The Ugly Truth

by Cheryel Hutton

  Because there’s no telling what might happen in Ugly Creek.

  Chapter 9

  Madison was still in bed when Margaret and I headed to work. Margaret’s car, believe it or not, was a red Mustang convertible. She called it her “bad girl” car and was obviously very proud. We rode with the top down, cool air sweeping over us, my wild hair getting wilder by the mile. It was so much fun I actually forgot momentarily I was headed to town to work for a sexy...I mean, an obnoxious, pain-in-the-backside man.

  To keep that thought in check, I decided the drive time could be useful for uncovering long buried, but still fascinating secrets. “I’ll bet Maddie was an interesting kid.”

  That’s all it took to start the stories flowing. There were tales of stealth tree climbing and compulsory Barbie doll swapping, but the best was the one about the permanent marker tattoos Madison, Liza, and Jake gave each other on their faces and arms.

  “It took weeks for the ink to wear off,” Margaret said, laughing.

  “Sounds like they had a lot of fun growing up,” I said.

  “It was almost like they were three parts of a whole,” Margaret said. “It’s a shame they’re not close anymore.”

  That would have been the perfect opportunity to ask pertinent questions, but unfortunately we’d reached our destination and Margaret pulled her car behind the store into a lot I didn’t even know existed. Jake’s green truck was already there. Great.

  Margaret used her key to unlock the back door, which led into a storeroom. A huge cappuccino-color dog that looked a bit like a retriever, but had definite German shepherd markings on his face, greeted us. “Good morning, Dingo,” Margaret said, giving the dog a good head scratch. Dingo?

  He came over to me, and I held out my hand so he could sniff it. Seemingly satisfied with what he smelled on me, Dingo flopped down at my feet.

  I sat on my heels, and the dog rolled over onto his back. Laughing, I gave him the belly scratching he was so obviously asking for. One back leg thumped air, and the look on his face reminded me of Maddie when she ate Godiva chocolate.

  “Oh great, somebody else to spoil the mutt.”

  I bit my lip to hold the smile down to a minimum. “He needed a belly scratch.”

  Jake sat on his heels on the other side of Dingo. “Needed, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  Jake ruffled the top of the dog’s head. “You’re a con artist, Dingo.”

  “Maybe so,” I said, “but he’s a gorgeous one. Aren’t you, boy?”

  The dog licked my arm.

  Jake laughed. “I give up.”

  I hate to admit it, but Jake’s closeness was causing tingles in interesting places, like between my legs. I was a horrible friend. “How long have you had him?” I asked, and hoped to give myself a moment to beat my traitorous body into submission.

  “About two years. A friend of mine, Ace, the guy who usually does my photography, rescues dogs. Anyway, Ace had this fellow. It was love at first sight, wasn’t it, boy?”

  Dingo licked his master’s hand, and the smile that crossed Jake’s face was pure affection. Okay, I’ll admit I was just a hair jealous. Why can’t I find a man who appreciates my touch?

  I pulled myself to my feet. “Speaking of job, I guess I’d better get to mine.”

  Jake stood too. “Just let me take Trouble, I mean Dingo, upstairs and I’ll show you what I need you to do. There’s coffee if you want some.”

  I grabbed a Styrofoam cup of hot liquid, poured in a pack of sugar, and wandered out into the main area of the shop. Once again I was swept away by the displayed antiques. Beauty and history, what an amazing combination.

  I set my cup down on the counter and went over to a nearby table where a beautiful china doll sat in a little, handmade wooden chair. With the very tips of my fingers I gently touched the doll’s face. “Gorgeous,” I breathed.

  “She is, isn’t she?”

  I smiled toward Margaret, who sat on a stool at the counter and sipped her own cup of coffee. “Yes,” I said. “She really is.”

  I went back to where I’d left my cup and climbed onto the other stool. “This place is incredible.”

  She smiled, and I saw pride in her eyes. “Jake has done quite well with his little store, in spite of everything.”

