by Jeff Shelby
“Hmm,” Savannah said, her eyes still locked on me, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, winter will be here before you know it! So we should expect you to be ready to volunteer come January?” She paused. “It’s completely understandable that you’ll probably be too busy with the holidays—which is a shame, because we run a tremendous toy drive for the less fortunate here in Bueller County—but once the new year is here, you’ll be up and ready to go!”
I tried to protest but her smile was so expectant, so…knowing, that I simply sighed and said nothing. Elena caught my eye and gave me what looked to be a sympathetic smile, and I wondered if she’d been coerced into volunteering and wasn’t actually a member of the society of her own free will.
Savannah finally shifted her attention away from me and back to Vivian. She perched her hands on her hips. “So, we’re here to show you some of the Halloween decorations we’ve made. We spent the entire day yesterday crafting. It was so much fun, wasn’t it, Elena?”
Elena nodded, a little half-heartedly, it seemed.
Savannah spun around and stooped down, picking up an oversized paper shopping bag. She withdrew a string of paper pumpkins, all still joined together.
“We thought these would be good for the hallways,” Savannah said. “We have twenty strings of them. Aren’t they adorable?”
She held them up for us to see, and we all nodded, even Elena.
She reached into the bag again and pulled out a scarecrow with a felt hat and accordion-style paper arms and legs. “And these,” she said, grinning from ear to ear, “can go on all of the doors. I just love these so much! We have a dozen of them, I think.”
I had to admit, they were cute.
She fished out a few more things: friendly looking bats and spiders, more pumpkin-themed décor, and some harvest-related items. Not a single witch or ghost to be found, but considering it was being held at St. Simon’s, this didn’t much surprise me. I was pretty sure the only otherworldly item allowed in the church was the big man himself.
Vivian managed to look interested in the decorations and fawned over them appropriately, which was exactly what Savannah needed to stroke her ego.
She stowed the items back in her bag and gave us a satisfied smile. “I have all the receipts for the supplies. Of course, we aren’t charging for the labor involved in making all of these because we're volunteers!” She exchanged a smile with Elena, who nodded in agreement. She pulled an envelope from the pocket of her jeans and held it out to Vivian.
“We tried to keep the costs within the decorating budget,” Savannah told her. “And that one store in Winslow—the one with the craft supplies—didn’t charge us tax, so that was super helpful!”
Vivian stared at the envelope. “Why are you giving those to me? I’m not the treasurer.”
Savannah’s smile wavered. “Sophia said that you have one of the checkbooks, and that you’re an authorized signer on the account.”
“I am, but—”
“Great!” Savannah exclaimed. “The total is just under one hundred dollars. I told you we stayed under budget!”
Vivian paled. “You…you want me to write a check right now? Tonight?”
Savannah glanced at Elena, who was looking a little confused. She turned back to Vivian. “Is that a problem?” Savannah asked.
Vivian looked visibly shaken. If I didn’t know what was going on, I might have thought she was ill.
So that’s what I went with.
“Oh my goodness,” I said, rushing toward her.
Vivian watched in horror, as if a bull were charging her. In this case, it only solidified what I was about to do.
I wrapped my arms around her, tight enough so that she couldn’t wiggle out of my grasp.
I turned my head so I could see Savannah and Elena. Both of their mouths were open, their eyes wide.
“She almost fainted earlier,” I explained. “That’s what took her so long to answer the door. I told her I’d get it, but she insisted she was fine.” I was improvising big time now. “Vivian, you need to go straight to bed. This instant. And we need to make sure you get in to see the doctor tomorrow.”
She must have realized what I was doing—giving her a way out—because she suddenly relaxed in my arms. I almost dropped her, and Savannah let out a squeal and Elena gasped as Vivian slipped close to the floor.
I hauled her back to her feet.
The two other women were frozen in place, staring at us.
“I don’t think she’s contagious,” I said. “But there’s this weird virus going around. Something like norovirus, but makes you weak and faint, too.”
“Norovirus?” Elena repeated, her eyes as big as saucers.
“Isn’t that the cruise ship virus?” Savannah asked. “The vomiting one?”
I nodded. “The one and only.”
They both vaulted toward the door, stumbling over each other as they tried to get out of the house.
“We’ll settle up receipts later,” Savannah said hurriedly. “After you…feel better.”
The door slammed behind them and I let go of Vivian.
This time, she did fall to the floor.
But I was pretty sure it was in relief.
FIVE
“This is a great pie.”
I gave Gunnar a dubious look. It was evening, and I’d returned from Vivian’s house an hour earlier. Gunnar and I had plans to hang out that night, and I’d promised him pie. Apple pie, with fresh-from-the-trees apples.
What I’d given him was a slice of pie, all right—minus the burnt topping and the blackened crust.
“It’s half a slice,” I pointed out. “Actually, it’s not even that. You have the middle. The mushy middle. That’s it.”
He sliced off another forkful and raised an eyebrow. “You only gave me half a piece?” With his free hand, he patted his stomach. “What, you think I’m fat or something?”
