by R.S. Grey
“EDITH! THESE SHORTS ARE FIVE DOLLARS!”
She yanks them down from where I’m hoisting them over my head, looks at the fabric, and shakes her head. “We can talk him down to three.”
Am I dreaming? How is everything so cheap?!
I find a few fitted t-shirts I can wear while working and snag two pairs of denim shorts. I even toss in some pajama shorts and two sundresses, one of which is a little fancy. I have zero places to wear a dress like that, but it’s too pretty to leave on the rack. After that, I stumble into a section of the store filled with bras and unopened packages of underwear, and I’m shaking with excitement. Sure, they’re Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities, but the entire pack costs $3.50, and if I buy them, I won’t have to wash the same freaking pair over and over again.
I basically acquire an entire wardrobe for $18.25, and then we head to the back corner where home goods and knickknacks are piled up, one on top of another.
I crack my knuckles, accepting the challenge. By this point, I am a scary good negotiator.
“Hey Robert! Robbie! There’s a little stain on the corner of this rug. I’ll take it off your hands for $5!”
Between you and me, the stain is minimal and nothing I can’t scrub out once I get home.
“How bad is it?” he hollers back, too lazy to get up from behind the counter.
“I think it’s blood! It’s probably evidence from some horrible crime—”
“Fine! I’ll give ya half off.”
I turn to Edith, eyes wide. “Edith,” I hiss. “That’s six bucks!”
I add the blue Moroccan-style rug to my growing pile of purchases, along with a little antique lamp and a worn wooden stool I want to use as a bedside table. It looks artfully distressed, which makes me laugh. I know people back in Beverly Hills who pay interior designers thousands of dollars for furniture like the stuff I’m finding in this hole-in-the-wall shop.
When I happen upon an antique mirror that looks straight out of an Anthropologie catalogue, I bring out the big guns. It was originally marked at $25, and I wear Robert down to $10 (“Think of it as a new-in-town discount!”). Edith throws me a conspiratorial thumbs-up, and I decide to call it a day. I feel like I’m basically robbing the place at this point. Besides, the cute picture frames (4 for $1) we pass on the way to the register aren’t necessary. Edith tries to convince me to get them, but I tell her we have enough stuff as is. In reality, I’m just too embarrassed to tell her I have no one I’d want to fill them with. My parents? Hard pass. A ripped-down-the-middle photo from my wedding? Yeah, I’m good. I seriously consider just keeping the generic stock photo of a family enjoying a beach day. It’s tempting, but too sad even for me. Plus, the kid’s eyes follow me wherever I move—no thanks.
We load up my purchases in the truck and then I hop in, ready for lunch.
“What are you doing?” Edith asks, standing out on the sidewalk with her hands on her hips.
I pause in buckling my seatbelt. “Aren’t we going to eat now?”
We better be. All that deal-making really worked up my appetite.
“Yeah”—she points across the street—“the diner’s right over there.”
I chuckle and hop out of the truck. Small towns, man. It’s crazy. Every place we’ve gone to this morning has been located in the town square—a sight I haven’t really admired until now. It’s another adorable movie set, just like the ranch. There’s no other way to describe how old-world and quaint everything is. The buildings are historic and stately, but they’re filled with antique shops and clothing stores, a bakery, a coffee shop, a dentist, and a handful of boutiques that are probably more hobbies than businesses. I spot an independent bookstore and make a mental note to stop there after lunch. We pass a bustling restaurant, but Edith shakes her head.
“Love that bistro—best chicken salad in town—but I’m in the mood for something greasy.”
We continue around the square toward the diner, passing a gourmet cookware store and a wine tasting room. People are everywhere, strolling through the shops and enjoying the late-morning weather before the blazing sun hits full force. Quite a few of them are gathered in the center of the square, where a well-manicured park surrounds a gleaming limestone courthouse. There are kites in the air and adorable children running around giggling. Parents are smiling. In one corner of the park, beneath a shady oak tree, an ice cream vendor sells chocolate-dipped cones as fast as he can make them. It’s all so cute, it feels slightly like the start of a thriller. Any minute now, we’ll all look up to the sky as a meteor or UFO spells our doom, or a horde of zombies will rush in and start gnawing through cowboy boots.
“Is there a festival going on this weekend or something?”
Edith shakes her head. “There’s a barbecue cook-off in a few weeks. Don’t think there’s anything special going on today though.”
“So the town square’s always this packed on a Saturday?”
She follows my gaze, not as impressed as I am. “People drive down from around the hills looking for a weekend getaway. It’s the way it’s always been—country folk make a big to-do out of going into the city, while city slickers look for an escape out here.”
She says slickers like it’s a bad word, and I can’t help but smile.
“Blue Stone has a hotel of its own, right?”
She nods. “It’s nestled beside the vineyard, booked up a year in advance these days thanks to all the weddings.”
