by Kym Roberts
“I . . .” Something like shame crawled up my back and had the nerve to sit on my shoulder. I brushed it off. “I didn’t know my dad felt anything, except maybe relief that he didn’t have to deal with my drama.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to know. You weren’t here. But Cade was. Wherever your dad went off to, Cade found him and somehow compelled him to come back. Made him promise to go to the games or he wouldn’t play. Made the team go up to the store and ask your dad for books. He didn’t care if they asked for vintage girlie magazines or car manuals, so long as they made him work at finding it.
“He had the athletic boosters giving out coupons—buy two books, get one free—to everyone who bought something at the concession stands during the game. He talked the yearbook staff into creating a calendar with pictures of all the athletes in the bookstore reading books. The calendar sold like hotcakes and has become an annual tradition.”
“Who paid for that?”
“Cade.”
I looked over at the boy I’d known, who’d grown up into a man I didn’t. He was talking to Darrin and the coach. From the bits and pieces I could hear, they were strategizing next week’s game.
Aubrey interrupted the conversation and all three men looked at her. “This is why you should go to the University of East Texas,” she explained. “They use the Don Coryell style of offense.” She pushed aside her silverware and napkin and began drawing circles, Xs, and lines on the paper place mat, becoming animated about what she had to say. The men listened intently. Darrin’s eyes lit up before he pulled her into his arms and squeezed a giggle right out of her. Then he kissed her temple, and Aubrey had more than one lone star of Texas shining in her eyes. Coach and Cade seemed equally impressed, nodding their heads in appreciation.
It was another aspect of the young couple’s relationship that was different than mine had been with Cade. I never would have felt comfortable enough to put my two cents into a football conversation with Cade and Coach. In fact, I had often walked away when Cade started talking about the game. Not because I wasn’t interested but because I’d always felt like I was intruding. Now, I wondered if I’d contributed to our breakup.
Maybe Cade wasn’t all about himself. Maybe he did care about other people the way I once thought he had. Yet, if I didn’t believe Cade killed Marlene, I’d have to look in my father’s direction, and that wasn’t sitting well with me at all.
I turned my attention back to Scarlet. “Where did Cade find my dad?”
She gave me a look that dared me to take a risk. “I don’t know.” She nodded in his direction. “That’s something you’d have to ask him.”
For a moment I couldn’t move. Then the disappointment in my lack of spine flashed in her eyes before she shook her head in resignation. It seemed Princess wasn’t the only one who disapproved of me backing down. Scarlet became interested in the ice in her glass as she stirred it around with her straw. With each clink, I heard her disillusionment.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I stood up and walked over to Cade before I lost the nerve. I was ready to listen, give him a chance at being a friend, and a friend only, if it meant finding my father.
His eyes met mine the moment I stood up. As if he’d been waiting for me to make a move the entire time. With the grace of an athlete, he unfolded himself from the booth and met me halfway, concern written across his face.
His hand reached out and touched my arm as he searched my face for answers. “Are you okay?”
I took a step back, not wanting him to think I was just another woman in a long line of women who wanted that kind of comfort from him. His hand dropped.
“Yeah. I’m good. I just need to know something,” I said.
Our conversation was starting to draw attention. Not because it was particularly interesting but because he was the mayor and I was the girl who’d left town in a cloud of rumors.
“Why don’t we sit at the counter?” Cade put his hand at the small of my back and led me to a barstool made out of an old saddle. Anywhere else it would have felt weird, but in Hazel Rock it was right at home. I straddled the worn leather and turned toward Cade as he took a seat to my left.
“Where did you find my dad after I left town?” I watched his face, looking for a denial or a lie.
But his only reaction was a defeated shake of his head. “I already looked. He wasn’t there.”
“Where was it?” I asked.
The waitress came by, and Cade ordered a sweet tea for me and a glass of water for himself. I wanted to say I already had one at the table, but I needed answers and the faster she left, the better off I was.
As soon as she departed, he said, “At my family’s cabin near Enchanted Rock.”
I drew back in surprise. Our families had never been close. “How did he get inside your family’s cabin?”
Then Cade dropped a bomb. “J. C. told him he could stay there as long as he wanted to.”
“Your dad?” I couldn’t believe it.
Cade nodded. “He recognized his part in your dad’s misery.”
“Oh.” There wasn’t much else to say. We sat there in silence, thinking about our dads; both had made huge errors and both seemed to make an effort to fix the damage they’d done. Could I ask for more?
“Did J. C. allow dad to use it again?” Someone had to know where my dad was.
He shook his head slowly. “No. I even drove up to make sure he wasn’t lying to me. Your dad wasn’t there.”
I hadn’t realized how much hope I’d held that Cade knew where my father was. He could very well be dead somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, his body left for the coyotes to ravage. “Where would he go?”
“I don’t know.”
Cade didn’t sound defeated. Stumped, maybe, but not doomsday-ish, the way I was feeling. “Where did Marlene live?” I asked, hoping it was in another county and the police just hadn’t made it there yet.
Cade’s response tore that dream in half. “In town. She and your dad bought a house together.”
