Rhythm and Bluegrass

by Molly Harper

  “Sadie!” I exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her before I remembered the “possibly getting fired” conversation from the airport. She gave me a little squeeze, which I took as a good sign. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, Will called me first thing this morning to praise you to the skies, telling me what a fantastic job you were doing here. He said your hard work—including securing the ComfyCheeks sponsorship—had completely changed his mind about the museum project. And that he plans to write a follow-up letter to that effect and send it to every office he contacted previously. I was in Barbourville, meeting with some locals about the Daniel Boone Festival, and I just had to come by and see for myself.”

  “Oh well, come have a look,” I told her, leading her around the room and introducing her to the various reps. Sadie kept her arm threaded through Will’s, though I wasn’t sure whether it was because she wanted to gauge his honest reaction to the revamped museum or because she was afraid he was actually on some sort of sabotage mission. Will made the appropriate pleased sounds over the various displays, but paused when he reached the photo wall I’d set up near Mr. McBride’s office. I’d used the pictures Brenda had provided of the family—George and Pearl McBride standing outside the newly opened music hall, Jim McBride at the grill with his arm around Brenda, Will as a young child with various music greats. I’d kept the framing simple, but overlapping in some places, so the effect was that of a big photographic quilt. I was having frosted-glass plaques made to explain the family history and the McBrides’ efforts to keep the music hall open. For now, my neatly typed notes were pinned to the wall near the display, with another placeholder sign that stated, “This museum is dedicated to the McBride family and their tireless efforts to provide entertainment and harmony to their community.”

  I looked at Will. For just a second, I detected a sheen to his blue eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. “This is . . . pretty great,” he said.

  “I agree,” Sadie said, beaming at me. “Bonnie, this is something. This is the best thing you’ve ever put together.”

  “It still needs some work,” I told her. “And obviously, I’ll be packing everything up soon so we can move it to the new location. But I’ve arranged all of the displays so they’re self-contained. It shouldn’t be too much work to relocate. I’ll be bouncing back and forth between the office and the museum site for the next few months.”

  “That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Sadie said.

  My eyes went wide with alarm. Wait, was this the serious talk we were supposed to have about my job? Was she really going to have a performance review/firing right here in front of everybody? I glanced back at the sponsors, who were still happily perusing corners of the building.

  “Bonnie, put away the Precious Moments eyes,” Sadie told me, shaking my arms gently. “It’s okay.”

  “Do I need to step aside?” Will asked Sadie.

  “No,” Sadie said. “Judging from how pale her face is going, I might need you to catch her or something.”

  “Just get on with it,” I groaned, even as Will’s hand hovered at my back.

  Sadie snorted delicately. “You would think I was giving her bad news instead of giving her a promotion.”

  I blinked at her. “I’m sorry?”

  “We would like you to act as liaison between our office and the museums in the state, setting up traveling exhibits and exhibitions and providing support through the tourism commission’s resources.”

  “I thought the tourism commission didn’t have the money for a promotion for me,” I whispered as Will gently gripped my elbow.

  “Well, I don’t want to encourage Will, but his ‘Bonnie is a loose cannon’ letter went a little viral and got bounced around the online historical community. Certain elements within several historical societies found your ‘take no prisoners’ approach to preservation refreshingly bold. They were more than willing to set up a grant program that will fund a full-time position for you, for at least the next three years. By the end of that period, Kelsey should be able to find some damaging information on a state legislator whom we can blackmail into a funding bump.”

  “Is she kidding?” Will whispered.

  “Well, when she and Kelsey get together . . . you never know,” I muttered out of the side of my mouth.

  “Here is a packet detailing your new salary and job description.” Sadie handed me a heavy manila envelope.

  “Even after everything that happened here, you still want me to spend more time around the office?” I asked her.

  “Because of everything that happened here,” she said. “Yes, I was upset by the bad press and general discontent in the community. But you didn’t panic. You kept working and found a solution that works for everybody. And seeing this place—honestly, Bonnie, it was all worth it. You’re valuable in the field, but we need someone who thinks like you giving us creative input at the commission office.”

  “Really?” I cried, squeezing Will’s hands as I hopped up and down.

  “Yes. If you promise to stop squealing like that.”

  “So when would you need me to start?” I asked.

  “Let’s talk about that when you don’t have a pack of sponsors to entertain,” Sadie said, winking at me. “Congratulations, Bonnie.”

  I squealed happily, rubbing my hands together. This promotion sounded perfect for me, a blend of the fieldwork I was already doing and the more administrative tasks I felt I was ready for. I couldn’t wait to wrap up the visit with the sponsors so I could go out with Will and celebrate. There would be chili cheeseburgers and good beer and, if I was a lucky girl, a second round of sex.

  But when I turned toward the dance floor to inform him of my plans, Will was gone.

  15

  In Which I Become the Office Grump

  My office chair was making me all twitchy.

  I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. The springs were poking me in the back. The seat felt uneven. And when I leaned back, it felt like the whole thing was about to tip over. I adjusted it. I got a special cushion. Nothing I did made the chair more comfortable. Despite my good deeds over the past few weeks, I seemed to be suffering from some sort of evil chair karma.

