Maybe that’s why I gave Garrett such a hard time about the Shoreline last week. Because, unlike me, he actually has a chance at making something out of his life. If I thought I’d be any good at beer and people and money, believe me, I’d have taken on the brewery in a heartbeat. But as of right now, my best shot at gaining a career I’m interested in is veterinary school— the College of Veterinary Medicine at North Carolina State University in Raleigh. And that’s only if I can pass the GRE test to get in next semester.
My day starts out in our converted grooming van parked in Delaney’s driveway. But a second glance at my 9 a.m. appointment has my heart plummeting— Cape Fear Drive, an address all too familiar. It’s the Anderson house, Garrett and Lydia’s parents— the place where I spent the majority of my childhood. The thought of having to be there again sends my stomach churning, and I suddenly wish I could pass the job off to Delaney. But she’s headed to Durham to stock up on supplies, and I’d offered to take the appointments alone.
With a deep breath, I set off for the Anderson house. A mile out, I pass the towering walls of orange and coral azaleas, and I’m suddenly ten years-old, trailing Kate on my bike to see Lydia. The feathery vermilion and rose-shaded blooms always had a way of making the street feel like it was on fire back then. And even now, the azaleas blooming full force look like they could ignite at any moment.
By the time I reach the Anderson house and park out front, I feel heartsick for Lydia. Half expecting her to race down the porch steps and greet me, I can’t help but be disappointed as the door to their old plantation-style home remains solidly shut. Every step toward the house reminds me that she’s still gone, and my heart swims in a shallow sort of sorrow.
I ring the doorbell causing dog nails to skim across the wooden floor on the opposite side of the door, two pups eager to escape. The moment Lydia’s mother opens the door, both energetic balls of fur— Max and Lucy— race around my legs. It’s a wonder they’re still so full of life after all these years. I’d been here the day the Andersons brought the two pups home from the shelter, so to say they were past their prime is an understatement.
“Rachel,” Mrs. Anderson coos. She’s as casually dressed as I’ve ever seen her in a blouse and a pair of black leggings. “How wonderful to see you, sweetie.” She smiles and pats at her stacked silver hair. I last saw her a few weeks ago when she and her husband were grabbing supper at Brittigan’s downtown. But embarrassingly enough, the last time I’d been to the house was a month after Lydia’s funeral. I hadn’t purposely avoided it— I hope they understand that. It just hurt to revisit the place that had become such a deep trigger of sadness. Visiting also meant having to see the Andersons in a desperate state of pain, wallowing in the heart of grief. Avoiding their house altogether, however shitty it was on my part, was my only reprieve.
“Hi, Mrs. Anderson.” I smile genuinely, but it’s hard not to with two Golden Retrievers vying for attention at my ankles. I crouch down, and Max leaps halfway up onto my lap, licking my cheek. “How have you been?”
“Oh please, dear. You can still call me Julia.” She claps her hands in reprimand. “Max, down! We’ve been excellent, honey. I’ve been trying to keep myself up with the garden out back but it gets harder and harder each year. And Tom and I, we’re about to take off for the Keys next week.” Julia’s soft southern drawl had always been my favorite. “Hence why we’re cleaning Luce and Max up for the housesitter.” She bends forward and brushes dog hair from her leggings. “No one wants to live in squalor with two stinky dogs for a week.”
The thought of the Anderson house ever being in a state of squalor makes me laugh. “Well, I’ll get these two cleaned up for you then,” I say, petting them both.
“Yes, don’t let me keep you, Rachel.” She grins at me and picks up her metal watering can from the top porch step. “I don’t want to hold you up from your work.”
“We’ll be done in no time,” I say, turning to head down the stairs. Max and Lucy are already at my heels, so when I call their names, they gallop even more lively. “Come on, up we go.” I coax them both up and into the van with the promise of treats and shut the door behind us. Luckily, neither dog had strayed much throughout the years which will make the job easy, if not enjoyable.
“You’re up first, Maxy.” The old dog is graying around the eyes but is happy as can be. After removing all his tangles, I help him into the washing station and slowly soak him in warm water, letting him acclimate to the temperature.
