Lena didn't meet her eyes. She felt like she was seven years old and just got caught sneaking candy in the middle of the night. “I suppose.”
“And you've lived here your whole life,” her mom continued. “You know everyone. It's your home. You should be using that to help him settle in, not using it against him.” She reached out and squeezed Lena's hand. “I've never known you to be a bully, sweetheart.”
“A bully?” She felt like her mother had slapped her. “You think that's what I am?”
Chelsea tilted her head, a sad smile on her face. “I think you should give the man a chance,” she said. “Be the bigger person. This is your town. He's an outsider. That can't be easy.”
Lena's thoughts immediately flew to the prank she'd played on him after the town meeting. Guilt settled heavy in her stomach, her appetite gone.
“I guess I can do that,” she said in a small voice.
“Good.” Her mom patted her hand once and then went back to her meal. “So, Braden, have you thought about the playlist for St. Patrick's Day?”
The conversation continued around her, but Lena couldn't stop thinking about what she'd done to Gage. It had been petty. Mean. And now she felt terrible about it. There was only one thing she could do. She was going to go to the Chief, 'fess up, and apologize. The thought made her even more nauseated. She could only imagine his response. He'd be angry, justifiably so. But she had to try.
And to think the whole thing started over a stupid parking spot. Even the fact that she was going to be able to work the system and get it back didn't make her feel any better. There was no reason to go to war with Gage over it in the first place. She'd gotten caught up in her self-righteous indignation and—
Well, there was no use crying over spilt milk, as they said. She'd go to Gage and try to make amends. Then, she'd do her best to try to get along with him. Lena was pretty certain they could never be friends, but they could be civil, right? Two upstanding members of the Holiday Junction community treating each other with tolerance and respect.
Spoiled.
Privileged.
Above the law.
Lena sighed and took her plate to the sink. All she could do was try. It was worth a shot.
* * *
That night, after the dishes were done and the kids headed home, Chelsea McKenna placed a phone call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lou. It's Chelsea.”
“Hi. Is everything all right?”
Chelsea sat down at the kitchen table and stared out the window at the darkness. “I'm not sure. I'm having second thoughts about Gage for Lena.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
She heard her husband moving around the living room and peeked out the door to ensure he couldn't overhear the conversation. Sean would not approve of her meddling.
“Lena really doesn't like him,” she said quietly. “I'm not sure why, but I don't know if she'll even give him a chance.”
Lou hummed on the other end of the line. “He's not crazy about her either, from what Vi tells me,” she said.
“So what do we do?”
“I'm not sure,” Lou replied. “You know Lena better than anyone. What do you think the problem is?”
Chelsea considered that, tapping a fingernail on the table. “Lena hasn't been that lucky, when it comes to relationships,” she said. “She doesn't talk about it much, but I get the impression that some of the men she dated while she was gone didn't treat her well.”
“Oh, that's not good.”
“No, and she hasn’t seen anyone since she's been back. Not a single date. I think—” Chelsea frowned. “I think her past experiences put her off love altogether. She doesn't want to risk getting hurt.”
“Hmm,” Lou said. “Do you think you could talk to her about it?”
“I've tried.” Chelsea sighed. “She clams up whenever I try to broach the subject.”
Lou was quiet for a moment, then she said, “Let me talk to Vi. Maybe she can get Lena to open up a bit.”
Chelsea let out a relieved breath. “That would be wonderful. I just—I want her to be happy, you know? And she's not. A mother can tell.”
“That she can,” Lou agreed. “I'll get Vi on the job. In the meantime, I think we need a little more information on our new police chief. Any ideas?”
Chelsea pondered that. “Braden said he was going to watch the game with him this weekend.”
“Do you think he'd help us out?”
Chelsea wasn't sure if she wanted to bring Braden in on their little plan, or how he'd respond. “He likes Gage, I think. I'll talk to him about it.”
“Good,” Lou said. “So we have a plan.”
“I guess we do.”