There’s a short wait at the diner, and as we’re seated in a booth by the window, I’m still thinking about the scene I saw outside and considering whether or not I could ever live in Cedar Creek permanently. There’s no mall or movie theater within 50 miles. I haven’t seen a yoga studio, and Edith confirms there isn’t one. If I stayed here, I’d probably miss the amenities of living in a place like Los Angeles, but I still can’t help but think that people here might have figured something out. Small town life looks pretty great.
With that thought, I glance up at the adorable blonde teenager waiting to take my order.
Edith and I both order All-American Scrambles then pass off our menus.
I sit back against the cushioned booth and meet Edith’s studying gaze.
“So, you survived your first week,” she comments.
I smile. “Sure did.”
“Any scars?”
“From Jack?” I laugh. “No. He’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“He wasn’t always like this.”
“Like what?” I feign innocence.
She scowls and pours some creamer in her coffee. “Don’t bother sparing my feelings. We both know my grandson is stubborn as a mule and kicks like one too. Won’t listen to a damn thing I tell him these days—”
“What changed?”
She looks up at me, confused. “Huh?”
“You said he didn’t used to be like this.”
“Ah.” She nods thoughtfully and sips her coffee before replying. “You probably ought to be hearing this from Jack, but he’ll never tell you, so I’ll just have to do it. When he was a junior in college, his parents passed away in a car accident out on I-38. He was only 20, and I know that might not seem all that young to you, but we were a close-knit family and he didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Still a kid, really. He should have been worrying about tests and goofing off with his friends. Instead, he had to cope with their passing while struggling with the newfound responsibility he wasn’t quite ready for: running Blue Stone. I tried to do my best to soften the blow, but the fact is, the day they died, the ranch and everything that went with it became his responsibility to bear.”
“How’d he handle it?”
Her focus is on her coffee as she continues, as if she can’t look me in the eye while she divulges details about Jack’s life. “He buckled down in school, graduated a year early. He was damn near ready to drop out and move home, but I made him finish. I knew he’d regret it otherwise.”
“Was he in over his head when he got here?”<
br />
She moves her gaze out the window as if recalling that time. “You know, as crazy as it sounds, that boy hit the ground running and never looked back. It had never been the plan for him to enter the family business so young, but he’d worked with his dad enough over the summers to know how the business worked. Not to mention, his grandpa and dad never went to college, so he was actually more prepared to take up the reins than he realized.”
I’m impressed. Even at twenty-eight, I don’t think I’d be able to do what he’s done.
“It’s come at a cost though,” she continues, guilt laced in her tone. “He’s not that same lighthearted kid he used to be. I think that part of him died with his parents on the highway that day.”
I cast my eyes down to the table. “I’m sure. There’s no way that kind of loss doesn’t change a person.”
“It’s not all bad, but I don’t think he gives himself enough time off from work. It’s like he’s constantly trying to make his parents proud, but they’ll never get another chance to say so, to tell him he’s allowed to take a break. Plus, living on the ranch offers no separation from work and life.”
“It’s just all work.”
She nods, agreeing. “It doesn’t help that ever since the accident, he pushes people away—friends, acquaintances, relatives. Arm’s length isn’t good enough for Jack. He wants a couple feet between him and everyone else, and he gets it…except for me, of course. It takes more than a little shoving around to shake me.”
“What about Alfred?”
She smiles, recalling the memory. “I brought Alfred home a couple years back without Jack’s consent. Boy was he pissed, and he didn’t give in easy, either. For weeks, the dog followed him around the house, just a little orphan fluff-ball who knew nothing but love.” She holds her hands out to cradle her palms, showing me how small he was back then. “Jack wanted nothing to do with him in the beginning, and he succeeded in keeping his distance there for a while.”
I laugh, thinking of the way the two are now. “Clearly you won in the end.”
She beams proudly. “That’s because I know Jack. I know deep down, he still wants love and affection. He just won’t open himself up to that vulnerability. It’s logical in his mind: he’ll never have to deal with another loss like that if he doesn’t let anyone get too close.”
I lean forward, more interested in the topic than I should be. “How’d you convince him to give Alfred a chance?”
She slaps her knee, laughing. “Convince him?! Haven’t you been listening? There is no convincing Jack. I used dirty tricks. I pushed Alfred into Jack’s room every night. That puppy would sleep on the foot of his bed and lick his face to wake him up every morning. Jack took to locking his door after a while, so I had to get creative. I trained Alfred and made sure he was the best dog anyone could ever ask for. I made sure Jack was around him as much as possible. I even complained about an ache in my shoulder so Jack would have to step in and throw the tennis ball for him a couple times a week.” She winks. “I’m just a frail old lady, y’know.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t done the same thing with a woman.”
Her eyes alight with mischief, but I don’t get the chance to dig deeper. Just then, a deep male voice interrupts our conversation.
“Meredith? Is that you?”
I jerk my attention toward the speaker, stunned by the man I see standing there.
14
Jack
“And do you know who surprised us at lunch?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
Edith is unmoved by my obvious indifference.
“Tucker Carroway!”
“Makes sense, considering he works in the courthouse across the street. He probably eats there all the time. Will you hand me that wrench? No, not that one. To your left—that one.”
