by Kim Amos
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Friday, October 12, 7:31 a.m.
Willa spent a restless night, tossing and turning, worrying that the heater would give out, that the pipes would freeze, or that all the fallen snow would collapse the garage in the back of the house, or even the front porch. There was also the gnawing anxiety that Lance would leave his pile of blankets in the living room floor and try to enter her bedroom. She’d latched her door, but she worried that he’d start murmuring more dark words, lacing them with enough sweetness to convince her to do something foolish.
She would never, ever give him money or help him flee the country. But she just didn’t trust herself beyond that. She had been so stupid, after all. Naïve in thinking she could start an East Coast B and B in her hometown; ridiculous to think she could ignore her past; ludicrous to think she could rekindle things with Burk.
Willa squeezed her eyes closed.
Something deep inside her ached at the memory of Burk’s leaving, his hastily pulled-on clothes rumpled and askew. His truck had rumbled to life with enough noise to jar her heartbeat.
She’d closed the door on him, hating that he was leaving.
But she hated that he would put the house before her even more.
She clutched her pillow, still able to smell Burk’s piney scent on the sheets. This time, he’d stayed long enough in bed for his smell to rub off on the fabric, on her skin, on her heart if she was honest.
Wrapped in bed with Burk, she’d been stupid enough to believe that he liked her. Cared about her, even.
It was a ridiculous thought. She should have let their relationship end after the first fuck.
Willa wiped away a tear that had found its way down her cheek. She sniffed and sat up. Crying wouldn’t do at all. It was time to figure out what was next. And to move forward. Whatever that meant.
“It means I should get dressed,” she muttered, pulling on a pair of athletic pants and a sweatshirt. Her whole body ached as if she’d had back-to-back track practices.
When she went downstairs, she found Lance wasn’t faring much better. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he moved stiffly. Sleeping on the floor must have left him sore all over. His now dry designer clothes were back on his person, but they were water stained and rumpled from yesterday’s adventures in the snow.
“Morning,” he said, folding the last of his blankets and stacking them next to the blue table. He tried to smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. “You don’t happen to have any coffee, do you?”
Willa shook her head. “No. The coffeemaker is all packed away. If we can get the car out, though, we could head down and see if the Rolling Pin is open.”
Lance arched a brow. “The Rolling Pin?”
“The coffee is good. So are the donuts.”
“I’m sure,” he said, in a way that made it clear he wasn’t.
Ignoring him, Willa walked to a front window and looked out the wavy glass. The sun was just up, and twinkling on all the fallen snow. She could hear the pluck, pluck of melting snow dripping off the roof. The day was warming already, and with any luck the snow would start to disintegrate in earnest.
She pulled on her new boots, then shrugged on her jacket. “I’m going to see if I can’t shovel us out a bit.”
Lance placed his hands on his lean hips. His eyes lingered on her functional boots. “You? Are going to shovel? Isn’t there someone you can…hire to do that?”
Willa nearly laughed out loud. “I’d make your privileged ass do it, but you don’t have the right attire. You’ll freeze all over again.”
Lance poked a cheek with his tongue. “You’re seriously going outside?”
“Either I do this, or we’re stuck here. Without coffee.”
She turned toward the door, but he grabbed her upper arm, stopping her short. She glanced at his long fingers sinking into the fabric of her coat, and felt a prickle of unease.
“Willa,” he said smoothly, “please, just stop a minute to look at yourself. Look at what you’re wearing. Look at what you’re doing. It’s as if you’ve been taken hostage by someone else. A stranger.”
Willa yanked her arm away. “I have not.”
“Those boots? Manual labor? Look, I’m not saying this is a bad life for some people, but this isn’t your life.” He leaned in, and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Willa, please. Leave with me. I’ll call the tow truck and get the rental car out. I’ll book us tickets. We’ll leave today.”
She shook her head, wishing Burk could want her half as much as Lance seemed to right now. “Excuse me,” she muttered, twisting away from Lance’s hand and walking out the front door. She waded into the mounds of snow in her practical boots, and started heaving piles of the stuff away from her car.
When her chest rose and fell with the effort, when her skin burned and her face was streaked with sweat, she was glad. She was grateful to feel anything besides the cold hollow of hurt inside herself.
* * *
The day was heating up into the forties, and the Rolling Pin welcomed customers as the snow puddled into drains, washing down to the Birch River. The coffee was warm and fresh, and they even offered a “snowpocalypse” special: two powdered donuts for the price of one.
Willa ordered the special, eating both donuts in quick succession as she and Lance sat at a small enamel-topped table near the counter. He barely picked at his, but Willa hardly cared if he had an appetite. Let him starve for all it mattered.
Lance called the tow truck as they finished up their coffees, and got the rental delivered back to Willa’s house.
“It’ll be there soon. We can drive it to the airport together. You and me. And we can leave together.”
Willa shook her head. “No. I can’t.”
“Why’s that? Give me one good reason that this town should keep you.”
Her overwrought brain worked to formulate an answer. Because of Knots and Bolts and the recipe exchange. Because of the track team. Because of Burk. Because in spite of everything, she was finding herself here.
