by Lyla Payne
“I didn’t come back to Heron Creek because of any lingering regrets over what happened between Will and I, if that’s what you’re thinking. He seems happy. Have some fucking self-confidence for once in your life.”
She cringes, maybe because of my language but probably because of the remark. It’s unfair to throw that in her face. Melanie lost her mom before I met her, and her father’s one of the most critical men I’ve ever met.
But I don’t want to think about why she feels threatened by me. About the force Will and I had been or all the times he called after I left—crying, begging, demanding to know why we couldn’t be together. There wasn’t a good answer, then. The week before I left for college it had hit me that if Will and I stayed together nothing new, nothing exciting or adventurous, would ever happen to me again.
He and Melanie were engaged less than a year later. The regret hit me like a ton of bricks, and the fact that he and I never talked about it made moving on harder than I could have imagined.
All of the explanations, the I still love yous, the I’m sorrys and Let’s try agains hung in the empty years between us, forever stuck in our mouths and hearts and souls. We would never say them. It used to bother me, but now I think it doesn’t matter. We had been close enough, once, that we know.
We know what we had was real, and rare. And we know it’s over.
“Will and I had a thing, and it was important to both of us. But that was a long time ago, Mel, and we were stupid kids. If you want my reassurance, you have it. I promise I’m not interested.”
It’s the truth. It took me years to let go, to really move beyond the hope that he’d find his way back into my arms, but when it happened, it was permanent.
Relief oozes out of her pores, which is nice for Mel but does nothing to relax the knot between my shoulder blades that’s been throbbing since Anne touched me a half an hour ago. As she sips her coffee, a different regret threads through me. I might be past wishing things could go back to the way they were with Will, but I would kill to have the old Mel. It would be so nice to be able to talk through what happened with David or to get the scoop about Mayor Sexypants from my oldest friend.
As sweet as Mel’s always been, she’s not quite ready to trust me. She’s not sure what my reappearance means in her life, and the mama bear in her can’t decide whether to believe me about Will. I sense all of this, and accept it, because the thought of spending time with her and Will together fades my desire to rekindle our friendship. My fragile emotional state can’t handle happy couples, especially not them.
“I thought about what you said about Amelia,” I say, feeling my way along the frayed, damaged thread that used to connect us. Surprised to find it’s survived at all.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what we can do about it, if anything, but I’m worried, too.”
She pauses, closing her eyes as though maybe she’s searching for how we used to be, too. “What happened between you two?”
It’s easy to forget that no one knows except Amelia and me. And Jake. Being able to release that burden from my shoulders, to let Melanie carry a piece of it, tempts me more than Beau’s dimples. The fact that telling Mel means telling Will almost stops me, but in the end, it doesn’t. “Jake made a pass at me when I was in town for her shower. It’s the only time in my life I felt in honest-to-God danger of being raped.”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I told Amelia, but Jake had gotten to her first and said it was the other way around, that I came on to him. She believed him. Instead of me.” A lump throbs in my throat, begging to be let loose.
Melanie’s mouth falls open, and she tucks pieces of blond hair behind her ears, taking several breaths before finding a response. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I believe you. But you and Amelia were like sisters.”
I swallow hard. “I know.”
“She believed Jake because she couldn’t face the shame of calling off her wedding. You know that deep down she doesn’t think you could sleep with her boyfriend.”
“Either way, I lost her.” Breathing gets easier. The tears recede. To my surprise, letting Melanie in on the deep, dark secret lightens the weight dragging down my heart. “Things might have gotten worse with Jake. The guy definitely has a dark side.”
The memory of his assault on me, from which I escaped only because the heel of my hand accidentally found his nose, sends shivers down my spine. I’d thrown up all over myself once I’d gotten away.
“But obviously you can’t check on her.” Mel chews on her lip. “I’ll try calling again. Tell her my news.”
That makes me smile. Secret for secret, just like old times.
Melanie gets up to leave, tossing her cup in the trashcan. I follow suit, since my shift at the library starts in a few minutes, and I’m pretty sure the mean front-desk lady won’t be forgiving any tardies. We’re outside, where the morning’s cool is starting to give way to the humidity, when she gives me a real Melanie smile.
“It’s good to see you, Gracie. It really is. And I’m sorry things ended badly with David.”
“Life isn’t turning out the way we all thought it would as kids, I guess.” I shrug and summon an honest smile for her in return. “See you around.”
“Yeah. I hope so. And Gracie?”
“Hmm?”
“You didn’t lose Amelia. Or me, or Will. It’s impossible. We stick together. Until the end, remember?”
I do. The reminder of our old friendship pact brings a faint smile to my lips, rolls the required echo right off them. “Until the end.”
Chapter Seven
I manage to make it to the library without being accosted by any more confrontational women. My heart feels buoyant, almost as though it’s in one piece, after my unexpected coffee with Mel. Things are different, for sure—she’s a mom, for heaven’s sake—but maybe different doesn’t have to mean dead and gone.
The woman at the desk, whose name I’ve forgotten, glowers as though I stomped a kitten to death and splattered the entrails all over the glass windows on my way inside. She obviously has a problem with me, though what it is, I haven’t the slightest idea.