“And Chelsea, don't worry so much,” she said. “What's the worst that could happen?”
Chelsea laughed. “They hate each other and drive everyone around them insane?”
“Right. So we're already there.” Lou snorted. “I'll keep you posted and you do the same, okay.”
“I will. Bye, Lou. Thanks.”
“Night, Chelsea.”
She hung up the phone and got up to go into the living room to watch a movie with her husband. Then, thinking better of it, she returned to the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine.
Chelsea figured she'd earned it.
* * *
After an eight hour shift on Thursday, Gage sat in his patrol car on a wide spot in the road, tapping information into his laptop. It had been a relatively uneventful shift—a couple of speeders, a dispute between two neighbors over a fallen tree, and a sweet, older lady who was convinced aliens had landed in the woods behind her house.
Gage had dutifully tromped through the trees for an hour before reporting back to her that they'd apparently gone home.
It was almost nine o'clock, and he was about to head back to the station when a car passed him, definitely going at least ten miles an hour over the speed limit. Gage put the cruiser in gear, flipped on his lights and siren, and took off after it.
The car pulled over and Gage stopped behind it. He yawned and pulled over his laptop to type in the license plate number. His fingers froze over the keys when he realized why the car—and the license plate—looked familiar.
“Of course,” he mumbled, leaning back on the headrest and closing his eyes, just for a second. Then, with a heavy sigh, he got out of the cruiser and approached the car.
He'd almost made it an entire shift without having to deal with giving Lena McKenna a ticket. That had to be some kind of record, didn't it?
“Good evening,” he said pleasantly. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”
Lena wrinkled her nose, and Gage couldn't tell if she was irritated or embarrassed. “Twenty-five?”
Gage smirked. “Nice try. Where are you headed in such a hurry?”
She sighed. “Home. I guess I wasn't paying attention. Sorry.”
“Well, I suppose I can let it go this time,” he said.
“Really?” She smiled up at him, the first genuine smile she'd ever directed his way, and it took him by surprise. Her dimples flashed and her eyes sparkled in the gleam from the streetlights. She was definitely much prettier when she wasn't yelling at him.
“Sure,” he said. “I'm ready to head home, too. So let me see your license, registration, and proof of insurance, and I'll get you out of here.”
“Okay.” She gathered the papers and handed them over. “I got the updated proof of insurance,” she said, pointing to it.
“Great.” He smiled at her. “Just give me a second.”
It only took a few minutes for Gage to run her information through the system, although he already knew what he'd find, since he'd only pulled her over a few days ago. Still, procedure was procedure, and he did what was expected before returning to Lena and handing over the documents.
“Okay, then. You're free to go,” he said. “Just try to keep the speed under the limit from now on.”
“Right. I
will,” she said, nodding.
He turned to walk away, and she called out. “Gage?”
“Yeah?”
Lena chewed on her lip, her eyes shifting away. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay?” He rested his hands on his belt, waiting.
“So, uh, first of all, I'm really sorry,” she said, fidgeting, her fingers twisting together. “It was a joke—a prank. But I realize now, it was kind of mean.”
He scratched his jaw. “What are you talking about?”
“The note on your car, after the town meeting,” she said. “I wrote it.”
“Wait . . . you hit my car?”
“No!” She held up her hands. “I didn't. I just kind of wanted to make you think I did. Or that someone did.”
Gage placed a palm against the open window frame leaning toward her.. “So, nobody hit my car.”
“No.”
“And you wrote the note to mess with me?”
She shrugged. “Kinda?”
Gage's eyes narrowed, irritation giving way to anger. “Do you realize I spent three hours looking over every inch of that car, trying to find the damage?”
Lena winced. “Yeah, well that was the point. I guess.”
“Of all the ridiculous, immature—”
“I said I was sorry!”
“I have other things to do, you know? I don't have time to spend dealing with idiotic pranks.”
“Idiotic?” She frowned. “I don't think I'd call it idiotic. I mean, don't you see how it could be kind of . . . funny?” She looked up at him hopefully.
