’s a teacher at the high school. “The last thing I want to do is cause trouble for her. I’ll understand if she wants nothing to do with me.”

  “She’ll be thrilled, once she gets to know you.” Everett comes to stand beside her at the window. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I apologize for what I said about the abortion. It was inappropriate.”

  She smiles over at him. “No worries. If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to keep this between us. It’s not a secret, exactly, but it’s personal.”

  “You have my word. I won’t tell a soul.” He kisses her cheek. “Sleep tight in your new apartment.”

  Presley remains at the window for a long time after he lets himself out. She doesn’t know what prompted her to confide in him. She’s not a very open person. Even when she had a whole sorority of girlfriends at Bama, she kept things to herself. But Everett is different. Although she doesn’t know him well, she feels like she can trust him. With so many changes taking place in her life, she’s glad to have a friend.

  11

  Everett

  Everett sleeps fitfully, dreaming of fatherless babies crying for attention. When he wakes with a start at daybreak, he sits bolt upright, bathed in a cold sweat and unable to breathe. Rolling off the mattress to his feet, he takes big gulps of air as he moves about the room. Once his breathing steadies and his heart rate slows, he throws on workout clothes and hits the pavement. By doubling the distance he normally runs, he succeeds in chasing away the demons plaguing his conscience.

  After showering and dressing and eating a bowl of Cheerios, he walks over to the library and waits for it to open at ten. Today, instead of deleting emails from Carla and Louie, he reads the most recent from both. Nothing in their messages surprise him. More pleas for Everett to get in touch as soon as possible. His mom, on the other hand, delivers disturbing news in her weekly communication. His father suffered a minor stroke over the weekend. He’s out of the hospital now, and while there’s no major damage, the doctors warn that another, more severe stroke, is possible. His diabetes complicates his condition, putting him at an even higher risk. While his mom assures him that everything is fine, Everett reads the worry between the lines. On her limited income, money is tight enough without having to worry about hospital bills.

  With a heavy heart, Everett leaves the library and heads in to work. When he enters the building, his mind elsewhere, he forgets to check for Naomi at the front desk. Spotting him, she chases him down as he hurries through the lounge.

  “Everett, I need a word with you.” He slows his pace, and she catches up with him. “In private.”

  He glances around the empty lounge. “But there’s no one here.” She glares at him, and he adds, “Whatever.”

  They walk together to Billy’s Bar. Everett goes behind the bar, dumps his backpack on the counter, and flicks a series of switches that bathes the room in light. “Okay, Naomi. What’s this about?” he asks with an exasperated sigh.

  “I received a disturbing phone call this morning from one of last week’s guests.” Standing near the end of the bar, Naomi consults the notecard in her hand. “A Mr. Mack Lambert. He was part of the group of fly fishermen here last week.”

  Turkey Neck, he thinks. “And what did Mr. Mack Lambert have to say, Naomi?”

  “He was asking a lot of questions about you, Everett. Do you remember him?”

  Everett examines his fingernails, pretending to be bored despite his heart hammering against his rib cage. “I remember the group, not the man specifically. What kind of questions was he asking?”

  “He claims he knows you from somewhere, but he can’t place you, and it’s driving him crazy. You know how that is.”

  Everett knows exactly how that is. He’s still trying to figure out how he knows the ruddy-faced fisherman as well.


  He feels Naomi’s eyes on him, watching closely for his response. “When I can’t remember someone, it bugs me for a few minutes, an hour max. But those men checked out nearly a week ago. If this Mack person is still trying to place me, he seriously needs to get a life.”

  Naomi waves the notecard at him. “That’s the thing, though. He’s certain he knows you from Atlanta, yet you told him you’re from North Dakota. Mack wants to know why you lied. He thinks maybe you’re wanted by the police.” She sets her intense gaze on Everett. “Are you, Everett? Wanted by the police?”

  Fear creeps down Everett’s spine. “That’s ridiculous. Mack is mistaken. You know the old saying that everyone has a twin.”