But being intimidated by grouchy grandmothers—or anyone, really—isn’t my thing. “Hi, my name’s Graciela Harper, we met yesterday. Mr. Freedman hired me to be the new assistant librarian.”
“Mr. Freedman ain’t here, but he said I’ll be in charge of training you up.” She sneers at me, her trace of an accent still eluding me. “Says you’re some kind of big-shot smarty-pants, so you’d better not take up too much of my time.”
“I don’t know if I’m a big s—”
“Follow me, please.”
She tours me around the library, reminding me twice that I may call her Mrs. LaBadie and nothing else. There’s a scent in her wake, not offensive like the ghost’s, but strange. Spicy and earthy. Smoky. It trails behind her, finding its way up my nose during the brief walk-through. The building isn’t big, and the sections are organized in a familiar enough way. I bite my tongue while she drones on about reshelving, barely managing to fight off the desire to inform her that understanding the fucking Dewey decimal system isn’t rocket science, and also that there are inventions called computers that are well on their way to replacing it in the rest of the known world. After her thrilling explanations of the coffeepot, break room, and cleaning supplies, she leaves me with a cart full of books to shelve.
Based on the number of people that live in the town versus the number of books on the cart, she either hasn’t done any reshelving since June What’s-Her-Name left for Savannah or she pulled these just for me.
“Where are the archives? Mr. Freedman said there are local history documents here.”
“No need to worry about that. We keep ‘em locked up unless there’s a special request, and that room’s my responsibility. Won’t be needin’ your help.”
With that, she stomps back to the front desk, leaving me to wonder how big a bug flew up her ass and how lo
ng it’s been there. Before long, the books nestle back in their rightful places, my sense of accomplishment at the completion of the small task giving me a strange, simple kind of pleasure. Mrs. LaBadie catches me wandering a few minutes later, trailing my fingers over random embossed titles, and hands me a feather duster.
“Is the kid’s reading time thing today?”
“Baby Book Club?”
“Okay.”
“Yes. It’s at two, and you’re in charge. Try not to negatively influence any youth.”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. Luckily, she’s already turned her back. Again.
Lunchtime rolls around before all of the dust falls prey to my ministrations. My stomach keeps growling and since not a single patron entered during the morning hours, the sound echoes off the empty walls. There’s a deli down the block, and I even make another attempt at friendship with an offer to bring something back for Mrs. LaBadie. She ignores me altogether this time.
Even though the temperature outside has risen to approximately ten degrees hotter than hell, the air smells fresh compared to the musty dust bunnies lodged in my nose.
“On your way to lunch?”
The voice startles me out of my head, and my trademark grace tangles my feet. The only reason my ass doesn’t find the pavement again is the strong pair of hands that catch me around the waist. I look up, ready to stammer thanks through my embarrassment, to find Beau’s laughing hazel eyes.
I reach for some smart-ass bitchiness but find that it’s all used up after a morning with the Witch of the Heron Creek Library. Yes. That’s the reason I smile. “That makes twice that you’ve knocked me off my feet.”
“You know, you’re not the first woman to say that to me, but I never tire of hearing it.”
So goes my reward for harnessing my smart-ass instincts. I turn my eyes heavenward, asking silently of God if he listens to complaints about pain-in-the-ass men.
He probably doesn’t. It would take up too much of his time.
“Asking God what you’ve done to deserve my charming company again today?”
“I most certainly am. Also asking why he allows his public servants to engage in stalkerish behavior. Isn’t that illegal?”
“I hear.” We fall into step toward the deli, as though we had plans ahead of time. “I’ll admit I came looking for you. I wanted to see how your first day is going.”
“Do you roll out the welcome wagon like this for everyone who returns to town after a seven-year absence?”
“No.” His hand brushes mine, sending sparks and sizzles across my skin. “Where are you headed?”
“The deli, I think. Let me guess, you just happen to be grabbing lunch there, too!”
“Funny, isn’t it?”
The deli is less than a block away, a bonus and a curse because it means my lunch break won’t go over the prescribed time limit. As we draw closer, the haunting strains of a guitar twist through the air. Something about the melody tickles my soul, and when the guy starts singing, his voice brings my feet to a halt. Beau stops at my side, saying nothing as the guy finishes the song and I fish a dollar out of my back pocket, hoping there’s enough left for lunch.
“Graciela Harper.”
My name emerges from somewhere under the musician’s long black hair and above the scratchy-looking beard. It doesn’t sound particularly pleased, that voice, but it does sound familiar in the way that a dream seems real during the first moments awake.
Beau stiffens beside me, and for the first time since we met, he seems uncomfortable. It’s not as interesting a mystery as who the guy is, and I squint and tilt my head like a curious puppy. It comes together after a bit of concentration—it’s the combination of guitar playing and sardonic attitude that spells it out.
“Well, good night nurse. Leo Boone.”
He smiles then, putting the guitar down and standing up. His gaze slides to Beau, and he gives a stiff nod. “Mr. Mayor.”
“How do you two know each other?” Beau asks, apparently in way of response.
