Not the Rebound Guy

by Abby Knox

  I could make a snarky remark about how stress-free and easy his life sounds, but I refrain. Instead, I chuckle, “At least one of us has it figured out.”

  “She’s proud of you, you know,” Garrett says. It feels at first like this is out of nowhere.

  I turn my gaze from the perfect rows of corn back to Garrett. “Oh?”

  “She talks about you every day. She’s proud no matter what you do or how much you have figured out.”

  There goes one of those red flags again. I squint at him. “And you see her every day?”

  “Most days. And even more now that she insists on cooking for me all the time.”

  I have a strange feeling there’s more going on here than what he’s telling me. Is he mooching off her? The chivalry, the truck, and the cowboy boots threw me off of the scent of the scruff, the hippie accessories, the messy hair. Maybe he’s some kind of transient trying to worm his way into Grams’ inheritance. Perhaps he has a history of this sort of thing. If that’s the case, good luck. Grams keeps about seven hundred dollars under her mattress, and that’s all there is.

  “Why is she cooking for you all the time?”

  He chuckles. “Well, you know how she is about guests in her house.”

  There could have been a record scratch, and I wouldn’t have been more shocked. “Wait a minute. You’re staying at her house? Why? I thought you were her neighbor?”

  Garrett goes on to explain—because apparently, Grams has left out a lot of details—that his house was severely damaged in a fire several weeks ago. The kitchen caught fire due to some faulty wiring, and his bedroom above it burned as well. “The inspector declared it uninhabitable while it’s being renovated. I was going to stay with my brother in Urbana, but Betty wouldn’t hear of it. And I don’t want to have to move my bees somewhere else. I kinda think they like the wildflower meadow between Betty’s house and mine. Not to mention her flowers and produce.”

  I blink at him. “So if you’re staying in the guest room, where am I staying?”

  If he hears the concern in my voice, he doesn’t let on. As casually as can be, he replies, “Oh, the guest room is yours as long as you want it. I’m fine sleeping on the porch.”

  Who willingly sleeps on a porch more than one night for fun unless they’re eleven years old? This is unacceptable. “Excuse me, did my grandmother buy a pullout couch and hire someone to close in the porch?”

  Garrett smirks and cranks the wheel at the sign at the intersection: “Welcome to Piper’s Grove!”

  “Nah, I have a bedroll. That guest bed was too short for me anyway. My legs hang off the end of it.”

  The man is either oblivious to how absurd this situation has become, or he is pulling my leg.

  I have to consciously close my gaping mouth and remain silent for the rest of the ride. We drive past the turnoff for the drive-in movie theater (which I’m happy to see is still in operation), roll past the post office, the high school, the library. Nothing has changed. Not in my twenty-eight years of life has any of these things been updated—no surprises in Piper’s Grove.

  None except the ridiculously hot porch squatter whom I’m going to have to step over every time I want to go outside. Unless I start using Grams’ front door, which would just feel wrong. I don’t think a single soul ever uses the front door. Even the different Mormon kids who show up every summer seem to know to go around back.

  Just when I’ve talked myself into the idea that maybe I’m making too much of this situation, an animal’s wild bleating rudely interrupts my thoughts. Through the windshield, I’m somehow staring into a pair of unsettling blue goat eyes. I shriek in surprise, confusion, and indignation. Out of nowhere, this creature has appeared on the truck’s hood as Garrett parks next to Grams’ house.

  “What the fuck!”

  “That’s just Gertie; she won’t bite.”

  Garrett laughs, throws the truck in park, and exits the cab. I stay put but roll down the window. I watch him scoop up the goat in his arms and gently set it down. “What are you doing over here, Gertie? Where’re your babies at?” The goat bleats when Garrett scratches her behind the ears. Just then, a scruffy little dog runs up, barking and jumping. This animal, he picks up and holds against his chest, laughing as the thing wiggles and licks his face. His voice changes in that silly way that dog lovers’ voices always do. It’s odd, but I’ve always been a little bit envious. No animal has ever had that effect on me, and I’ve always wondered if something is wrong with me or with everyone else. So, apparently, this man is at everyone’s beck and call: the bees, a dog, goats, and my grandmother. Something about this feels like a setup. He’s too good. Too perfect. Too … I don’t know. I mean, who in their right mind goes so far out of their way to pick up their neighbor’s granddaughter from the airport?

