by Sharon Sala
Don kicked them toward him with the toe of his boot.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you’re pouting and she’s sad, and whatever the hell it is, fix it. We’re having Thanksgiving dinner together next week, and I don’t intend to eat across the table from you two with those hangdog looks on your faces. Understand?”
Mike stood up and fired back at his dad in the same angry tone.
“What’s wrong between us is that I’ve been in love with her since the tenth grade and she has never known it. After all these years, she still doesn’t see it, no matter how much time we spend together. Now she’s on a big kick to restart her life because there’s a new man in it, and once again, it’s not me.”
Don sighed. “I’m sorry. That’s got to be the worst feeling in the world. But I have one question for you. I know you spend time with her, but have you ever once told her how you feel?”
Mike’s face flushed. “No. I don’t want to see the disgust and rejection.”
“Then you have nothing to be pissed about. She’s in the dark, son, and you’re the only one with answers. Either put up or shut up, and quit making everyone else miserable with you. Now hurry up and get over there. Your mom’s making a place for her at the table as we speak.”
He walked out as abruptly as he’d entered.
Mike shoved a hand through his hair in frustration and headed for LilyAnn’s.
***
LilyAnn had made it all the way to the kitchen before she broke down in sobs. She kept remembering all the years she’d seen Mr. Gerty kneeling at his wife’s grave, talking to her as if she was still alive. She’d done the same thing at Randy Joe’s until she’d run out of things to say, mainly because their relationship was barely a year old before he passed, while Mr. and Mrs. Gerty had been married forty years before she passed.
They’d had a lifetime of history together.
She and Randy Joe barely had a year’s worth of memories before he died.
While Mr. Gerty had been given twenty more years to live, he’d chosen to spend it with the dead. If fate hadn’t turned her life around, she might have come to a similar end. Life was hard, but nobody promised it would be easy, and it damn sure wasn’t meant to be wasted. The only good thing about the whole awful event was that Mr. Gerty’s loneliness had come to an end.
She was getting up to get some tissues when she heard footsteps on the porch and then a series of rapid knocks, but she ignored them. Whoever it was, she didn’t want company.
The knocks ended, but seconds later she heard a key rattling in the lock. She ran into the living room just as the door flew inward.
“Mike! What the fuck? I thought someone was breaking into the house.”
“By using a key? And while we’re talking, I can’t believe you just said ‘fuck.’”
She glared. “If I wanted company, I would have answered the door, and I felt like saying fuck because this has been a fucked-up day.”
He sighed.
“Dad told me what happened.”
She snatched the key out of his hand. “So now you know. What do you want?”
“I am to bring you over for supper. Your place has already been set. Dad has chewed my ass for making you sad, and I’m sorry on all accounts.”
Lily’s eyes narrowed angrily. “That is the most pitiful excuse for an apology I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s all I got,” he said, and folded his arms across his chest.
She glared.
He glared back.
“Either you come with me, or Dad will come back and get you. Don’t you get it? When our parents are around, we are no longer in charge of our lives.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I have to wash my face.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I’m changing the hiding place for the extra key,” she muttered.
Mike wanted to put her over his knee. “Fine. Hurry up, okay? I need to sit down.”
“Then for the love of God, sit down!”
She took the extra house key and dropped it in her pocket as she went to the bathroom.
Mike sat because it was that or pass out. He hadn’t exerted this much mental energy on frustration since high school.
His phone rang. He looked at caller ID and sighed.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Is she coming?”
“She’s washing her face.”
“Good.”
The line went dead. He disconnected and dropped the phone back in his pocket just as Lily came back.
He got up and opened the door.
She sailed out, locking it behind her, then dropped the key back in her pocket.
They walked across the yard in silence.
“We’re here!” Mike yelled, as they entered his house.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Carol called.
Lily dropped her coat on the sofa and followed Mike to the kitchen.
Carol smiled and waved when she saw them.
“Sit, sit. Soup’s hot and there’s plenty for seconds.”
“Smells wonderful,” Lily said, as she scooted into a chair and unfolded the napkin in her lap.
The first bite was warm and comforting, and the conversation soon turned to innocent gossip about locals Carol and Don knew.
Mike snuck glances at LilyAnn every chance he got, but he was careful. His parents were too damn nosy about his business, and the last thing he wanted was them feeling sorry for him that he’d wasted his life loving a woman who didn’t love him back.
Still, after nearly dying last week, there were far worse things than settling for second best. He was alive, and while there was life, there was hope.
***
Rachel and Bud Goodhope were playing cards with Willa Dean and Harold Miller when they heard the sirens taking off all over town.
“Oooh, I always hate that sound,” Willa Dean said, and stuck another chip in the guacamole dip and popped it in her mouth. “Yum, Rachel. You make the best guacamole.”
Rachel smiled. “Thank you so much. Cooking is one of my passions.”
Willa Dean wiggled her eyebrows at Rachel, and then they both broke into giggles.
“What’s so funny?” Bud asked.
Harold rolled his eyes as he discarded a card and drew another.
“Don’t ask them stuff like that. You know it has to do with sex. Once a woman passes forty, everything revolves around sex.”