I smack Leo’s bicep, wondering when it got so hard, then grin at Beau. He doesn’t smile back. “Leo here and I are sworn enemies.”
“Mortal enemies.”
“That’s right. Mortal enemies.”
Leo and I are both smiling like morons, even though the explanation is true enough. If Mel, Will, Amelia, and I were thick as thieves, Leo headed up a rival group of sorts, which contained only more Boone children. Their poor mother pushed out eight or nine of them, all boys except one, and the oldest four were constantly at war with the four of us. Leo and I, the unofficial leaders, hated each other. At least during hostilities.
Actually, we became grudging friends during one of our “peace talks” when he’d saved me from a fallen wasps’ nest. It had been our little secret, probably more embarrassing for him than me.
The look on Beau’s face can only be described as pained amusement. “Care to explain?”
“It’s nothing, honestly.” I squint at him. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Not a thing.”
“Hmm. Anyway, my little group of friends used to have regular battles with Leo and his three closest brothers. We spent the better part of three or four summers thinking up pranks to play on each other.”
“Each more disgusting than the last,” Leo adds, packing up his guitar.
“Wait, you still live here?”
“Of course.”
“And you play the guitar on the street?” We abandoned the wars as we got older, but even through high school our two little groups kept space between us. Tradition or habit, I didn’t know, but we did attend more than one party that featured Leo and his band. They were good.
“I do many things, Graciela Harper. What are you doing here?”
“I just moved back.”
“Oh?”
“Graciela, you’re more than welcome to continue your reunion, but I’m afraid I need to grab a sandwich and get going. Duty calls and all that,” Beau comments, his tone too stiff for the offhand comment.
“Oh.” I nudge Leo with my hip. “It’s my first day at my new library job, and I’m about to run out of lunch break, too. We’ll catch up, though, yeah?”
He shoots Mayor Beau a look that I can’t come close to deciphering. Beau may think he fooled me with his lame excuse of having to get back to work, and Leo hasn’t said a word, but there’s definitely some kind of wonky blood between the two of them. Heron Creek gets more interesting every day.
Shit, every hour.
“Yeah, Graciela. I’d like that.” He gives me a mock salute, which makes me giggle, and hauls his guitar down the street.
I follow Beau into the restaurant, and we get in a line seven people deep. My brain tries to formulate the best way to bring up the awkward unfriendliness outside but comes up with nothing before he changes the subject. I really need to start using the lump on my shoulders for something other than dreaming. It’s out of practice.
“So, how are you and Zaierra getting along?”
“Zaierra?”
“Yeah. The other librarian?”
“You mean Mrs. LaBadie?” I snort at his nod. “Oh, she’s a peach.”
Beau’s relaxed during the two minutes we’ve been inside—his shoulders have sunk back into place. They were glued to his ears outside. My sarcasm raises his eyebrows.
“What, you’re going to tell me she’s a sweet little grandmother who spends her weekends baking peach pies and canning tomatoes from the garden?”
“I don’t know about the peach pies and tomatoes, but she does have grandchildren. And great-grandchildren, for that matter.”
Huh. She must be older than she looks, not younger.
“Is she mean to all of them, too?”
“She’s not mean at all. What’d you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her. She doesn’t like me.”
“Now, how is that possible? You’re so consistently friendly and charming!”
<
br /> I give him a look as we take a couple of steps toward the counter. “You’re a real ass.”
Beau grins, his teeth straight and white except for one crooked one on the bottom. So, he’s not perfect after all.
The thought relaxes me a little, even though I’m only vaguely aware that he makes me nervous. It’s just that with so many faults of my own, it’s intimidating to be around someone who seems to have it all together. It’s nice to know he has flaws, even if it’s just a tooth.
We order our sandwiches and wait at the end of the counter, in unspoken agreement that we won’t be able to sit and eat. Especially now that I know Mrs. LaBadie has it in for me in particular. The mayor insists on paying again, and the girl behind the counter gives me a half-curious, half-envious stare.
“How’s Gramps today?” Beau asks as we step back out onto the surface of the sun.
“Better. We had breakfast and took a turn around the yard. I think I’ll drag him down to the dock on my day off. The fresh air is good for him, and he must miss the water.” He must, because he loves it as much as I do, and it calls to me in my dreams when I’m in Iowa.
“And Anne Bonny, have you seen her?”
A glance around reveals that no one’s close enough to overhear, but he’s being a little too cavalier, going around talking about ghosts. I mean, there’s no reason to worry about my reputation, but he must have some sort of respect for his own. It won’t be long before he realizes that being seen with me in public is going to wallop his poll results. And not in a good way. Mrs. Walters’s tale of my public drunkenness, among other things, is sure to have wandered to church and beyond by now.
“No, and I wouldn’t tell you if I had. Next thing I know you’ll be tossing me in the nuthouse and swallowing the key.”
“First of all, I would never swallow a key. That’s disgusting.” His expression turns serious, a rare thing in the two days we’ve known each other. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Graciela.”
“You don’t know me all that well yet. Give it time.”
He guides our path until we turn onto the street where the library lives. “How has your day been, aside from angering the sweetest old woman in town?”