“So it’s true?” Dad’s almost-empty closet made a lot more sense now.
“What?”
“I suspected my dad hadn’t been living in the apartment, but I wasn’t sure.”
Cade nodded and took a drink of the water the waitress had just delivered with a flirty smile. I ignored it, telling myself it didn’t matter. Just like Reba Sue and Cade embracing didn’t mean anything. A couple weeks from now these people would be in my past once again.
It wasn’t quite working. I caught myself glaring.
“Your dad moved out about a month ago. But he still used the apartment. He couldn’t quite let it go.”
“How do you know so much about my dad?” I wondered if what Scarlet had said was true. Had Cade been his friend or just a mayor wanting the approval of a voter?
Cade shrugged and almost looked embarrassed. “We’re friends. Friends talk.”
It was time to find out if Cade really was the same person I knew growing up. “How did you become friends?”
“Through football. After you left, your dad didn’t have much to do, so he kept busy supporting the team. He came to games and talked to me about how I did afterward. It started one Saturday after I had a bad game. He sat me down right over there and told me I was projecting too much. The defenders knew where I was going to throw the ball before I did. From that point on we met every Saturday to discuss how I’d played.”
“And when you went to college? Surely it didn’t continue.” It just sounded too weird, my dad and my ex-boyfriend hanging out together.
Cade shrugged. “I came home on Sunday and we had brunch. It was like having my own personal quarterback coach. Your dad took a deeper interest in my skills than my dad ever did.”
“But your dad lived for your career,” I insisted.
Cade shook his head, the sadness in his eyes dulled through years of acceptance. “My dad wasn’t interested in teaching me anything. He was interested in braggin
g about my success. There’s a difference.”
We sat in silence, the smell of the grill making my stomach growl. Cade didn’t say a word about how he’d helped my dad come out of his shell or the dark place he’d disappeared into. Just that my dad had helped him during his time of need.
That’s the way I knew my dad—the guy to turn to in your time of need, not the other way around. Unless of course you were a teenage girl with a broken heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Mateo showed up at the diner shortly after my conversation with Cade and announced the all clear to return to the bookstore. Not everyone was enthusiastic about the prospect of more work in my bookstore. The store where I was getting creepy messages delivered in graphic style and a woman had been murdered. I felt the need to give them all a pass.
“I understand if y’all don’t want to go back to The Barn . . .” I started to say.
Coach Purcell interrupted. “Don’t be ridiculous. My boys aren’t afraid of a few words scribbled in paint. But you’ll need to buy some more water. My boys won’t drink the well water.”
I was about to get offended by his comment about our well water, but then I saw the boys stand up taller, jutting out young chests that wanted to belong on men. Cade and Mateo shared a knowing look, like they were reliving their own teenage drive to manhood.
Then Aubrey did the same thing, only she was ready to take the lead. “Let’s go whip that Princess into shape!” she yelled.
I was pretty sure she’d recognized how bad the words sounded as soon as they left her mouth. If it’d been me, I would have crawled under a rock, but Aubrey stood tall at five-foot-two and allowed the shade of red to cover her face and neck as more than a few guys snickered in response.
Darrin stepped up, “You heard her, it’s time to get to work.” His support did the trick. He and Aubrey led the pack back to The Barn together.
I turned to see if Cade saw us reflected in them, both the similarities and the differences. The mistakes and missteps we’d made were being handled so much better by the next generation to graduate from Hazel Rock High.
He was watching me, pain visible in his expression. “I should have done that,” he confessed.
“Done what?” My question was barely audible, but he heard it. Both of us recognizing my need to hear his response.
“When the guys talked, I should have shut it down immediately. I’m sorry. I was immature and hurting and I just thought . . .” Cade shook his head and looked away for a moment. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
He wasn’t. I knew he wasn’t, and I needed to let go of the pain that had built walls between us. I didn’t want a relationship with him, because it was obvious he hadn’t grown in that department. But we both needed to heal. From what Scarlet had told me, Cade had been paying his debt to me since the day I left town, and he’d more than paid in full. I touched his arm.
“I’m not that girl anymore either. I may not be as carefree as I once was, but I’m a heck of a lot stronger.” It was true. My teen self wouldn’t go back year after year to the cutie pie booth and take the heckling and the abuse. Sure I’d avoided it this year, but it wasn’t because of embarrassment or humiliation. I actually enjoyed the camaraderie and fun of the whole event. No, I’d avoided it this year simply because of my hair. Vanity to the extreme.
I smiled and took the arm Cade offered as we walked out of the diner together. Scarlet, Mateo, and Coach were standing together, staring at the exterior of The Barn.
“That pink seriously has to go,” I said.
Cade and Mateo were holding their breath. Neither one daring to agree or disagree.
“What’s wrong with it?” Coach asked. He was definitely color blind.
“I think you could get by with a whitewash. It’d be cheaper and it’d take on the boutique look I think your dad was trying to accomplish. . . plus you could leave the name across the loft door. If you destroy the name . . .” Scarlet bit her lip and shook her head.