“I belong in White Pine now. I’m not leaving.”
Lance frowned. “Is it that man who was in your house last night? Is he keeping you here?”
“No.”
“Oh, you never were a good liar, Willa. Tell me, is he a mechanic perhaps? No, wait, a farmer?”
“He’s my contractor. And my high school boyfriend.”
Lance snorted. “Oh God,” he said, “you cannot make this stuff up. It’s too good to be true. And yet you stand here like there isn’t more for you in the world. Like there isn’t more for us.”
“Because there isn’t,” Willa said, standing. “I’m done listening to you.”
Lance followed Willa out and stood by the Volvo as she unlocked the driver’s side. When she didn’t unlock the passenger side, he tapped on the window. “Hello?”
Willa started the car and cracked the passenger window. “You know what, Lance? I grew up here. This place means something to me, even if it’s just a big joke to you. Maybe you can think about that while you walk back to my house and wait for the tow truck. And then think about it some more when you go back to New York and face the consequences of ripping people off. Oh, and I recommend getting some boots from the hardware store before you set out. The walk’s likely to be slushy. They open at ten.”
Lance’s face darkened. “Willa, stop. You can’t be seri—”
She pulled away from the curb, leaving him standing there, mouth half open, in a state of shock that had her smiling into the rearview mirror.
* * *
It had felt so good to leave Lance behind that Willa almost didn’t notice Pastor Sondheim as she drove past Knots and Bolts. He was peeking in the windows, presumably trying to see if Betty was around.
She pulled the Volvo over and climbed out. “Pastor Sondheim, can I help you?”
He squinted at her in the morning sun, scrunching up his face as if all the light were distast
eful and he preferred the snow and cold.
“Is Betty here?” he asked, taking off his knit cap like a gentleman caller.
“Not from the looks of it,” Willa said, “but you’re more than welcome to come in and wait for her if you want.”
Willa knew it was a ballsy move, inviting the pastor into Knots and Bolts like that, but she wanted to think maybe Randall and Betty might be able to kindle the flame flickering between them. Besides, it was much more fun to think about the two of them, versus her own problems with Burk and the house.
“I—I don’t know,” the pastor stalled.
“Come on,” Willa insisted, leading him to the back. Grabbing the key from the potted plant, she let them both in. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim interior—a stark contrast to the brightening day outside.
“Betty?” she called, not entirely surprised when she didn’t get an answer. Most likely Betty was running errands, probably shipping some vintage Halloween gear at the post office. It wasn’t as if the morning after a huge snowstorm was a big time for fabric purchases, after all. That is, unless you were Randall Sondheim.
She flicked on some lights and peeled off her coat. In the kitchenette, she started water for tea. “Hope herbal is okay; it’s all we have,” she said.
The pastor stood there, his thick brown eyebrows drawing together like fuzzy caterpillars, his rounded shoulders hunching even more. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.
Willa thought he was probably wondering about the propriety of the situation. If Betty were here, no one would question them being alone together because it was her place of business. Willa, on the other hand, was an unknown.
He studied her with his piercing gray eyes. “You’re friends with Betty, then?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“You know her pretty well?”
“We went to high school together,” she said, “but there was a long period when we didn’t see each other. You could say we’re getting reacquainted.”
“But you could—you know her, ah, preferences?”
It dawned on Willa that the good pastor was after intel on her friend. “You’d better come in if you want to really talk about this, Pastor Sondheim.”
With barely a nod, he replied, “Call me Randall,” and shrugged off his coat.
He relaxed just slightly as Willa poured the tea. “The table is red,” he observed, and she fought the urge to giggle. How did this man think he was going to keep up with Betty? Then again, she thought, gesturing for him to take a seat, maybe it was about putting together two complementary personalities instead of those that were exactly alike. The pastor would certainly provide a quieter balance to Betty’s outspoken ways, which might not be a bad thing. Maybe Randall could even exert some influence on her.
She caught him opening up a cupboard filled with booze, then closing it quickly.
Once their mugs were filled, Willa took a seat across from him. “So you’re interested in Betty?”
He shifted, his thin lips pressing together so much they almost disappeared. His manners were octogenarian-like, making him seem ancient. Yet with a full head of hair and high cheekbones, Randall wasn’t unattractive. In fact, if it weren’t for his slumped posture and his dowdy disposition, he might actually be okay looking.
“I was, uh, hoping Betty and I could get to know each other, um, better, yes,” he stumbled.
“Does she know you’re into her?”
He took a nervous sip of tea. “I don’t—I haven’t declared my intentions, no.”
Willa smiled. “Well, it’s not the 1800s. You don’t have to court her formally and fill out her dance card. But if she thinks you keep coming into her store for fabric for your chair, you might want to tell her that it’s not exactly a bolt of cloth you’re after.”
The pastor’s face reddened. He concentrated on dunking his tea bag into his water, over and over. “It’s certainly difficult,” he said, not looking at Willa. “I’m not sure I’m her type.”
“Betty’s a pistol, it’s true, but hopefully that’s what you like about her. She’s certainly straight to the point.”