  Well, that had my curiosity jumping up and down. “Everything?”

  She glanced toward the back before she answered. “Not only was he burned severely in the fire, his leg was crushed also. It was weeks before they even attempted to repair the damage, because he wasn’t strong enough to withstand the surgery.”

  “Wow. He doesn’t even have a limp.”

  “He worked very hard at physical therapy.” She licked her lips. “Actually, he works hard at everything he does. Which of course, his father doesn’t see.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “His father is still upset Jake didn’t use his business degree in some big prestigious firm. But he wanted to stay here in Ugly Creek and open his own shop.”

  There was a noise from the back, and we both turned to see Jake come into the shop carrying a big box. “Margaret, would you start inventory of the Barinski items while I show Stephie what I need her to do?”

  “No problem, boss.”

  He sat the box on the counter and gave Margaret a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a gem.”

  “Nah, I’m just a good gofer.” She stuck her front teeth out in imitation of a gopher.

  “You’re not a gopher, you’re a nut.”

  She grinned over her shoulder as she dug into the contents of the box.

  Jake motioned for me. “Come on and I’ll show you what I need photographed.”

  First up was a gorgeous chair with intricately carved armrests and legs.

  I gently ran a finger over the polished wood. “Incredible craftsmanship,” I whispered.

  “You have a good eye. This chair was locally made in the late 1800s.”

  I sucked in air. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, I don’t joke about things like that.” His fingers caressed the edge where fabric met polished wood. “It hasn’t even been recovered.”

  My heart and lungs stalled for long enough to make me see black spots. “That’s the original fabric?”

  He nodded. “This chair came from an estate sale. An old man passed away, and this chair was in the collection. From what his son told me, it had belonged to the old man’s grandfather. It’s certainly been well cared for.”

  I stared at him, feeling my eyes widen in utter disbelief. “The son didn’t keep it?”

  Anger passed over Jake’s face. “I asked him if he was sure he wanted to sell it. He said it wouldn’t work with his décor.”

  Paralyzing shock held me for a long moment, before tears inexplicitly filled my eyes. I looked toward the chair to keep Jake from seeing. “If I had this gorgeous piece, I’d build my décor around it.”

  A gentle hand touched my shoulder. “Me too. In fact, I’m considering not selling it.”

  Gladness filled my heart at the thought. He would care for the chair, enjoy it, treasure it. My fingers moved across the gently rough fabric.

  “Of course, I want to keep a lot of things. I have to be pretty selective, or I’d have a house I couldn’t walk through and an empty bank account.”

  I glanced his way. He was looking at the chair with an expression of awe. I felt my heart connect with his. “If I owned a store like this, I’d have the same problem.”

  He gave me an odd little look, almost as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Go ahead and take pictures of the chair, and I’ll make my mind up later.”

  I nodded, and he walked me around the store to show me the other history-laden treasures he wanted me to photograph. We barely looked at each other and our speech was professional and bland. I knew we were both fighting another connection like the one over the chair. Maybe if we were simply two people who happened to meet and bond over antiques, perhaps then things would be different. But l
ife was complicated, so we forced ourselves to be distant and cool.

  Until we got to the cedar chest in the corner.

  Inside were the most beautiful clothes I’ve ever seen. There were two 1920s’ flapper era dresses, one green and one black; a 1950s’ white poodle skirt, with an actual poodle appliqué, and a timeless party dress in soft, lacy violet. That one had me gasping. Actually, I think I drooled a little.

  “Like it, huh?”

  I surreptitiously wiped my mouth. I couldn’t resist holding the party dress up in front of me. “It’s amazing.” I glanced back at the other clothes. “All of this is.”

  It was quiet, so I glanced Jake’s way. He was watching me; his head leaned slightly to one side, his expression soft, his lips turned up in a gentle smile. “You know, I don’t usually handle clothing. The chest and contents came from an estate sale. I took it all, sight unseen.”