Gage crossed his arms over his chest, and wondered if she could see smoke coming out of his ears. He didn't say a word. He was kind of worried what might come out of his mouth if he opened it.
“You're going to write me the ticket now, aren't you,” she said with a resigned sigh.
“Oh, yeah,” Gage replied.
Doctor Wendy Cathcart wasn't really a doctor. She didn't have a medical degree or a Ph.D. But she was the only therapist near Holiday Junction, and she was good at her job, which earned her a bit of respect, so everyone called her Doctor Wendy. Her office was in the remodeled parlor of her home, about halfway between HJ and the city, a two-story brick structure that looked like it belonged somewhere in the antebellum South, rather than Washington state. The house was built in the fifties by a Civil War enthusiast who moved to HJ to spend his retirement years. When he passed away, it sat unoccupied for almost forty years before it was bought and restored by Doctor Wendy's father—also a therapist, by the way, who went by Doctor Martin.
Lena had been seeing Doctor Wendy since about six months after she moved home to Holiday Junction. Lena was self aware enough to know that she had issues—the anxiety-ridden, sleepless nights had been enough proof of that—and she hadn't even really needed her mother's encouragement to make that first appointment.
As she pulled into Doctor Wendy's driveway, Lena realized that had been almost five years ago. Time flies.
Lena checked the rearview mirror to make sure she had no unexpected dark circles under her eyes, or world-weary wrinkles around her mouth. But no, she looked the same as she always did, if a little tired. She shrugged and got out of the car, making her way to the front door between the mammoth columns that flanked Doctor Wendy's front porch. The sign hanging next to the front door had been flipped from Please Knock to Come on In! so Lena turned the brass doorknob, wincing a bit at the haunted-house creakiness of the door as it opened. She walked in and hung her coat on the brass hall tree near the entrance. An extravagant, split stairway wrapped around the foyer, a wooden table topped with an arrangement of white roses and baby's breath in a ceramic vase, smack dab in the center. Doctor Wendy's house was a study in opposites—crystal and clay, distressed wood and embroidered damask . . . antiques and streamlined, modern pieces. Lena made her way through the foyer toward the back of the house, where the office door stood open.
Doctor Wendy looked up from her desk when Lena walked in. Like her house, the therapist was a study in contrasts—white-blonde hair in a neat chin-length bob, impeccable red lipstick, and tortoiseshell glasses . . . jeans with a hole in the knee, bare feet, and a faded chambray shirt. Lena never was sure if she was coming for therapy or a backyard barbecue.
“Hi, Lena. So good to see you!” Doctor Wendy got up and pulled Lena into a hug. She was always so welcoming, and was never too busy when Lena called, even if it was in the middle of the night.
“Hi, Doctor Wendy,” she replied.
“Come on in and sit down,” she said. “Would you like some coffee? Water?”
“No, thanks. I'm fine.” She took a seat on the comfortable, worn leather chair to the right of Doctor Wendy's desk, and the therapist sat down opposite her in a matching chair. A low table squatted between them, sporting a carafe of water and a couple glasses. Anyone walking in would think it was just two friends having a chat, if it wasn't for the notebook and pen Doctor Wendy had on her lap, so she could take notes of anything of significance.
“So, how are things going?” Doctor Wendy asked, once they were both settled. “After last session, we'd agreed that you were going to do one thing that challenged you . . . maybe even frightened you a bit. How did that go?”
Lena shifted a little nervously in her seat. “Okay,” she said. “I wrote back to that guy who messaged me on the dating app.”
“Good for you,” Doctor Wendy said with a smile, as she wrote something in her notebook. “And? What happened?”
Lena shrugged. “Nothing, really. He didn't reply.” She blushed, embarrassed, and looked away.
“And how do you feel about that?”
Lena sighed and twisted a lock of her hair, tugging it gently. “Dumb, I guess. Like I built it up to be this big, huge thing, and then . . . nothing.”