Lydia, Kate, and I were ten years old when Mr. Anderson first brought Max and Lucy home. We’d spent the afternoon chasing butterflies out past the garden toward the old apple orchard that abutted the property. We heard Lydia’s father calling our names. We thought we were in trouble for leaving the sprinkler running, so we hesitated. But I’ll never forget the sound of Lydia’s gasp as we finally ducked our way back under the bending trees at the back of the property. There they were, two tiny golden puppies in Mr. Anderson’s arms. As soon as he saw us, he let the pups down. As they trundled about with curiosity, they’d stop to sniff every few feet on their way toward us.
Max still holds the same sweetness he did back then. He licks my face in glee from the comb I pull through his freshly washed and dried fur, loving the scratches. And while the memory of the three of us with the pups is a happy one, I can’t help but look at him with sadness. Did the dogs realize Lydia was missing from their lives?
“You miss her, too? Huh, bud?” I scratch behind his ears, and quiet as can be, he purrs like a cat. Maybe he doesn’t notice her absence. Maybe it’s just me still desperately holding onto the past.
In stark quiet, save for the thumping of Max’s tail on the wall, I work away trimming his nails so I can start on Lucy. She happily pounces into place for a well-deserved treat.
As I take to grooming Lucy, a harsher memory surfaces. That same week, Kate and Lydia had deemed me liar-liar-pants-on-fire when I tried to explain where Max and Lucy had come from when the Andersons called them shelter puppies. I told them how sometimes people don’t want their dogs or they’re found abandoned. Lydia got so mad at me, she started plucking cicada shells from the gate and throwing them at me. Kate started yelling, saying I was born in a shelter, too. Half believing them, I ran hard as I could through the orchard to the woods and started sobbing.
Now, I’m not sure if he followed me out there or what, but there was Garrett, water bottle and a packet of Skittles in tow. He found me planted in the dirt under a live oak hugging my knees and crying. I asked him if he thought I was born in a shelter, and he shook his head. “Your dad’s too rich for that,” he said, stirring up the dust with his tennis shoes. Plopping down next to me, he tossed me the water bottle and told me, hot as it was, I should drink something to stay hydrated. He said I was wasting all my water on tears. Once my crying subsided, he offered me Skittles straight from the packet, but I told him I only liked the green ones. “Well then, let’s see how many of ‘em we can find.” He sat there and collected all the lime ones as he told me I was right about the dogs, that he had seen their papers and that the other girls were stupid for thinking otherwise. When he finally poured all the lime Skittles in my hand, they left bright little stains of green on his palm, and I remember thinking he might be made of magic.
Finishing up with Lucy, she hops back down onto the floor. She sits expectantly, her tail wagging as she stares up at me with bright eyes waiting for another crunchy treat. Giving her one, I glance out the small window and see Julia now watering the flower beds.
Thinking about how Garrett had opened up and cared for me that one afternoon in the grove hurts twice as much. That day showed me the type of person he is on the inside. Even now, I see glimpses of who he still is underneath all the hurt. But the worst part is I hadn’t just lost Lydia ten years ago, I lost that piece of Garrett, too. I understand him putting up walls to protect himself, but like I’d told him a dozen times, he doesn’t need walls around me. All he needs is to be himsel
f.
It takes all my effort to put on a smile as I open the van door and unleash the dogs. Julia waves me in from the lawn.
“Well now, Rachel, I got to thinking, sweetie.” She opens the front door letting the dogs head inside. “Why don’t you come on over and join Tom and I for supper this evening? We miss you and want to hear how things are going lately. We’ll be eating out in the garden, and Tom’ll be grilling up some of his chicken. What do you say? It’d be wonderful to catch up with you before we take off.”
The mere thought of spending time in their backyard has my heart hardening from the onslaught of more memories. Yet, I find myself not being able to say no. I’d neglected them for years, and for me to turn down her invitation now would not only be rude, it’d be straight up offensive.
“I’d love to.”