Edith slaps the tool impatiently into my open palm then continues. “Yes, obviously he eats there all the time—that’s not the weird part! The weird part is that he already knew Meredith! Did you know they were friends?”
Huh. I grip the wrench a little tighter.
“Had no clue.”
While that’s an interesting piece of information, I’m hoping this conversation will end soon. Edith found me as soon as she and Meredith returned from town. I’ve been out in the barn most of the morning, working on an old tractor, trying to see if I can get it to run again. It’s probably futile, but some part of me thinks the rusty beast still has a little life left in it. It belonged to my dad, and he took pretty good care of things when he could.
“Apparently the other day, when Meredith drove that old Chevy to the grocery store, Tucker helped her when it stalled on the side of the road. How sweet is that?”
I focus my attention on the tractor, trying to figure out why the carburetor’s flooding. The needle and seat could be dirty. There could be too much fuel pressure, and I’d just need to test the fuel pump—
“Jack.”
“Yeah, sure. Nice of him.”
“Anyway, Tucker didn’t just come over to say hello and dash off. He asked Meredith out on a date right in front of me.”
“What?”
I jerk up so fast, I knock over my workbench and tools go scattering to the ground. Edith smirks, having hit her mark. Now that I’ve given her a reaction, there’s no stopping her. She starts circling around me, sizing me up. If she had a pocketknife, she’d be flipping it open and closed menacingly.
“Oh, what with my old age, it’s been so long since I’ve seen romance like that.”
“What’d she say?”
“She tried to politely decline, but I wouldn’t let her. The attraction was obvious, so I invited him to sit down and stay for a cup of coffee. They talked the whole time—I couldn’t even get a word in edgewise. He’s such a nice man, and easy on the eyes too.”
“You are aware she’s married,” I point out caustically.
Edith rolls her eyes. “Something in her eyes tells me she’s been checked out of that relationship for a long time. Now that they’re separated, what is she supposed to do, shrivel up into an old maid at 28?”
“It’s only been a week!”
Her eyes go wide. “Boy, what’s got your panties in a twist?”
I bend down and start yanking tools off the ground. “It just says a lot about her sense of loyalty if she’s willing to jump ship like that. I’m not sure that trait makes for the best employee either.”
Edith’s brows arch with interest and her tone takes a sharp left turn. “Well she seems like a fine housekeeper so far, so you needn’t worry about that, and you’ve made yourself very clear about thinking she’s the scum of the earth. We’ll see what Tucker thinks.”
I furrow my brows and murmur, “She’s not the scum of the earth.”
I jerk up, having realized my mistake, and find Edith grinning like the cat that caught the canary.
I point an accusing finger straight at her. “I see what you’re doing.”
She ignores me and goes right back to telling me about lunch. “Anyway, Tucker couldn’t stay long—had to run back to the courthouse, I’m sure to a very important case—but long story short, he’s going to take her to David’s wedding!”
“David, my hand David?”
She beams. “One and the same.”
“Bullshit. She better’ve turned him down,” I say before explaining why I care. “I don’t want everyone pissed at me when she disappears back to California.”
Edith bats away my anger like it’s a wiffle ball, too accustomed to it by now. “She tried to, but I agreed for her, told her most of the town would be there and seeing as how she already has so many friends here, it’d be weird if she didn’t go.”
“You aren’t making any sense. Meredith has lived here for a week—ONE week. There’s no way she has that many friends.”
I’m wrong, of course. Meredith has more friends than I do, and this becomes painfully obvious when I’m in town on Sunday morning. I’m down at the
hardware store bright and early, checking out their selection of window air conditioners for the shack, when Chris and David show up unannounced.
“Hey boss!”
Apparently, they also had plans to come down here and get a window unit for Meredith. Isn’t that thoughtful of them? The pair hardly has two nickels to rub together between them, but they were about to fork over two hundred bucks so Meredith could have a little cool air blowing on her face.
“We were maybe gonna ask you to reimburse us,” David explains with a proud smile.
And if I said no?
Something tells me they would have just put it on the credit card and hoped the Lord would provide.
What the hell did she put in those muffins?
I expect them to leave once they see I’m going to take care of it, but instead, they hang around and offer up unsolicited advice about which model I should buy—they seem to think she deserves the most expensive unit the store has to offer. Once we’re done with that, they bring up the wood floors again. I’ve already made up my mind to repair them, but they lay it on thick with prepared monologues about how quick they’d fix it up, and “how little trouble it’d be, really.” I agree, but I’m going to help them, because while they’re decent ranch hands, I’d bet money they’re shitty carpenters. We spend a few minutes grabbing those supplies, and then I think better of it. While I’m doing the floors, I might as well fix a few other things around the place.
By the time we check out, I’ve racked up over a thousand dollars in construction supplies for Miss California, though David and Chris are quick to point out that the shack is on my property, so really I’m fixing it up for myself. “You’re really making money on this whole thing.” Right.
We’re headed out of the hardware store to go load everything in my truck when I spot Dotty bee-lining down the sidewalk toward me. She’s the manager of the First National Bank, and she’s been there since I was a little kid.