She was right of course. If I tried to repaint the whole barn, it would cost me a fortune I didn’t have. And my dad had changed the name for a reason. Granted there was an armadillo sleeping under the counter who had her likeness on the front of the store, but both were a tribute to a daughter who’d left and hadn’t returned. The sooner I accepted that, the better off I’d be.
“Yeah, but I’m not going to be around that long and I really can’t afford to pay someone to do it.” That was the understatement of the year. If I ever got out of the debt I was carrying, I was going to cut my credit cards in half, then shred the pieces so I wouldn’t be tempted to put them back together.
“I’ve got some extra whitewash we didn’t use on one of my construction sites. You could use it,” Cade volunteered.
“I can’t—”
“It’s helping the town’s overall appearance. And hopefully keeping anyone else from thinking about painting their salon purple.” Cade winked at Scarlet, who punched him in the arm.
“That was a joke, Mayor Calloway. I was never going to paint Beaus and Beauties purple. Now go get a few cases of water like the Coach said.” She linked her arm in mine and pulled me off the porch to cross the street.
“But I can’t afford to pay anyone to paint it,” I whispered to Scarlet.
She promptly turned her head back and ground my pride into the dirt. “Mayor, I’m sure you’ll make arrangements with Coach to have The Barn painted?”
“Scarlet!” I hissed and would have stopped in the middle of the road if she hadn’t ignored me completely and dragged me with her toward the store. She looked over her shoulder, obviously expecting a response from Cade.
He laughed and nodded his head as he and his old mentor followed us. “Yes, ma’am. Coach and I will get on that right away. Mateo will make a run for the water.” Cade winked in my direction right before Scarlet pulled me inside The Barn.
I didn’t see Cade or Coach for the rest of the afternoon, we were too busy moving stacks of books from one end of the store to the other to notice they’d disappeared. Scarlet grabbed Aubrey, Darrin, and Brad to help her carry over some of her artwork. To be honest, I hadn’t thought much about selling it until I saw it.
It was one of those lightbulb moments. Electricity crackling through my brain like lightning in a dark cloudy sky. Where there had been signs of the darkness winning the night, light broke through.
Scarlet’s art was brilliant.
She had gourds of all sizes and shapes—all made out of books. The covers had been removed and the pages fanned by the front one being glued to the back. The rectangular shapes now shorn into the various profiles of fruit and vegetables. The edges of the pages painted various shades of orange, off white, brown, and even some apple red, while others had been left natural. The stems ranged from sticks to book spines twisted into curves above the plump fruit forms. Some had leaves made out of lace or burlap, and others utilized the covers as cute cutouts of foliage. The ones I liked best had no adornments beyond the stem and a little Spanish moss.
Then Scarlet brought out a beautiful tea set I seriously wanted to keep for myself. The teapot, made in the same fashion as the gourds, didn’t have a lot of shape to it. Tall and cylindrical, it had a circular top that had been cut out of a book page and then adorned with gold silk flowers to make a knob handle on top. There were gold emblems attached to the front with ribbon and lace, which made it look like a family crest. The spout and handle were created from more pages, curving and spiraling with the grace of real silver. There was a shorter creamer decorated in similar fashion with the bottom edge cut to give it an inward curve. A spoon, which I suspected was découpaged silver, lay next to it. The two teacups reminded me of Alice in Wonderland, but the saucers were the coup de grâce. Aged yet beautiful, the original covers for Agatha Christie’s The Body in the Library and The Moving Finger were now cut into the appropriate-size circle with an inner rim that hugged the teacups in the middle of the plate and completed the set. Miss Marple wo
uld have been proud of the attention to detail.
The set was absolutely stunning. To say they were pieces of art was an understatement. Scarlet didn’t just have mad skills as a hairdresser, she was an artist.
“OMG, Scarlet, are you sure you want to sell these?” I asked.
A little part of that bookworm I’d seen in the principal’s office during high school returned. “You don’t like them.”
It wasn’t a question. It was more of an I-knew-it type of statement laced with self-doubt.
“Are you kidding me? I love them!” I practically yelled.
Scarlet didn’t hear a word. She began rattling on about destroying the written word and art shouldn’t destroy art. I grabbed her arm before she could put the tea set back in the plastic tub.
“Scarlet, I absolutely, positively love them.”
“Really?” She wore two shades of red I’d never seen on her face before: embarrassment and something I couldn’t fathom. Humiliation.
She doubted my absolutely, positively. It always worked with five-year-olds.
I smiled. “Really. They’re so beautiful, I can’t imagine selling them.”
“You don’t think they’re an insult to the author who wrote them?”
I frowned, thinking about what she’d said. I suppose some people might take it that way, but I didn’t. I’m not sure why I didn’t perceive it as a slight on the author’s talent. I just saw it for what it was: creating a treasure out of something I cherished.
Scarlet turned away. “I knew it. Marlene was right. Readers will be completely offended by what I’ve done to the soul of our humanity.”
I didn’t know what Scarlet was talking about, and for a moment I stood in stunned silence. With downcast eyes and shoulders slumped, Scarlet grabbed for the tub to pack her art away. It was only then that I began to realize the gravity of the moment.