Doctor Wendy hummed. “But it was a big thing to you.”
“Yeah, but that's dumb, too,” Lena replied, a surge of frustration hitting her. “Normal people do this all the time—”
“Whoa.” Doctor Wendy held up a hand. “Try again.”
Lena inhaled deeply. She knew what the therapist was getting at. Lena was not abnormal. “Right,” she said after a moment. “I guess I feel frustrated because it was hard for me. And in the end, there was no reward.”
The therapist smiled at her. “But you did it, Lena. You stepped out of your comfort zone. That's a reward in and of itself.”
“I guess.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself.” She set aside her notebook and leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees. “You've been through a lot and you've come so far.”
Lena huffed. “Did you know, I realized that it's been five years since I first came to you? Five years. Shouldn't I be farther along than I am?”
Doctor Wendy gave her a faint smile. “People heal at their own pace,” she said. “You know this.”
Lena looked out the window at Doctor Wendy's garden. It was dormant, for the most part, but she could see a bit of green, a few buds poking out to signal the coming of spring.
“We've talked about how coming home made you feel safe,” the therapist continued. “You needed that, at the time. You moved home, took over the shop—all things that made you feel comfortable and in control.”
“I know,” Lena said quietly. “But now it's time for me to give up a little of that control.”
“Only if you feel ready,” Doctor Wendy said, holding up a finger. “Remember, this is all up to you.”
Lena nodded. “I know,” she said. “And I do feel ready. It's just hard, you know?”
“I know.” She picked her notebook up again. “Have you spoken with any of your friends? I know you were thinking about telling Vi some of what you've gone through.”
Lena looked out the window again. “I will,” she said. “I'm just waiting for the right time.”
“Again, that's up to you,” Doctor Wendy said. “But part of healing is acknowledging that none of this was your fault. Ther
e's nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of—”
“I know.”
“So there's no reason not to share it with one of your oldest friends,” Doctor Wendy said with a smile. “If you feel she's trustworthy.”
Lena scratched at a loose thread on her jeans. “She is. I can trust Vi.”
“Good,” Doctor Wendy said. “Then I'll expect to hear how it went at our next session.”
Lena gave her a wry look. “You're a tough cookie, Doctor Wendy.”
“That's why they pay me the big bucks.”
* * *
“Come on. One more.” Gage kept his fingers on the bar as he spotted Braden on the bench press. He'd been a little surprised when Braden had called and invited him to the gym, but Gage needed a workout, so he'd immediately accepted. Daily runs and pushups were all well and good, but a good lifting session was just what the doctor ordered.
And he liked Braden. Maybe even a little bit more now that he knew he was Lena's brother, and not her boyfriend.
Not that it should make a difference, but for some reason, it did. Just a little.
Braden shoved the bar up with a grunt and Gage grabbed it, guiding it to the rack. “Good job,” he said.
“Thanks.” Braden got up, and Gage took his place, lying back on the bench.
“So how are things going?” Braden asked, watching as Gage started his set.
“Fine,” he replied through gritted teeth.
“Getting used to the place?”
“I guess.”
Braden nodded and focused on the bar. Gage completed a few more reps, his mind wandering. Of course, the wandering eventually led to the irritation at the base of his spine.
Lena.
He finished his set and sat up, grabbing his towel. “Can I ask you a question?”
“As long as it's not about my sister,” Braden replied without missing a beat.
“Oh.”
Braden laughed. “I'm kidding, man. Ask away. I'm an open book when it comes to Lena.”
“I bet she appreciates that,” Gage said with a smirk.
He shrugged. “Eh. If she doesn't want me to talk about her, she shouldn't do so much stupid stuff.” He walked over to the dumbbell rack and picked up a pair, starting on bicep curls. “Just keep in mind, she is my sister. So don't say anything that would make me have to defend her honor, you know?”
Lena’s Lucky Charm: Love in Holiday Junction, Book 2 Page 7