  And then I remember as I watch this man who’s conversing with a goat and a dog at the moment as if they were classmates catching up on old times: This is Piper’s Grove. None of this generosity should be a surprise.

  “Just hang on a minute, girls. I’m gonna help our new friend unpack, and then we’ll play, okay? Jeez, I was only gone two hours.”

  “Oh no,” I protest, exiting the truck. “That’s not necessary; I can get my stuff.”

  “Go on inside,” he says, ignoring me. “I’ll bring in your bags.”

  Let the record show I don’t like being told what to do. Right now, though, I’m tired, and all I want to do is hug my Grams.

  Stepping over his bedroll, sleeping bag, and assorted yoga accessories, I nearly trip in my excitement to see my Grams. I can’t wait to hug her, fill her in on all the ugly details of my breakup, and then ask her about this extra polite weirdo who’s camping on her porch.

  Chapter Two

  Garrett

  The Spanish Inquisition has begun. I feel as if I’m violating some boundaries by listening in. Still, as I’m currently stuck underneath Betty’s bathroom sink fixing a leak, I have no choice.

  “Tell me how you came to the conclusion that having your neighbor who you barely know stay in your guest room was a good idea. You, a widow, who is eighty years old and vulnerable.”

  “It’s so good to have you here, honey. You need a cookie?”

  “Grams, I don’t want—-wow, those smell amazing…”

  The cranberry-pecan-white chocolate chip cookies are incredible; I can attest to that personally. I plan on having some more as soon as I finish this task.

  “I mean, you are far too trusting,” Eliza continues.

  “I may be old to you, but eighty is the new sixty. And don’t talk with your mouth full, Eliza. Have a glass of milk.”

  “How do you know he’s not a psycho?” Eliza asks, trying to keep her voice down and failing miserably. She has a point. I’m not a serial killer, of course, but I’m interested to hear where this conversation is going.

  “Eliza Jane Little, Garrett has been my neighbor for five years. He’s in the bathroom right now fixing the faucet. Does that sound psycho to you?”

  “He might not want to kill you, okay. But he could have another angle. He might want to weasel his way into your will, or, you know, other things that people do to take advantage of senior citizens.”

  I extract myself from under the sink because I need to go downstairs to the basement to turn the water back on and test the faucet. But to do that, I have to go through the kitchen and interrupt this intriguing conversation. So instead, I pretend to keep working. I know. Shady.

  “Oh, the will. Sure, he’s already in my will.”

  “Grams, what?!”

  “Of course he is! The man built a fence around my garden to keep the deer out. He runs me to the doctor, picks up my prescriptions, buys me groceries when I don’t even ask for it, takes me to the park to feed the ducks, keeps me supplied with honey and homemade soap. Not to mention maintains the house because I can’t climb ladders or get down on my knees anymore. Why would I not make him my power of attorney?”

  I wince
. That part sounds bad. I didn’t think it was necessary, but when Betty asked me to make medical decisions for her should she become incapacitated, how could I say no? I’m also her emergency contact. Also, she asked me to set her up with one of those oversized pay-as-you-go mobile phones, but she has no idea I’m the one adding the minutes to it.

  “Oh my god, what?!”

  Maybe Eliza is right to be concerned. Maybe I let myself get too involved in looking after Betty.

  “Young lady, take a breath and picture this scenario: one day I’m working outside in the garden, and I suffer from heat exhaustion. I pass out, or I start talking crazy. Who’s going to admit me to the emergency room if you are in New York and your mother is at work?”

  “Mom works an hour away from here, and she’s a doctor. She should—“

  “Yes, honey. She should. But she won’t because why would she suddenly be available in the bad times when she’s never available for the good times?”