Willa Dean glared. “Harold, the best thing for you right now is to keep your mouth shut.”
Harold’s eyes widened and then he nodded. Ever since Willa Dean had caught him strutting around their bedroom in her underwear, she’d been hell to live with. He’d thought for sure she would divorce him and tell the world what he liked to do, but to his surprise, she did not. She’d taken matters into her own hands and bought herself a vibrator. Now when she disappeared into the extra bedroom, he took himself out of the house.
The sirens faded in the distance, then stopped.
“I wonder what’s happening? Sure hope it’s not another wreck.”
“You were really lucky, girl,” Willa Dean said.
Bud patted his wife’s arm. “For that we are both very grateful.”
“Yes, we’re very grateful,” Rachel said.
A few minutes later, their phone rang.
“Excuse me a minute,” Rachel said, and got up to answer.
They could hear her talking in the other room, and when they heard her gasp and then cry out, they knew something bad had happened. A couple of minutes later she came hurrying back.
“You will not believe what happened. LilyAnn Bronte found Mr. Gerty sitting on a bench in the cemetery. He was dead and stiff as a board. Can you imagine sitting down beside that?”
“Oh dear Lord,” Willa Dean said. “Poor Mr. Gerty. At least he’s finally with his sweet Ina again. As for LilyAnn, I cannot imagine what she must be thinking.”
Rachel was still smarting from the slap-down LilyAnn had
given her and popped off before she thought.
“If I was a man friend of hers, I think I’d be huntin’ me a new friend.”
“What do you mean?” Harold asked.
Rachel discarded. “I’ll take two,” she said, and when Harold dealt her two more cards from the deck, she swept them up into her hands. “That’s better,” she said.
Harold liked LilyAnn. She’d sold him makeup at Phillips’ Pharmacy for years without blinking an eye, even when she knew it wasn’t Willa Dean’s brand, and he knew she’d never said a word about it, so he wasn’t letting the comment go.
“What did you mean about LilyAnn’s men friends?”
Rachel shrugged. “Well, think about it. Randy Joe liked her and he died. Her daddy adored her and he died. She and old man Gerty have been hanging out at that cemetery visiting their loved ones for years, and now he’s dead, too.”
Harold laid down his cards and gave Willa Dean a look.
“I think it’s time we get on home.”
Rachel blinked. “What? We haven’t had any of my bourbon cheesecake yet.”
“It’s like this, Rachel. I think the world of LilyAnn Bronte. She’s one of the sweetest people in Blessings. She’s had some hard luck, but not a damn bit of it is her fault. Randy Joe died in a war, not because he loved her. Her daddy died because he smoked and had a heart attack. And Mr. Gerty was in his nineties, for God’s sake. I venture to say she didn’t have a thing to do with his heart givin’ out. I reckon he died from old age and grief.”
Rachel blinked again. “Well, my goodness. I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”
Harold stood up. “Willa Dean, are you coming?”
She looked at Rachel and shrugged. “It is getting late and all. Thanks so much for everything. Next time it’s at our house, okay?”
Rachel was stunned. She’d never had a man call her down like that. Ever.
“Yeah, sure… No hard feelings, okay, Harold?”
Harold gave her a long look and then shrugged. “No hard feelings, and I hope I don’t hear any more of that crap about LilyAnn bantered about town.”
“If you do, it didn’t come from me,” Rachel said sharply.
Bud was embarrassed, but that was nothing new. Rachel could be a bitch. He’d been on the receiving end of her sharp tongue a few times himself and was secretly tickled that old Harold had called her on it. He helped her clean up and then they went to bed without commenting about the situation, and the moment was soon forgotten.
Later on, they had two couples arrive at the bed and breakfast to spend the night. Bud registered them and got them settled into their rooms, while Rachel began planning the meal.
The next morning she was up before daylight making breakfast. She’d been at it for almost two hours and was frying up the last of the bacon when Bud finally walked into the kitchen.
“Hey, Rachel, how much longer before we set up the sideboard?”
Despite the cold day outside, her kitchen was hot and steamy. She glanced over at the tea cart she’d been loading and then back at the stove.
“About three minutes and you can take it out. Are they waiting? Please tell me they’re not waiting.”
“No, but I can hear them moving around upstairs and they did say they were checking out early.”
Rachel reached for the tongs to take the remaining bacon strips out of the pan, and as she did, the grease popped out onto a hot burner, which caused a quick flare-up. Those flames flared back into the hot grease in her pan, and before she knew it, grease was popping and the flames were over her head.
She screamed and slammed a lid onto the pan. It smothered the fire, but not before she’d gotten a dose of the flames.
Bud was at her side in a flash, but it was after the fact. The fire was out. The bacon was burned, and Rachel’s eyebrows and bangs looked like they’d melted.
“Oh honey, are you all right?” Bud asked.
Rachel was already wrapping a handful of ice cubes in a towel to put on the burn splatters on her arms.
“I guess. Thank goodness my clothes didn’t catch fire.” She glanced at the bacon she’d already cooked. “There’s no time to cook more. What’s there will have to work.”