  I looked down at the soft fabric swirling around my legs. “What are you going to do with these?”

  “I was going to find somebody to take them off my hands.” His shoulders moved in an almost shrug. “You know, I could pay in merchandise.”

  It took a moment for the significance of his words to sink into my awe-soaked brain. “Pay? With this?” I held up the dress.

  His smile widened. “Actually, I was thinking the chest and its contents.”

  Air sucked into my lungs and refused to go back out. “All of it?” I gasped.

  “You’d actually be doing me a favor taking it off my hands.”

  Yeah, right, and the moon is mozzarella. But hey, if he was willing I wasn’t going to complain. “Well, if it would be helpful.”

  The varmint actually chuckled. “Stephie, one of the best things about being an antiques dealer is seeing beautiful things find homes with people who will appreciate and enjoy them.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Thank you for helping me with the pictures.”

  “You’re welcome.” As I stood looking at him, the warmth in his eyes radiated my body and sent feverish prickling up and down my arms. How could he have this effect on me? He wasn’t a nice man. Maddie didn’t like him.

  Then again, her mother worked for him. And liked him. So, he couldn’t be that bad. Could he?

  Confusion swirled in my head. For a moment I wasn’t even sure who I was. Where I was. What planet I was on?

  What was that tinkling noise?

  “Hello, Margaret.”

  “Good morning, Aunt Octavia. How are you?”

  Oh boy. Margaret. She’d been right there all this time, watching me stare cow-eyed at her daughter’s sworn enemy. And now Aunt Octavia was there too. What was I thinking? Actually, the answer was pretty simple. My brain was currently non-operational.

  “I need to see Aunt Octavia,” I blurted, and hurried toward the front of the store. What I saw had me frozen in mid-step. The cute, tiny, salt and pepper haired woman had turned into a miniature biker babe complete with boots, black jeans, a tie-dyed T-shirt, and a black leather jacket.

  She waved her hand to indicate her clothing. “Do you like my outfit? I decided to ride my Harley today.”

  “You have a Harley?”

  “Hell yes, there ain’t no other bike.”

  My mouth worked like a fish gasping for water. “I mean…I…” Like I said, brain non-operational.

  “Oh, my. Your auras are in tune.”

  She was looking at me, and behind me. Oh great.

  “So what does that mean, Aunt Octavia?” Jake asked.

  Granny Biker Babe smiled. “It means the two of you are destined for romance.” She turned to Margaret. “Don’t they make a cute couple?”

  “Yes, they do.” Margaret’s smile was a little too smug.

  I groaned. “Look, I know you really believe what you’re saying, but there is no way the two of us…” I glanced behind me. “It’s just not possible.”

  A smug little smile pulled at Aunt Octavia’s bright red lips. “I heard you almost got run over the other day. A green VW, wasn’t it? Maybe a Rabbit?”

  “I’ll admit I can’t explain that, and I don’t mean any disrespect. But—”

  “No buts. Ask Margaret. Ask anybody who’s known me very long. I have the gift. It’s God given, and it’s never wrong.”

  She turned and started toward the door, only to stop in mid-step, freeze for a moment, then look over her shoulder. “Jacob, your mother says not to let your stubborn nature get in your way. You deserve happiness.”

  She left, and I stood staring at the door.

  “I wish she wouldn’t do that,” Jake said. He turned and stomped off toward the back room.

  “I should get to work taking pictures.” I picked up my camera bag and headed toward the first piece.

  As I worked, I kept glancing toward the back. What Aunt Octavia had said, and Jake’s reaction to it, had me intrigued. Was Jake’s mother dead? Margaret had only spoken of Jake’s father. Her death would explain why she had to communicate with him through Aunt Octavia.

  Whatever was going on, it certainly upset Jake. As sure as I was he had to have done something to upset Maddie, I still wanted badly to rush to him, to comfort him, to hold him in my arms, to kiss away the sadness, to pull him close, to feel his hands on my back.