  Ouch. Betty hasn’t said much to me about her daughter, except to say she can be difficult. Betty talks endlessly about Eliza, and I can see why. I have seen already that Eliza cares deeply for her grandmother, and they’re like two peas in a pod. Opposite personality peas, but an adorable gang of two, nonetheless.

  Yes, I said adorable. Half of that is a given: everyone in Piper’s Grove adores the former school principal Betty. The other half of that pod I just met, and I already know I like her. She might be a little too fast-paced for a town that gets its news off the local diner’s placemats. But I liked her from the first time I saw her photograph magnetized to Betty’s fridge door. Four years ago. Betty’s not resentful, but she’s really been hoping for a visit from Eliza. And, so have I.

  Better get going and test out this faucet.

  “Still. It’s weird that he’s in charge of so much of your life.”

  “You act like he’s the boss of me. Not even your grandfather was the boss of me.”

  Eliza snorts. “That’s the truth. Well, just know that I’m on the lookout for red flags while I’m here. And I’ll be googling him. Maybe even paying for a background check.”

  I hear the clink of china as Grams sets down her cup of tea. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I woulda smelled the bodies by now.”

  My hand covers my mouth, so I don’t laugh out loud and give myself away from my position in the hallway.

  “Grams! Come on.”

  Eliza’s protectiveness of her grandmother is admirable. It tells me she’s a good person who looks after her elders. I was raised to do the same. That’s one thing we have in common: making sure Grams is safe and unbothered.

  “Honestly, Eliza. The man’s house just burned down, and he has nowhere to go.”

  “The porch is hardly appropriate. It’s not even screened.”

  Betty chortles. “He’s outdoorsy, and he loves it.”

  “So he said.”

  All of that is only part of the story. I do love the outdoors. And it’s true, I’m too tall for that full-size guest bed. But the real reason I was so eager to accept Betty’s offer to sleep on the porch was…well…because of Eliza. I have been stealing looks at that picture of her on the fridge for four years. I’ve listened to all the childhood stories about her about a hundred times. Betty’s entire mood changes when she talks to Eliza.

  Whenever I take her to the doctor or out to the farmer’s market, I always know when she’s got news from New York. Her whole face lights up. Anyone who can have that kind of an effect on someone is a person I’d like to get to know.

  So, after all this time, when I first laid eyes on Eliza at the airport, I thought I might sweat through my shirt. Striking hazel eyes, tanned skin, brown hair that swept from side to side when she walked. Tight jeans with expensive high heels and a tee-shirt with a band I’ve never heard of, and long, dangly earrings. Cute, sexy, impatient, slightly intimidating, and charming. She bowled me over immediately. Then her husky voice and quick wit took me by surprise and had me curious to know more.

  She has the same deadly sense of humor as her Grams, and I already enjoy talking to her.

  “Still, I don’t understand why you wanted me to cancel my B&B reservations under the circumstances. Circumstances you never even mentioned before.”

  Betty hums like she’s mulling that over. “Maybe I just like taking care of everyone.”

  I step into the kitchen, putting an end to my eavesdropping. “She sure does,” I say. “Her rhubarb habanero jam changed my life.”

  “Garrett! How’s the faucet?”

  I tell the ladies I’m headed downstairs to turn the water back on, and then we’ll see.

  The two of them move the conversation to the subject of Betty’s jams and jellies, and I’m relieved they’ve put the matter of Garrett to rest for now.

  When I’m all finished inspecting my work, I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. I can’t help but notice Eliza now has a day planner the size of the U.S. Constitution spread across the kitchen table and is writing down facts and figures in the “notes” pages. I once tried using a planner for my little beekeeping and animal husbandry hobby. Didn’t last. And I for sure never used the “notes” pages.

  “Grams. According to the orders you just told me about, you have to make six hundred jars. Since when are there that many customers at the tiny farmers market on the first weekend of summer?”