“Wonderful, we’ll see you around six.” Julia saunters off with her trimming shears, leaving me perched on the bottom step of the porch. My stomach suddenly grows weak at the thought of coming back tonight, but as the laws of a little southern grace would have it, I now have no choice in the matter.
Chapter Five
I hear voices chattering from the back of the Anderson house. Heading around toward the side of the white gate arched in thick ivy, I let myself into the backyard. The wafting scent of lilac and honeysuckle stir the evening air as the sun begins dipping down past the other side of the orchard. The scent itself is reminiscent of a warm childhood spent lazing about in the garden, but when the savory char of barbeque sauce and chicken drifts into proximity, my nervous stomach starts to growl.
“Hey,” I call out, not wanting to frighten anyone with my sudden appearance. My first sight of Julia and Tom immediately make me self conscious of my clothing choice— my black gingham romper. I should have worn something less casual.
“Oh Rachel,” Julia says, floating over to greet me. She’s dressed in a blue silk tunic dress, the long sleeves falling at her wrists like bells. “Thank you for coming, sweetie. I was worried you might not show.” As nervous as I am, she gives me no chance to retreat as she pulls me into a tight hug. “I hope this isn’t too strange for you given everything, but we’ve in—”
“Julia,” her husband scolds from behind the smoking grill. “It’s only going to be weird if you make it that way. Hush now, and let the girl make it into the yard before you scare her off.”
Anxiously, she squeezes my shoulders and slips me an apologetic smile. “Let me get you a drink, sweetie. Is tea alright?”
Barely anything has changed. The patio is set with bright white stones that hover on the thick grass. Live oak trees enclose the backyard, and rhododendrons, lilac, and honeysuckle bushes are dotted with thick patches of magenta lilies. The flowers envelop us into what feels like an actual outdoor room.
Glancing beyond the apple orchard, I can’t help but wonder if the oak tree I’d cried under years ago with Garrett at my side is still standing.
Mr. Anderson’s voice knocks me from my reverie. “Julia told me you cleaned up Max and Lucy this morning. Were they well-behaved?”
“Yes, sir. They were great. They learned early.” If I had answered otherwise, he would have shrunk in anger. But the dogs had always been on their best behavior. In fact, he expected nothing less from them. Nothing less from the dogs, and certainly nothing less from his kids.
Julia teeters from the back door carrying two bowls and sets them on the table. “Now, sweetie, what do you think of all my violet back there,” she asks, motioning toward the left side of the garden with her ring-adorned hand.
“It’s beautiful.”
She nods. “I really think so, too. Tom has a problem with it, but I can’t understand—”
“It’s a pesky wildflower, dear. It’ll end up infiltrating if we don’t get rid of it.” He all but slams the lid of the grill, the smoke dissipating into the muggy air.
“Somethin’ smells good.”
Turning to the voice behind me, my heart jumps to my throat. Garrett saunters out from the house in a pair of khakis, a polo shirt, and a baseball cap that causes his damp hair to curl out around the edges. As he walks up behind me, I get the ridiculous urge to pull that hat from his head and kiss him, but I turn away as he dawdles right between Julia and I.
Why is he here?
I mean, I know why he’s here. But Mrs. Anderson hadn’t mentioned a single word about him coming. My palms start to sweat at how clueless I’ve been. Of course Garrett would be here— he’s their son. Another stolen glance at him tells me he’s not as surprised to see me.
“What’s for supper,’ he asks, stopping beside me. I can smell the salt of his sweat and the fading scent of his sunscreen. He must have come straight from work.
“Garrett.” Tom purses his lips and turns, leaving the grill unattended. “You couldn’t shower before coming over for supper? Could you not have changed into something nicer?”
“Now, Tom,” Julia scolds. Her tone of voice tells she’s embarrassed to have him speaking in such a manner in front of me. “It was nice of Garrett to join us at all. It’ll be fine. We’re eating outside anyway.”
Tom pulls the chicken pieces from the grill using a set of steel tongs. “What would be nice is if you could put in an effort occasionally. Not too much to ask, is it, son?”
Garrett rolls his eyes which is something I’m not accustomed to seeing. If Tom happened to catch his expression, he’d fly over that grill and backhand the attitude right out of him. The thought suddenly has me feeling like an outsider.
