“Say something.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Mol. I’m sure there’s a way we can you get out of the contract.”
Molly’s face fell. “I already told you I don’t want out. This is what I’m supposed to do. I can feel it.”
“You can feel it?” Beth shook her head.
“Yes, Ice Queen. If you had any emotions, you’d know what that meant.” She threw her napkin onto her plate of half-eaten food.
“Molly,” their mother warned.
It stung, that particular insult. Beth did her best to ignore it, despite the fact that it threatened to open an old wound. “I’m not going to apologize for having my head screwed on straight.”
“And I’m not going to apologize for having feelings,” Molly snapped.
“Well, your feelings have done nothing but get you into trouble—and this is your worst idea yet. I don’t think you have any clue what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Molly looked at their mom and raised her eyebrows. “Told you.”
Beth’s eyes darted to her mother. “Told her what?”
“That this is how you’d react. She actually argued with me. Said maybe you’d surprise us. But of course this is what you’d say—you’re always finding ways to shoot down my ideas.”
With good reason.
Lilian folded her hands in her lap. “Girls, please. You know I hate it when you argue.”
Beth glanced at their mom, the memory of her stroke flooding her mind. Beth didn’t approve of Molly’s plan, but she had to keep it together—for their mother’s sake.
“I said I thought the idea was interesting, and I do,” Lilian said. “I hadn’t thought of including Ben, but that’s just brilliant.”
Ben nearly choked on his burger. Maybe now Beth would get a little support.
“It is, Ben,” Molly said. “You are a landscape architect, after all.”
Beth shook her head. “Why would you think I’d have any other reaction to all of this than the one I’m having?”
Their mother’s face fell. “It’s like I told you before, Beth. You just don’t seem very happy. And you haven’t for a long time.”
Molly glanced at Beth. “See? I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
“So you guys have been talking about this?”
“No, of course not,” their mom said.
“I think you like it here, but I don’t think you like your job,” Molly said. “And maybe you just need someone to tell you there’s no shame in not wanting to move to Chicago and have some big, fancy life like Michael.”
Beth shifted at the mention of his name—a name that still held far too much power over her. It had been six years since she’d left Michael, and she still nursed her broken heart. The really sad part was, if she hadn’t caught him that day, she’d probably still be with him, waiting for the ring, the wedding, the big, overpriced house.
In some ways, she still was. Waiting for her life to begin.
But she didn’t like being reminded of it. At all.
“We can do this together.” Molly smiled. “It’ll be fun.”
Beth met her sister’s eyes. “And that is the problem. You think this is going to be fun.”
“What? It could be.” She dropped her napkin on her plate and stood.
“It’s going to be expensive and hard and frustrating. Do you know anything about running a farm?”
“Well, it’s not a real farm. It’s not like I’m going to be milking cows at dawn or something, though I would like to get a pair of wellies. You know those rubber boots you wear in the mud?” Molly walked to the window and stared out across their parents’ backyard. “It’ll be like it was, you know, when we were kids.”
Beth could see the sadness in her sister’s hunched shoulders. None of them talked about it much, but they all missed their dad. He’d always had a way of pulling them together. Beth understood the desire to put everything back the way it used to be, but despite what Molly thought, Beth didn’t crave the simple life. She’d fallen into it by accident—and, she supposed, had never found the courage to leave.
But Molly? She didn’t seem to have any plans for something more. Ever. She was a hopeless romantic—and her perfect love stories were always set in their small midwestern town.
Beth met her sister at the window and followed Molly’s gaze to the old oak tree in the backyard. The lonely tire swing hung below, moving ever so slightly in the spring breeze. How many days had they spent out in that yard, waiting for their dad to come home and push them on that swing? He’d make up silly songs while he pushed, and their mom would watch from the porch. It was like something out of another time, as if the world outside Willow Grove had moved forward and they’d all stayed happily rooted in the past.
“Molly, I know you’re looking for your place, trying to figure out how to spend the rest of your life, and I’m not trying to discourage you from doing that.”
“Aren’t you?” Molly turned to her. “You hated the idea before I got the words out of my mouth. You won’t even consider that this could be exactly what we’ve been waiting for.”
Beth shook her head and stared at the swing. “I haven’t been waiting for anything except for Mom to get better.”
Molly wrapped her arms around herself. “Then go, Beth. Go to Chicago and find your own impressive job and make a ton of money. Tell me that’s really what you want.”
“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted.” Beth could feel her jaw tighten. It was, though, wasn’t it? Or maybe not what she wanted, but what she thought she should do. Yet she couldn’t—and she would never tell Molly why.
She stared at her sister for a few long moments, and then Molly grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and sighed. “I should’ve known better than to tell you. You’ve always been the first one to throw cold water on my dreams.”
Beth spun around, but her sister was already gone.
Ben stood. “I’ll get her.”
“Be kind to her,” their mother said as he left.