I couldn’t help but watch. I knew exactly what was under the blue flannel shirt he had on. A firm chest, and an even firmer stomach. Gunnar Forsythe might be pushing fifty, but you’d never know it by looking at him. Sure, his sandy brown hair was sprinkled with gray, and yes, the gray peppered his five o’clock shadow when he let it grow a little longer than usual, but most days, I didn’t think he looked a day over forty.
“Of course not,” I told him, scooting closer to him on the couch. We were parked in my living room, facing the television in preparation for a night of movie watching. But it was still turned off, and the house was peacefully quiet. A fire crackled in the fireplace, courtesy of Gunnar, and a single scented candle—spiced apple, of course—flickered from the side table that was pushed up against the wall.
“So I get more?”
I chuckled. “I think I gave you the only other edible piece.”
He scraped his plate, adding a small chunk of apple to his already loaded fork. “I doubt it,” he said. “I bet you’re just saving the rest for your other boyfriend.”
I rolled my eyes, but his words managed to knot my stomach just a little. Not because I had another boyfriend—I didn’t—but because I wasn’t sure I had a boyfriend, period.
I focused on my own plate, dipping my fork into the dollop of whipped cream I’d squirted on both pieces in an attempt to dress up their pitiful appearance. I brought it to my mouth, letting the cream mingle with the cinnamon and cloves flavoring the apple filling. It was good, I had to admit—even without the crust.
“Is that it?” Gunnar asked. His eyes were on me, his expression mostly neutral.
“Is that what?”
“Are you saving the rest for your other boyfriend?”
I blew my hair away from my face. “You know I don’t have another boyfriend.”
He grinned. “You say you don’t, but what do I know? It’s not like we spend a ton of time together.”
It felt like a bit of a barb, and I bristled. We definitely weren’t attached at the hip, and I sort of liked it that way. I’d moved to
Latney to start new, to strike out on my own and carve out a life that belonged to me. I’d spent the better part of my adult years putting everyone else’s needs and desires ahead of my own. I’d done it willingly, and mostly selflessly, but now it was time to put me first.
I wanted to spend time with me. I wanted to find new hobbies and rekindle old ones. I wanted to try things that scared me—living on a hobby farm had definitely launched me on that path—and things that invigorated me. Most of all, I didn’t want to have to answer to anyone about the decisions I was making in my personal life.
But there was just one problem.
Living a life with just me had turned out to be a little lonely.
And Gunnar had turned out to be pretty good company.
The fact that he was turn-my-knees-to-jelly handsome and that he was as handy as I was not only served to complicate things.
I liked spending time with him, and I liked having him around.
But not too much.
Because I was terrified that he was going to cramp my style. That, like my marriage to Charlie, I would somehow become beholden to him. That I would depend on him. That I would need him.
And I didn’t want to need anyone.
Gunnar must have noticed my expression, or my lack of conversation, because he put his hand on my knee and squeezed gently. “I’m just teasing,” he said, his voice soft. “I hope you know that.”
I gave him a grateful if uncertain smile. He really had been extraordinarily patient with me. Our relationship—if that’s what this was—had moved at a snail-like pace for the past six weeks. And it had all been because of me. Sitting on the couch, watching Gunnar stare at me with those hazel eyes filled with affection, I was pretty sure I knew where he stood: he was all in.
I just had to decide if I was, too.
SIX
A hysterical female woke me up the next morning.
Sophia Rey, to be exact.
My phone started ringing at 7 am on the dot, and I woke up, disoriented. I hadn’t slept well, which I attributed to my conflicted emotions about Gunnar. We’d watched our movie after finishing our slices of almost-pie, and had ended the night with heated kisses that I’d desperately wanted to turn into something more.
I was pretty sure Gunnar wanted that, too, but I’d reined myself in, pulling away and murmuring something about being tired. He’d taken the hint and we’d said our goodbyes.
And I’d tossed and turned half of the night, shifting between considering—and regretting—the what-ifs and telling myself that I was doing the right thing by taking it slow.
I hadn’t managed to fully convince myself of that quite yet.
“Rainy?” Sophia’s voice was almost a screech. “Are you there?”
I rubbed my eyes. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” she practically sobbed. “I…I need to see you, right away!”
I blinked a couple of times, now fully awake. The knot I’d felt forming in my stomach at Vivian’s house yesterday suddenly grew a little bigger.
Because I was pretty sure I knew why she was calling.
“Is this about the bank account?” I asked.
There was a sharp intake of breath. “What? How…how do you know?”
A wave of guilt washed over me. Vivian had told me in confidence, and although I’d honored that and hadn’t mentioned it to Gunnar, I’d just blurted it out to Sophia.
I decided honesty was the best policy. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I…Vivian called me yesterday and I went over to see her. She mentioned there had been some issues with the Ladies Society bank account.”
There was an elongated paused. “What else did she say?”
“Not much,” I answered truthfully. “Just that she went to withdraw money and the bank account was empty. And that you and Walter were coming back from vacation so she hadn’t been able to talk to either of you. Did you find out anything new?”
“No,” Sophia said, her voice catching a little.
“Oh.” I was a little confused. If she had no new information, and she hadn’t even known that I was aware of the situation, then why was she calling me?