“And what about you, Gator?”
Shit.
I can tell he’s teasing, begging me for a reaction, but I’m in no mood for jokes in front of his parents.
“You hear me?” he whispers, popping some peanuts in his mouth. “How are you?” Beyond the tap of his chewing, his lips curl mischievously and leave me nervous. He eyes me up and down, pointing at the frilled legs of my romper. “Cute shorts. Or whatever those are.”
Glancing at his parents who are too busy to notice our tension, I answer him through a grimace. “Stop calling me that.” My cheeks feel hot with distress, and I want to sink down into the lilacs and disappear.
“Stop calling you what?” he asks, playing dumb. He leans in a few inches and whispers. “You don’t want me calling you by your name, Gator? Gator’s a perfectly good name. What’s that all about?”
With a sloshing pitcher of sweet tea in hand, Julia rushes over and seats Garrett and me at the table across from one another. The table is lined with collard greens, cheesy potatoes, macaroni salad, cornbread muffins, and a mountain of fresh watermelon.
“How was work, honey?” Julia spears a chicken breast with a fork and lays it on Garrett’s plate.
“Work’s alright.” He shrugs and shoves a piece of fruit into his mouth and talks through it. “Got half the course cleaned up in record time.”
He eyes me, his brows moving through his explanation. There’s watermelon juice rolling down his chin, and I absentmindedly lick my lips. Squirming in my seat, I find myself watching him, wanting him more than ever. But I push the thought away.
“Don’t think I’ll need to put in any overtime this week. I’m mostly caught up.”
“I think you work too hard, sweetie,” Julia murmurs as she passes me the bowl of greens. They’re not my favorite, but I scoop a little on my plate to be polite.
“Would you rather have me work less and have to move back home?” Garrett asks, aiming the question at his father to piss him off.
Tom nearly chokes on his tea. Setting his glass down, his face hardens. With a deep breath, he unbuttons the collar of his oxford shirt and works at rolling his sleeves tighter. “No, of course not. Your mother just worries about you.”
“Anything else exciting going on for either of you?” Julia cuts her corn muffin in half and butters it.
Looking at me, Garrett nods with a knowing smirk like he’s telling me to take note. “Well, yeah. Hate to admit it, but my truck was h
aving trouble again earlier.”
“Oh my,” Julia says, clearly worried.
“Looked under the hood though and think I figured it out. Should be good now.”
Tom clears his throat. “Maybe if you had a decent paying job, Garrett, you could afford yourself a vehicle that actually works.”
Garrett’s eyes meet mine again. He nods as if proving his point.
Without thinking, I interject like it’s just the two of us out on that golf course. “You could take my dad up on his offer. I mean, you’d probably have to work the same amount of hours you are now, but eventually you’d be able to delegate. And the pay, I’m sure, would be enough for you to practically...”
Tom’s fork suddenly scrapes against the ceramic plate. Cutting myself short, I wince at my foul.
When I look over, I notice Tom’s wrinkled face is in utter shock. “What was that, Rachel? Your dad offered him something?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Across the table, I see every muscle in Garrett’s upper body tense, his boyish watch-me-stir-the-pot facade now gone.
“Well,” I say, talking slow, trying to backtrack. “He, uh— I think he was offering for Garrett to take over the brewery at some point, but maybe not immediately. Like maybe later on down the road in a year or so once everything is in place. He just wanted to see where Garrett’s head was regarding the idea.”
Damn, Rachel!
I take a huge bite of cornbread so I can’t speak anymore.
“Why didn’t you tell us, honey?” Julia asks, concern lacing her voice.
“Because I’m not doing it,” Garrett says slowly.
Shell-shocked, Julia’s jaw falls open. “Why not? It would be a wonderful opportunity, and—”
“Look, I don’t want to do it, okay?” Garrett’s holding his butter knife in a closed fist. Looking at me, he shoots me daggers, and I want to sink down and disappear underneath the table.
All the Wild Ways: A Friends to Lovers Romance Page 3