Beth met her mom’s eyes—eyes that challenged her. Eyes filled with an emotion Beth couldn’t quite place. Disappointment?
“She is so dramatic.” Beth shook her head and sat back down. From her mother’s pursed lips and raised eyebrows across the way, Beth could tell she had words. “Fine. What are you thinking?”
Her mom’s thin lips drew into a knowing smile. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Please. Your face says it all.”
Her gaze fell to her mom’s lap, where two small, feeble hands Beth hardly recognized rested. Everything about her mother seemed frail, in spite of Dr. Berry’s claims of recovery.
“Molly is too impulsive,” Lilian said.
Beth scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”
“But you are too pragmatic.”
Beth shifted. “Really? I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“I worry about you, Beth.” Her mom inched forward, each movement slow.
“Of all of your children, I’m the one you need to worry about least.” Beth stood, waiting as her mom struggled to get to the edge of her seat. “Where are we going here?”
“Up. Out. Away from the chair.” She grabbed Beth’s arms and did her best to lift herself up, but she needed help—more help than she should if she was going to live on her own again.
“Do you want to walk around the block?” It was their usual evening stroll. Her mom hadn’t done it unassisted since the stroke, and she still got winded before they circled back to their driveway.
“Sure. Let’s do that.” She took Beth’s arm.
Another reason to do what was smart—their mother needed stability right now. Beth couldn’t dive into Fairwind Farm any more than she could dive into a job search in Chicago.
Still, so much time had already passed. Did she really want to waste another year in Willow Grove?
I was made for more than this.
The words nagged at her, unwanted
. She dismissed them, wishing for a fleeting moment that the little things could keep her content. Wishing, she realized, for just a smidge of Molly’s optimism.
Outside, the evening had turned brisk, as spring in Illinois often could. The sun had started its descent, and a chill was in the air. Still, it felt good to inhale spring after too many months of winter.
Lilian wove her arm through Beth’s and clung to her with both hands as they shuffled down the driveway and away from the house. Beth had been taught to move quickly—to walk quickly, work quickly—but she’d grown accustomed to moving at her mother’s pace.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking?” Beth asked, not sure she wanted to know.
“What makes you think I’m thinking something?”
“You’re always thinking something.” Beth glanced at her mom, who kept her gaze on the tree-lined road in front of them.
“Yes, but telling you what I think doesn’t usually result in the outcome I’m hoping for. You’re too much of an independent thinker. You like to have your own ideas. As soon as someone tells you what they think you should do, you do the opposite just on principle. Your father was the same way.”
Beth didn’t deny it. She didn’t like being told what to do. Still, for some reason, she wanted her mother’s opinion.
“You don’t think this is the stupidest thing she’s ever done?”
“Darling daughter, you forget the time your sister walked through the automatic car wash.”
Beth laughed. “Okay, the second stupidest.”
Her mom squeezed her arm. “I think on her own, she can’t make this happen. A farm is a lot of work, especially one that’s also a tourist attraction.”
“Right. And an apple orchard, retail store and pumpkin patch. What is she thinking?”
“You didn’t let me finish.” Lilian wore a slight smile. “I admire her dreams. They’re absolutely crazy, but they’re also . . . inspiring.”
“Inspiring?”
“You’re a thinker, Beth. Logical. Focused. Your father made sure of it. These are wonderful traits, especially in the corporate world.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming on.”
“But you never pay attention to your heart.”
Beth sighed. “A heart can be very misleading.”
“And it can be empowering.” Lilian squeezed her arm. “You know you and your dad always had this special language only the two of you could understand. Somehow he always connected best with you and vice versa. I told myself that was fine. He was doing a fine job of raising you—but what I’ve realized is you got all of his good qualities and none of mine.”
Beth stilled. She’d never looked at it that way. She and her mother didn’t have the same bond she’d had with her father. Only now did she wonder how that made her mom feel.
“Your sister is the opposite. She’s all heart and very little logic.” Lilian stopped walking and looked at Beth. “Imagine what the two of you could accomplish together.”
Beth could feel the words settle on her shoulders with more weight than they should, as her parents’ words always had. They’d been so good about steering her in the right direction without controlling her life. It was how she’d learned to think for herself. But her mom was right.
“I never expected to work at Whitaker for this long. That was not in my plan.”
“I know.” They came to the end of the street and made a loop, heading back toward the house the way they had so many times before.
“And I’m not getting younger, so if I’m going to get out and make a difference in the world, I should probably do that now.”
“You’re talking about moving away.”
Frustration wound its way inside her. She didn’t get to run away from the mess she’d made—not when it hadn’t been completely cleaned up. Not when she was still keeping the truth hidden. “No, I can’t.”
“But it’s what you always wanted to do.”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
So many things were stopping her. Molly’s idea, however, was not one of them.