  Naomi holds out her hand. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

  Everett digs through his wallet and hands her the fake license. If she investigates him, she won’t have to dig hard to find out he’s originally from Georgia.

  Naomi studies the license and returns it to him. “I’ve got my eye on you, Everett. You’re hiding something, and I aim to find out what it is.”

  “You’re wasting your time, Naomi. From what I hear, that’s what you do best.”

  Naomi opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it again. Spinning on her heels, she flees the bar.

  Everett pours a shot of Patron. With a shaking hand, he lifts it to his lips. His mom’s voice echoes in his head. Don’t do it, Rhett. You’re better than this.

  Am I, Mom? I’m not so sure. He pours the tequila down the drain and slumps against the bar. Will the end ever justify the means? Why not go home to Atlanta and face the firing squad? In the grand scheme of things, his crimes aren’t serious. He’s done nothing illegal. He’s not wanted for murder. He’s not even wanted by the police. Sure, what he did was morally wrong, and his conscience is eating away at him. But throwing in the towel would mean giving up on his dreams. And he’s not ready to do that just yet.

  And what about Presley? Whatever is going on between them is more than friendship. If he wants a chance at a meaningful relationship with her, he must take things slowly. But his time is in short supply.

  Only two customers enter the bar during the afternoon. A businessman who sits at a table, guzzling a beer while speaking animatedly to someone on his AirPods. And an older woman in town visiting her daughter who just had a baby. The woman’s been up all night at the hospital and has returned to the hotel for a nap. She sits at the bar, sipping a glass of champagne while telling Everett more than he ever wanted to know about the process of childbirth.

  Everett can’t seem to get away from pregnancy and childbirth and adoption.

  Stella sticks her head in the bar around four o’clock. “I wanted to remind you about parents' weekend this weekend. We’re booked solid beginning tomorrow night.” Her smile is forced, the worry apparent in the lines around her eyes.

  Everett makes a sweeping gesture at the gleaming shelves of liquor bottles. “I’m on it! All stocked up and waiting.”

  If business doesn’t improve, the decision whether to stay in Hope Springs may be out of Everett’s control. His salary, alone, won’t pay his rent. For a bartender, tips are necessary for survival. No way he can afford to help his mom with his dad’s hospital bills.

  Everett closes the bar around six and walks home. When he reaches the top of the stairs, the sight of Presley’s door ajar makes his heart skip a beat. A dose of her spunky personality is exactly what he needs.

  As he draws closer to her apartment, he hears the pounding of a hammer coming from within. He nudges the door open. “Knock knock,” he says but doesn’t wait for a response before entering.

  Presley is teetering on the back of a blue sofa, driving a picture hook into the drywall. “Careful, Presley. You might fall.”

  She turns to look at him and tumbles to the sofa. “Too late,” she says, laughing. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I didn’t. You left the door cracked. I called out before I came in.”

  She rolls off the sofa. “I’m glad you’re here. You can help me hang this beast.” She crosses the room to a large abstract painting of a flower leaning against the far wall. “It’s not heavy. Just awkward.”

  He takes the painting from her, and they wrestle the canvas onto the hook, standing back to admire it. The petals of the flower are white and pink, highlighted with streaks of yellow. Peeking through the outer petals are slivers of blue-gray sky, the same color as her new velvet sofa.

  “Nice couch, Pres.” He performs a flying leap onto the sofa and breaks into a Tony Bennett rendition of Blue Velvet. He sings the entire song with Presley staring at him slack-jawed.

  “You have some serious vocals, Everett. You’ve been holding out on me. I know a lot about music and you’ve got talent. I’m not the first person to tell you that, am I?”

  A lie is on the tip of his tongue, but when he looks up at Presley, so honest and good, the words remain unspoken. He makes a joke out of the situation instead by bursting into Nickelback’s “Rockstar.”

  Presley smacks him in the head with a throw pillow. “Stop! I hate that song.” In a fit of laughter, she falls onto the sofa beside him.