  My attitude toward my chair seemed to reflect my dissatisfaction with the recent changes in my life overall. Now that I was back in Frankfort, I was at loose ends. Until the company Mr. Roth hired to move the building could schedule the transport, I didn’t have much to do. My corner of Kelsey’s apartment seemed a sad substitute for the home I’d found in Mud Creek. I had an idea for another project there, which I had pitched to Miss Martha, but nothing was concrete.

  Working in one place for an extended period of time, knowing there was no reprieve in sight when I needed distraction so badly, was less blissful than I had anticipated. While I enjoyed seeing Kelsey and Sadie and the office staff more often, I chafed at the routine. Phone conferences, lunch meetings, budget arguments—the same thing, day in and day out, as I made the initial contacts with museum administrators statewide. The satisfaction I usually got from my work felt muted and hollow.

  And looking for my own apartment wasn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it was going to be. It turns out Kentucky grows way bigger roaches than you would believe could thrive in a rural environment. And they all seemed to live in the buildings where I wanted to lease.

  I was sure the job satisfaction issues would work themselves out once I got through the initial growing pains. The real problem was that I’d barely spoken to Will since the sponsor visit. As I was packing up the exhibits to ship to storage before the move, he’d sent Fred and Joe Bob to help me instead of coming himself. He didn’t answer my calls or texts. He claimed he was busy meeting with ComfyCheeks management to get the factory plans off the ground. He didn’t even come by Miss Martha’s house when Kelsey came down to help me move out.

&n
bsp; Of course, at the time, I was a bit more distracted by the unholy alliance of Miss Martha and Kelsey, who, both being bred-in-the-bone smart-asses, hit it off almost immediately.

  “Oh, honey,” Miss Martha sighed, marveling at Kelsey’s figure. “You would have been the belle of the circuit. Haven’t seen a set like those since Sugar Beveaux.”

  “. . . Thank you?” Kelsey said, clearly confused by an elderly stranger’s interest in her boobs.

  I could see Miss Martha twitching her hands for her measuring tape, already designing a bustier for Kelsey in her head.

  In hindsight, maybe I should have asked Kelsey’s nerd herd to help me move.

  Will’s indifference hurt, but I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. He wasn’t a relationship guy. He was the charming, “the most you’re going to get out of me is friends with benefits” guy. But I wasn’t getting the friendship, or even basic courtesy. He hadn’t even liked me that much. That chemistry and banter and flirting I thought we shared was a lie. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry. I’d never had a reaction like this to a breakup, and technically, Will and I hadn’t even had a relationship to break up. Most of my relationships ended on sad but determined notes, with parties swearing to be emotionally mature. I found one boyfriend getting it on in his apartment with one of those “performance artists” who painted herself silver and stood really still in exchange for pocket money. I didn’t have this sort of reaction when I discovered him in his bedroom doing reverse cowgirl with a “living statue.” So why was I so upset now?

  Will had never given me reason to think we were anything more than hormone-bearing ships passing in the night. And still, I missed him so much my chest hurt, like a ragged Will-shaped wound had opened up where my heart was supposed to be.

  The next time I considered starting an emotionally ambivalent, sexually fueled relationship with a representative of local government while working in his jurisdiction, I would ask Kelsey to jab me with something very, very sharp.

  Speaking of my romantically challenged best friend, Kelsey stood at my office door with a potted cactus in her hand. Clearly she had remembered my tendency to murder desktop plants.

  “Decorations for your permanent digs,” she announced. She slunk through my door like some sort of femme fatale in a film noir, in a long black pencil skirt and a navy silk blouse that made her eyes stand out. I glanced down at the red cardigan and khakis I’d adopted as a concession to Sadie’s “no jeans in the office” policy.

  Sometimes I hated Kelsey, just the tiniest bit.

  I’d bet she’d hold Will’s attention for more than a few minutes at a time. And now I was thinking about Will again, which was decidedly unhelpful.

  “Do you want it on your desk?” Kelsey asked.

  “Mmmhmm,” I said absentmindedly.

  “And I’m thinking about tattooing Darrell’s name across my boobs. For his birthday.”

  I nodded, chewing on my lip. “Okay, then.”

  Kelsey whacked the side of my head with a file folder. “I can’t believe you just said that. Come on, Bon, you’re not your usual relentlessly perky self!” she exclaimed. “Normally you would have corrected my poor attitude and outlook on life at least three times today, particularly when I made that crack this morning in the coffee room about my thighs. Is it the museum sponsors? Because Sadie said they’re on board and very impressed with your progress so far. Mr. Larkin even wants to contribute a bluegrass string quartet to the opening festivities.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m just nervous, being in the office again. It feels really confining.”

  “So it has nothing to do with that hunky mayor you suddenly stopped talking about altogether, which is completely unheard of from you and frankly is starting to creep me out a little bit.”

  “I have nothing to say about him,” I said, my face a blank, pleasant mask that made Kelsey shudder.

  “Honey, this sort of mad only comes when you really care about the person who did the hurting.”