“Do you think”—she paused, her swallow audible over the phone—“do you think you might be able to come over?”
“What?” I was now sitting up in bed, the quilt pulled up to my chin. My house was draftier than I’d thought it would be, and I’d realized over the last couple of weeks, as the nights turned colder and the days were slower to warm up, that I was going to need to make some modifications to my bedroom if I didn’t want to turn into a Popsicle over the winter. More blankets, maybe an electric one, and a space heater were looking like must-have items for survival.
“Could you come over?” Sophia repeated.
“Why?”
I wasn’t trying to be obstinate or difficult; I just truly had no idea how she might benefit from having me come to her house.
“I just…” She paused, then hiccupped a little. “I’m just scared. And worried.” Her voice caught, and I could tell she was crying.
I bit back a sigh.
I didn’t want Sophia to be upset— heck, I never wanted anyone to be upset—but I didn’t understand why the women in this town insisted on face-to-face conversations when they were needing advice or a shoulder to cry on. Maybe that was the urbanite in me: maybe living near DC had hardened me, had made me less reliant on real-life conversations and friendships. Not that I didn’t have friends back in Arlington, but our get-togethers had to be arranged around jobs and kids’ schedules and commuting times. I’d spent hours gabbing on the phone with my friends, and our relationships had in no way suffered from our limited physical time together.
“Rainy?” Her voice was timid.
“I’m here.”
I didn’t want to get out of bed. Well, that wasn’t true. I wanted to sprint out of bed, grab a cup of coffee, and then climb back under the covers and settle in with the book on my bedside table and slowly warm up and wake up.
But I knew myself.
I knew that I had a hard time saying no.
I also knew that I didn’t count Sophia as one of my good friends.
But it didn’t matter.
Because I also knew that when push came to shove, I would help out anyone who needed it. It was hard-wired into my being, into my consciousness.
With great effort I threw the covers off of me, shivering as the cold morning air hit my exposed skin. I felt around for my slippers and shoved my feet into them.
“I’m up,” I said, getting to my feet. “And I’m on my way.”
SEVEN
A hysterical woman did not greet me at the door.
But a hysterical dog did.
It was twenty minutes later and after downing a quick cup of coffee and getting dressed, I’d gotten in my car and driven the few minutes it took to get to downtown Latney and Sophia’s house.
I’d never been to the Rey’s house, but I knew where they lived. I’d pretty much figured out where all of the people I was on a first-name basis with lived, even though I’d only ever actually visited a handful of them. Their home was on a quiet residential street just two blocks from the main road. Walter could easily walk to the bank if he wanted to, and Sophia’s little boutique was only a block further down the road.
I’d parked the car and opened the door, watching as my breath blew white smoke in the chilled autumn air. The sun looked watery in the sky, hidden behind a thin haze of clouds, as if it were too tired and too cold to shine any brighter. Leaves rained down on me like yellow and orange confetti.
I knocked on the door of Sophia and Walter’s impressive, two-story colonial, and a dog immediately responded, its high-pitched yipping growing closer as it rushed the door. It clawed at the door, the barking becoming more insistent.
The door opened and the dog, a small white terrier, rushed at my feet, its little stub of a tail wagging furiously, its brown eyes wide with excitement. Or anger. I couldn’t tell.
But it attacked my feet with its tongue, lavishing me with kisses, and I relaxed.
I stooped down to pet it and its pink tongue found my fingers, leaving a wet trail that instantly sparked goose bumps on my arms.
I glanced up and Sophia Rey was standing in front of me, her arms folded across her chest. For all of her hysterics on the phone, she looked remarkably put-together. Her blonde hair was styled in a loose French braid, and she was dressed in gray corduroys and a heather green sweater that matched the jade earrings she wore. The only outward symbol of her distress was her eyes. They were tinged red, confirmation that she had indeed been crying.
“Rainy.” Her smile looked forced. “Thank you so much for coming.” She bent down and scooped up the dog, who turned to her and planted several kisses on her face. “Please, come in.”
I followed her across the threshold and into the house, trying not to stare at the stunning interior and décor. Vivian’s house was beautiful, tastefully decorated, but Sophia’s home was on a level all its own. Gleaming mahogany floors and a grand staircase, polished marble fireplace, expensive and modern-looking black leather couches, spotless glass coffee table and end tables…it was a perfect mash-up of colonial meets modern. I never thought someone could pull something like that off, but Sophia had, and in grand fashion.
“What a lovely home,” I murmured. I was suddenly terrified to follow her into the living room, afraid the soles of my shoes would leave streaks on her perfect floors.
She was too distraught to even hear my words, let alone notice my hesitation over whether or not to remove my shoes. She moved quickly to one of the couches, lowering herself onto one, her shoulders hunched and her eyes downcast.
I tried to tiptoe as I hurried after her. Maybe light pressure on the floor wouldn’t leave any marks. I sat down next to Sophia and the leather squeaked and groaned as my thighs hit the fabric. Maybe I needed to lay off the apple pie.
“Oh, Rainy,” Sophia wailed, her eyes lifting to mine. They were brimming with tears, and I realized she might look put-together but she was as distraught as she’d sounded on the phone. “I don’t know what to do!”