  Loud and intentionally off-key, he sings the song in its entirety. With hands covering ears, she laughs until tears stream down her face.

  When he’s finished, he rests his head against the back of the sofa and takes in her apartment. There’s a fake antelope rug on the floor and a large square coffee table with gold base and glass top. He imagines Presley watching the sun set over the mountains while working at the white lacquer writing desk positioned between the two windows facing the inn.

  Recovering from her laughing fit, Presley tosses her head back against the cushions beside his.

  “The place really looks great, Pres.” He runs his hand against the soft velvet. “I particularly like the blue velvet . . .” His tone becomes melodic.

  She shoves a pillow in his face. “No. More. Singing.”

  “Okay! I promise,” he says, his voice smothered by the pillow.

  She removes the pillow from his face and places it behind her head. “I need to go to the grocery. Wanna come?”

  “Nah. You go.” He closes his eyes. “I’ll wait for you here on Big Blue.”

  “Big Blue? So, my sofa has a name now?”

  “Yep. Your apartment’s badass, even if it is a bit girlie for my taste.”

  Presley smacks his abdomen with the back of her hand. “You have furniture envy, because all you own is an air mattress.”

  “That might have something to do with it.” He cracks an eyelid to look at her. “I’m not kidding. I could stay here forever. I don’t even need food or water. Lock the doors and keep the world out.”

  She rolls on her side to face him. “You’re in a strange mood. Did something happen today?”

  “Nothing you want to hear about.” Sitting up, he smooths out his wiry hair. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll go with you to the grocery store if you’ll have dinner with me at Town Tavern. Tonight is two-for-one burger night. My treat.”

  She laughs. “How is that a treat? You’re only paying for one burger, regardless.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Fine. But after tonight, we go dutch. We’re just friends, remember?”

  He rolls his eyes. “As if I could forget.”

  The chemistry between them is undeniable, even if Presley isn’t ready to accept it. But she will, once she settles into her new life. In the meantime, if financial circumstances dictate it, he’ll look for another job in Hope Springs to stay near her. Carla and Louie be damned.

  12

  Presley

  The first day of my new life, Presley thinks as she watches the sunrise from her second-floor window. She wraps her arms around her midsection, embracing the warmth radiating through her body. Everything about this town feels right. Please let it be real.

  After a thirty-minute Peloton yoga workout, she pulls on a fleece, stuffs AirPo
ds in her ears, and leaves the building. She’s incognito, a local out for her morning walk. No one has reason to suspect she’s spying on the family who lives at 237 Hillside Drive.

  Her timing is impeccable. As she rounds the corner onto the street, Rita and the girls emerge from their house. Seeing Abigail’s and Emma’s bare legs in short flouncy dresses makes Presley shiver. Does that mean no field hockey game for them today? Rita wears a Barbour coat over her khaki pants. What is it with the Barbour coats in this town? Everyone appears to own one.

  As Presley strolls by on the sidewalk, one of the girls, Abigail, she thinks, the younger of the two, lifts a hand at her in a shy wave. Presley wishes her a good morning in return. She smiles to herself as she continues down the street. Her first contact with her half sister.

  As she roams the neighboring streets, Presley, enamored by so many charming homes, loses track of time and is nearly late for her first day of work. She chooses a simple long-sleeved black sheath and tall boots, but she feels overdressed when she sees Stella waiting for her at the front door in jeans and a black turtleneck. She reminds herself that Stella has been meeting with the architect at the construction site.

  Stella holds the door open for her. “Good morning. Welcome to the team.”

  “You have no idea how much this means to me.” It’s been a long time since Presley has been a part of anything.

  She gives Stella a quick hug, and they enter the building together. “We’ll stop by your office first. Then, we can discuss plans for the homecoming party while I give you a tour of the facilities.”

  Presley smiles at Naomi as they pass through reception. Naomi nods at her, but she doesn’t smile back. What is up with her attitude?