  “I never said I didn’t care about him. I said I don’t want to talk to or about him.”

  “But do you really think you can just avoid him?” Kelsey asked. “You don’t think he’s going to show up at the museum opening?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I can’t spend my time worrying about that. I need to focus on the work, do the best job I can, and keep the promises I made.”

  “You do realize that we work for the department of tourism, right? Not the Justice League? Because you sounded a little vigilante just then.”

  “Shut up, Kelsey.”

  Kelsey put her cactus on my desk and said, “See, that’s a tone I’m more comfortable with. Speaking of which, we have a staff meeting in an hour, so come prepared to brainstorm for this year’s team-building retreat.”

  “Already? Isn’t that thing scheduled in February?”

  “Sadie likes to get an early start,” Kelsey said, shrugging, sauntering out of my office with a wave.

  I’d totally forgotten that as a member of the permanent, office-based staff, I would have to attend the annual staff retreat. The office always booked three days at some off-season lodge in the middle of nowhere, so the staff would be forced to bond while discussing the upcoming tourist season. Trapped for three days in the woods with my coworkers.

  “Awesome.” I leaned down and thunked my head against my desk.

  “I know I don’t spend much time in a big fancy office, but I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to do with a desk.”

  I looked up to see Will standing there in all his plaid-clad glory, clutching a bunch of cellophane-wrapped sunflowers in his hand. He looked just as good as, if not better than, that postcoital image in my head I’d obsessed over. I was a basket case and there he was, grinning at me like he didn’t have a care in the world. My mouth dropped open and without thinking, I swept my hand toward the mini-cactus Kelsey had placed on my desk. I whipped it across the room at Will’s head.

  Will quickly sidestepped the flying succulent, only to have it smash against the reception desk behind him. Charlie Bennett, the secret object of Kelsey’s affections, stuck his head in my door.

  “Bonnie, I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together, but I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve a drive-by cactus,” he said.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t aiming for you,” I said, glaring at Will.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Charlie said, and continued on his way down the hall.

  I kept my hostile gaze on Will.

  “You threw a cactus at my head,” he said, pointing at the aforementioned noggin.

  “Sorry. It was instinct. I am really angry with you for reasons I don’t quite understand. Don’t worry. I’m all out of potted desert plants.”

  “I was going to tell ya that I’m sorry and that everybody misses ya,” he told me. “But I think I’ve changed my mind on both counts.”

  “I guess I’m a little angrier with you than I thought.”

  “I guess I deserve that,” he said, flopping into the chair in front of my desk. It was probably more comfortable than my own chair. “My mom sent this for you.”

  I opened the sparkly blue gift bag he offered me and found a framed picture of Will and me dancing at the burgoo party. I had my head tilted back, laughing at something Will had said. He was grinning down at me, a fond, slightly stunned expression on his face, like I was lighting up his world. A strange response from a guy who couldn’t be bothered to return phone calls.

  “Your mother is not a subtle woman,” I told him.

  “No, she is not,” he agreed. “But she took it at the party and wanted ya to have it. She says you’re part of Mud Creek history now, too. The stubborn mule who saved McBride’s.”

  “You really suck at this apologizing thing, don’t you?” I deadpanned as he circled my desk and p
ulled me out of my chair.

  “Hey, I like that you’re stubborn,” he told me. “I like that ya refuse to give up even when common sense would tell you it’s time. I think you’re beautiful and sweet and funny. And I’ve even gotten to the point where I don’t mind the whole ‘glass half full of sunshine and unicorn crap’ thing you have going. It’s like making out with my favorite kindergarten teacher.”

  “That’s a little disturbing.”

  He pursed his lips. “You never saw Miss Ferris; she was a total hottie.”

  I smacked his shoulder. “I will put you in time out!”

  “God, that sounds sexier than it should.” When I groaned and dropped my forehead against his collarbone, he sighed.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “You haven’t returned my calls or my texts. You barely talked to me before I left town. Why would you show up all of a sudden with flowers and act like you care?”

  “I do care,” he insisted.

  “Then you need to go to some sort of remedial class on how to show it.”

  “Look, I have been busy with Mr. Roth and his winged monkeys,” he said. “That’s no excuse, I’m just sayin’. I haven’t been callin’ because I didn’t want you to stay in Mud Creek.”

  “You suck at apologizing and explaining yourself,” I told him.

  “I saw the look on your face when Sadie offered you that promotion. You were so excited and happy . . . and I just didn’t want to take that away from ya. I mean, what were ya gonna do, stay in Mud Creek and work in my trailer office as head of the chamber of commerce? I thought ya belonged in a big city like this, with people who actually understand what you’re talking about half the time . . . and with fellas like that three-piece suit who was flirtin’ with ya when I walked into the music hall. So I pulled back, because I thought it would make things easier for you, and I was miserable. I wallowed. It wasn’t pretty. It took the combined forces of my mom, Jenny Lee, and Miss Martha to dynamite my ass off of my couch, give me the lecture of a lifetime, shove me in the shower, and put me in my truck to get me here.”