  Okay, getting way beyond the desire to comfort and headed straight into much more dangerous territory. Clearly my hormones were out of control.

  Maybe that’s what comes of a single, frequently dateless, woman lusting after the kind of relationships very few couples ever experience. It was ridiculous.

  Jake came out of the back room and went over to the counter. He was flipping through papers so hard I expected the sheets to start flying through the air any minute. “Where’s this month’s inventory list? I know I had it yesterday. Damn it! I can never find anything around here.”

  Margaret stood and calmly went over to a filing cabinet, pulled a file out and handed it to him. “Exactly where you put it.”

  Jake closed his eyes for a moment, head down, the effort to get himself under control painfully obvious on his face. “I’m sorry, Margaret.”

  She leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “I think it might be a good time for you to take a break.”

  He nodded. “Dingo could use a walk.”

  He went toward the back, and a moment later I heard footsteps going up a flight of stairs. I’d suspected he lived above his business, and apparently I was right. That explained a few things. I fiddled with my camera for a few minutes, trying to get my thoughts back on my work.

  There was the sound of footsteps coming back down the steps, and the back door opened then closed. I hope he’s okay.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  I spun to find Margaret three feet from me. “I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud.”

  Her eyes danced with a gentle smile. “You didn’t. Your expression told me what you were thinking.”

  “What happened to his mother?”

  She licked her lips, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath before she answered. “Drunk driver. Jake was twelve.”

  I closed my eyes, unable to bear the twin-barbed spear of empathy and memory that impaled my heart. “Oh my God.”

  A soft hand caressed my shoulder. “How old were you?”

  “Your aunt isn’t the only one who’s psychic.”

  “I’m not. And she isn’t my aunt. As far as I know, we aren’t related.”

  I stared. I know it’s not polite, but I couldn’t seem to pull my gaze from hers. “Huh?”

  Margaret chuckled. “Everyone calls her Aunt Octavia. To be honest, I’m not sure who she’s related to. She’s everybody’s aunt, everybody’s guardian, and a very sweet lady.”

  “What she said about Jake and me...”

  “Sit down and we’ll have a chat.”

  I climbed onto the second stool at the counter, and Margaret set a hot cup of coffee in front of me. “I should be working,” I said.


  “Did you lose your mom or dad?”

  “Dad.” I looked away, and hoped she didn’t see the tears filling my eyes.

  “How old were you?”

  “Five.” My voice broke in spite of all my effort to hide the emotion filling my throat. Wispy bits of memory floated in front of me: Daddy smiling when I rode my new bike for the first time, his deep laugh as he swung me around high up in the air, the sound of Mom yelling at him the night before he took off, me standing at the big living room window waiting and waiting and waiting every day for Daddy to come back home, mom scolding me for being so foolish.

  He never returned.

  “Are you all right?”

  What? Oh, Margaret was talking to me. Focus. I quickly wiped at my eyes and forced my lips into a smile. “I’m fine.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  I took a sip of the coffee to get my bearings. “It happened a long time ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter how long ago things happened,” she told me. “What matters is how torn up your heart is.”

  My heart was currently held together with duct tape. “I really need to get those photos done.”

  She gripped my arm. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  “When you’re ready.”

  She held my gaze, and I looked into her softly caring eyes. Margaret was the kind of mother I’d always fantasized about. The kind I’d never believed existed. The kind I would have given my favorite doll to have. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  She smiled and let go with both her hand and her gaze.

  I scurried off to take pictures, and wonder what it was about this little town that seemed determined to knock my life a few degrees off north.

  ****

  Bits of afternoon sun sprinkled through the leaves at the Ugly Creek State Park. It was here the former students of Ugly Creek High School gathered for the next chapter in the unfolding Ugly Reunion soap opera. Jake insisted I take off early to attend, and Margaret insisted on driving me.