At this, the pastor’s gray eyes found hers. “It’s remarkable,” he said, “her forthrightness. I’ve never met anyone with such a gift for being frank. It’s terribly admirable. It’s forced me to—well, as you can imagine, I’m not much of a suitor. But I am compelled to pursue her. I just lack the, ah, refinement for the process.”
Willa felt a surge of sympathy for the poor pastor. He was attracted to Betty for the things that made her Betty, and she couldn’t fault him for that.
“All right,” she said, “it’s show time. Are you ready?”
The pastor blinked. “You think I should take her to a show? Perhaps a play of some sort?”
Willa laughed. “No, no. It’s just an expression. Show time? Like, the curtain is—oh, never mind. Look, I think the fastest way to Betty’s heart is by being as honest with her as she is with everyone else. I think she respects that. So the next time you see her, you can’t beat around the bush. You have to be straightforward. Practice it if you have to, but say something like, ‘Betty Lindholm, I like you and I want to take you out on a date. I think next Friday night is perfect. What do you say?’ And then go from there.”
Randall didn’t look so sure. “Maybe this is all a terrible idea. Perhaps I’m just not meant to date anyone.”
Willa folded her arms. “Are you required to be celibate?”
“No, of course not. I’m Lutheran, not Catholic.”
“Then stop putting up roadblocks. She might say no, it’s true, but you should try. You seem like a decent guy. And Betty’s watching way too much Law & Order these days. You could get her out of the house.”
For a moment, there was the hint of a smile at the corners of the pastor’s mouth, then it vanished. “Well, you know what the Bible says.”
“Go forth and multiply?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘You have not because you ask not.’”
“Oh. Right.”
Randall pushed his chair back from the table. “You’ve been very helpful. I appreciate it. It’s not always easy for me to talk with people, but you’ve made this very enjoyable.” He drank the last of his tea, then stood.
Willa walked him to the door. “It’s a funny profession to be in,” she said after he’d pulled his coat back on, “being a pastor, I mean. Especially when talking to people isn’t your thing.”
He nodded. “It’s true. I often don’t feel qualified to do what I’m doing, but I can’t seem to escape my calling. I’m better at the pulpit than in person, I think. And no matter what, I have it easier than Moses.”
“Why, what was his deal?”
The pastor surprised her by smiling fully. She caught a glimpse of his teeth, of all things.
“Moses was a stutterer,” he said. “I’m grateful not to have a speech impediment on top of all my other deficiencies.” With a last nod, he pulled on his cap, and stepped back into the bright afternoon.
Willa closed the door behind him, laughing to herself. If the pastor did ask Betty out, she had no doubt the Knots and Bolts crew would hear about it at length. Betty would tell them all in her no-nonsense way, and probably have them wheezing with laughter within minutes.
She was already looking forward to it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Friday, October 12, 6:02 p.m.
Anna opened the door, took one look at Burk’s face, and dropped the towel she was holding.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, pulling him through the doorway. Inside her home, it smelled like fresh bread, chocolate, and warm spices. No doubt Anna was getting the meal pulled together for tonight, without the faintest idea of what had transpired with Willa the day before.
“I have to talk to you,” he said as she led him to the kitchen. Juniper was at the table, coloring, until she caught sight of her uncle.
“Burby!” she cried, opening her chu
bby arms for a hug. Even in his wretched state, Burk still smiled at her nickname for him. His heart stirred at the sight of his niece’s round cheeks and her delighted smile. He gave her a squeeze, pausing to take in the scent of her hair and skin. It was a precious smell, sweet enough to give his aching insides a brief respite.
He set her down, but she pounded on his outer thigh. “Horsey!” she demanded.
Burk looked at his sister. “Um, I think we’d better get Sam in here. And maybe let Juniper watch a princess movie or something.”
At the word princess, Juniper’s ears perked up. “Ariel!” she cried, for The Little Mermaid.
Anna nodded. “Come on, babe,” she said, taking Juniper’s tiny hand. “We’re going to break all the rules and let you watch a movie before dinner. How do you like that?”
Juniper giggled, and Anna got her set up in the next room, calling for Sam as she did so. Her husband came into the kitchen, and grasped Burk’s strong hand with his own.
“Heya, Burk,” he said, grinning his lopsided smile. The men had been friends ever since Anna had introduced Sam to the family, and Burk had always liked his brother-in-law. He appreciated Sam’s passion for classic rock, liked that he held a steady job as an IT professional over at the hospital, and was flattered that he seemed to look up to Burk like a big brother.
But most of all, he knew how deeply Sam loved Anna. And for that, Sam could be a garbage man with halitosis and Burk wouldn’t care, so long as Anna was happy.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked, pushing his floppy brown hair away from his forehead.
“I’d better wait to tell you and Anna together.”
“Sounds serious. Is it beer serious?”
“This might be whiskey serious.”
“Uh-oh,” Sam replied. “Beer and a bump, then.” He got a bottle of whiskey down from the cupboard above the fridge, poured them each a shot, and opened two beers. They’d just downed the shot at the counter, grimaces still on their faces, when Anna returned to the kitchen.
“It’s whiskey serious?” she asked, studying them both. “Good Lord. Pour me one, then.”