“That’s plenty,” Bud said. “You sit down and ice the burns. I’ll put out the food and hold court. You don’t need to come out unless you want to.”
“Thanks,” she muttered.
She could hear the couples gathering out in the dining room and sighed with weary satisfaction as they began tasting and exclaiming over the food she’d sent out.
The ice helped allay the pain of the small rising blisters on her arms, and when they felt better, she got up to go wash her face. That’s when she saw her hair.
“Oh, for the freaking love of God! My eyebrows! My hair! Is Bud blind? I’m ruined!”
In a panic, she returned to the kitchen and began cleaning up the mess. As soon as the guests checked out, she was going to The Curl Up and Dye. Bud could clean up the rooms. She had a hair emergency.
***
Vesta and Vera were working side by side doing haircuts, while Mabel Jean was cleaning up her station from her last customer.
Ruby was on the phone at the front counter when Rachel walked in. She glanced up and smiled, motioning that she would be off in a few seconds, and then noticed the condition of Rachel’s face and hair.
“Hey, Moira, I have to go. I’ll see you at 2:00 p.m. tomorrow.”
She headed for Rachel with her hands outstretched.
“What on earth happened?”
“Oh, Sister, I had a little fire in the kitchen this morning,” Rachel said.
“Are you in pain?”
Rachel was struggling not to cry. “Some. It feels like I’ve been stung by a swarm of bees. What can you do with my face and brows?”
“Come sit,” Ruby said, leading her to a shampoo chair. She ran her fingers through Rachel’s hair, then felt her eyebrows. “I think we can fix this so it doesn’t look so shocking. Although the surface is singed, you still have brows. Do you trust me to do what I can?”
Blinking back tears, Rachel nodded, and with that, Ruby got down to work.
Rachel heard the chatter going on in the shop but was beyond caring about the gossip. She was too worried about becoming presentable again.
The bell over the door continued to jingle as people came in and went out. It was no big deal until Rachel realized one voice she was hearing belonged to LilyAnn. She was still smarting from the put-down the woman had given her at the hospital but didn’t have a leg of indignation to stand on. The truth was she did have an eye on Mike Dalton. But to be fair, she had an eye out for any eligible male, and some who were not.
***
Vera was manning the counter when LilyAnn walked in. They all knew about her finding Mr. Gerty’s body but figured the less they mentioned it, the happier she would be.
“Hi there, sugar. What can I do for you?”
“I would like to change my hair appointment time next week.”
“Okay, let’s see what we can do. What day?” Vera asked.
“Mama and Eddie are coming in Wednesday for Thanksgiving, so if Ruby has an opening at noon on Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, it would be helpful. They’ll be leaving sometime Friday, and I don’t want to miss my visit because I’m getting my hair done.”
“Hang on, let me check,” Vera said. She scanned Ruby’s appointment book, then looked up. “She can do you at 12:30 on Tuesday. How would that work?”
“It will be fine,” LilyAnn said. “I’ll just take my lunch hour thirty minutes later. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, sugar. We’ll still see you this Friday, right?”
Lily nodded.
“Okay then. So, you take care, okay?”
Lily nodded and left, grateful they hadn’t mentioned Mr. Gerty. Work was a madhouse today. Everyone who came in wanted to talk about it.
But she wasn’t the only one relieved to have es
caped confrontation. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Lily leave.
“Let’s move over to my styling chair and see what we can do,” Ruby said, as she wrapped a clean towel around Rachel’s head.
Rachel did so with alacrity, hoping Ruby could perform, at the least, a small miracle. Between her recent accident and now this, she was wondering if God was trying to tell her to change her ways. She certainly hoped not. She liked her ways just fine the way they were.
She clenched her jaw as Ruby picked up her scissors and spun the chair around so Rachel could no longer see what was happening. At that point, like the wreck and the fire, it was out of her hands.
***
T. J. Lachlan had finally finished painting the interior of the house and was moving on to exterior repairs. He’d been up in the attic often enough to know there was a leak on the roof, and he had a general idea of where it was. He’d climbed up on the roof an hour earlier, found the leak, and was in the process of patching it when he heard a noise down below. He looked over his shoulder just as the top rungs of the ladder began sliding sideways and then disappeared from sight. He heard a loud thud as the ladder hit the ground.
“What the fuck!” he yelled, and eased back to the edge of the roof just in time to see a large bull making an exit up the drive.
He didn’t know where the bull had come from, but the puzzle was moot. The bigger question was: how was he going to get down? The house was two-story. The roof was steep. There was a chimney, but he was no Santa-fucking-Claus. He sat down and then took out his cell phone.
This was embarrassing as hell, but he was never going to get down without help. He could call 911, but if he did, everyone in town would know. It was hard to maintain a macho attitude when you were the joke of the week. The only local phone number he had on speed dial was The Curl Up and Dye. Even if he called them, he was wondering how they could help.
A cold gust of wind blew up the back of his jacket, which reminded him that spending the night on the roof was out of the question.
“The Curl Up and Dye, it is,” T. J. muttered, and took out his phone.
***
Ruby turned off the blow-dryer, then picked up a teasing comb and a can of hair spray, eyeing what she’d just done for Rachel’s hair.