  Betty nods. “Oh no. That’s six hundred apart from the farmers market. Last year, Randy at the Grove Grocery ordered three hundred, and they flew off the shelf. This summer, he is gonna raise the price, and he expects when it’s all said and done, I’m gonna make a couple thousand dollars.”

  “May I see the contract?”

  “Oh, I don’t have a contract.”

  Eliza makes a noise that sounds as if she might choke. “No, you have to have a contract. This is too big of an order to have a gentleman’s agreement.”

  “No, it’s not. That might not be how things are done in New York, but I assure you, this is all above board,” Betty replies.

  Eliza exhales in exasperation. “I’m sure it is, but…this is too much for you. When is all of this scheduled to happen?”

  Betty sips her tea, cool as a cucumber. “Don’t worry, Eliza. I have it all under control. The orders go out the second week of June, which gives me plenty of time. And anyway, some of it is already done.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief. How much do you have finished?”

  “Three batches.”

  “Three batches is how much?”

  “Oh, about twenty-four jars.”

  Eliza drops her pen. “This is a lot of work that has to happen in less than a month. I’m going to call my boss and tell her I’m staying for a third week.”

  Betty chuckles. “Can’t argue with that. I’ve always wanted to teach you how to make preserves. Your mom was never into it.”

  “I’m happy to help.” Eliza then looks up at me with those striking hazels and says, “Maybe I can rope you into helping out if you’re not too busy.” She pushes back from the table, looking slightly weary from all the planning, and stretches her arms over her head. She arches her back and yawns, effectively pushing out her round breasts. The fabric of her concert tee-shirt stretches out over her curves. I know it’s unintentional on her part, but I can’t control my body’s reaction. I shouldn’t be thinking of groping a woman I just met. But sometimes the shouldn’ts make me want to do the exact opposite.

  My mouth says, “Sure, not a problem.” My monkey mind says, “Anything to spend every waking moment next to you in this tiny kitchen for the next three weeks.” My traitorous cock only has one thought: “She said rope. Will she be using an actual rope on me? I hope so.”

  Betty sets down her teacup and claps her hands. “Well, now that the workforce is settled, you can put your planner away. Didn’t you say you were going to Hijinks with Nora tonight?”

  Eliza nods. “Yeah, but that’s later. We’ve got some business strategies
and logistics to go over, still.”

  Betty scoffs and rises from the table and walks a little stiffly to the rack by the door, fetching her handbag. “Here,” she says, taking out her change purse, opening it, and pulling out a handful of five-dollar bills.

  “What are you doing?” Eliza says.

  “A little walking around money,” she says.

  “Grams, no. I can handle a few rounds of cheap beer on my own. Put your money away.”

  Betty puts her hands on her hips. “Well, what am I supposed to do with my money if I can’t give it to my granddaughter?”

  “You already send me too much money every year for my birthday.”

  The older woman makes a “pssh” noise as she shoves a clump of bills into Eliza’s purse that hangs by the back door, then turns to me. “And I want you to drive her, make sure she gets there and back safely.”

  Eliza stares between the two of us. “I was going to walk and then drive Nora home. Everywhere here is a five-minute walk.”

  I sip my water and turn my gaze on Betty because the longer I stare at Eliza, the redder my face gets. “All the more reason to accompany our guest. I’d be happy to.”

  I’m being eyed suspiciously in the way that uptight people tend to do. “Has Piper’s Grove been overrun with night-stalkers since the last time I visited?”

  I lift one shoulder and down my water. “Nah, but still. I was going to stop over there tonight, anyway. My buddy Andy is playing a gig tonight.”

  Eliza looks me over like she’s not sure she believes my motive. “All righty, then,” she finally says.

  “Wonderful! It’s a date!” Betty says, trying to shove some more bills into my hand.

  Both I and Eliza shout in unison, “Not a date!” She and I catch each other’s eyes, recognizing at the same time what Betty’s scheming.

  “Potayto, potahto,” says Betty. “Either way, you two need to get cleaned up. Besides, it’s time for Wheel of Fortune, so go on, both of you.”