In that moment, she had the briefest flashback to their family—all six of them—racing through the pumpkin patch in search of their perfect pumpkin. Seth had hauled a huge, half-rotten pumpkin to where their parents stood, and dropped it at Dad’s feet, claiming it was the one he wanted. The look on Dad’s face was caught in Beth’s memory like a photograph.
She didn’t disagree that Fairwind needed to be restored, that new generations of families needed to experience it for themselves.
She just disagreed that she and Molly were the ones to do it.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“The farm. Molly’s proposal.”
“I would hardly call it a proposal. She got as far as ‘I bought Fairwind Farm’ and stopped.”
“But you are thinking about it. I can see it on your face.” Her mother’s lips settled into a soft, contented smile as she squeezed Beth’s arm. “I feel like I’m living with a bird in a cage. You’ve got wings, my darling daughter. Use them.”
“But shouldn’t I use them to create the life I’ve wanted instead of building a new one here with Molly?”
Lilian stayed quiet for a few long moments. “I suppose. If that’s what you really want.”
Beth sighed. “It’s like a conspiracy around here.”
“I assure you, it’s not.” Her mom’s tone stayed soft. “You just get these ideas in your head, Beth. The way things are supposed to be. The things you’re supposed to accomplish. I wish I could erase all of that and help you figure out what your heart wants.”
Beth shook her head. “That’s not how I’m wired.”
Her mother stopped shuffling. “That’s not how you think you’re wired.”
“I can’t believe we’re even having a conversation about this. What are you saying? You think I should join Molly in this crazy, doomed project?”
“You need a change.”
“I’m fine.” Beth stared off toward the house.
Lilian ignored her. “Can you think of a more exciting change than this?” Her eyes almost sparkled in the light of dusk. “For once in your life, what if you did something completely unexpected? What if you even surprised yourself?”
“Anything in Willow Grove isn’t exactly my idea of a surprise.”
“Beth, you live here. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Then why did it feel wrong?
She needed to stay focused on what really mattered. Making things right at Whitaker Mowers. Taking care of her mom. Being smart with her money.
And yet, as she drifted off to sleep that night, the image of a big white barn floated through her mind.
Chapter Five
Butler’s Bake Shop sat smack at the center of downtown Willow Grove. On either side of Town Hall Road, visitors perused boutiques, antiques and historical buildings. Cafés and sweet shops, like the old-fashioned ice cream parlor on the corner, drew tourists in from the city and beyond. But the locals preferred Butler’s.
It was quaint without being overly charming, the kind of place the hometown crowd could appreciate.
And for Beth, Butler’s was chock-full of memories. Being the best friend of the owners’ daughter, she’d practically grown up sitting on the last bar stool, closest to the kitchen, a plate of freshly made french fries between her and Callie. They’d watch Callie’s parents, JimBob and Verna Butler, maneuver their way from the kitchen to the main floor, chatting up their loyal patrons.
If Beth didn’t know better, she’d almost think JimBob and Verna had no interest in appealing to tourists. They’d done little to keep the place updated, and they didn’t even have a website. In many ways, they were Willow Grove’s best-kept secret. After all, they made pot roast and mashed potatoes that would rival Paula Deen’s.
The morning after the disaster of a family meeting, and after a restless night
of practically no sleep, Beth walked in and spotted Callie waiting on someone near the back set of booths.
Beth made a beeline for the same booth near the back that she’d claimed since she was twelve years old, which was about the time the bar stool became “uncool.” Callie gave her a quick nod, then turned her attention back to her customer—a handsome stranger Beth hadn’t seen before.
Odd. He must’ve wandered in. Goodness knows he couldn’t locate Butler’s on his iPhone.
“I’ll be right back, Beth,” Callie said, then whisked off toward the kitchen.
Before Beth could respond, Dina Larson locked eyes with her from a table right in the center of the room.
And this was the downside of strolling into places where only the locals seemed to gather. Dina had moved out of town not long after high school, and Beth would’ve lost track of her if it weren’t for Ginny Larson, Dina’s grandmother. Ginny had a way of broadcasting Dina’s latest.
“Did you hear about Dina’s engagement party? It happened on a yacht right next to Navy Pier. It cost a fortune, but her fiancé is R-I-C-H rich, and he said, ‘Only the best for my Dina.’”
Beth forced a smile and reminded herself to be nice.
Dina’s smile widened as she approached, and Beth noticed the woman’s teeth were perfectly straight and blindingly white. Beth’s smile faded as she felt suddenly self-conscious and worried that her teeth weren’t bright enough.
“Beth Whitaker,” Dina said. “I haven’t seen you in ages. My grandma told me you were still in Willow Grove. I must say, I was a little surprised.”
As Dina talked, Beth thought she detected a southern accent, which was odd since she and Dina had both been born right there in Northern Illinois.
“Oh?” Beth took a drink of water.
“Weren’t you the one leading the charge straight out of town senior year? I thought for sure you’d be a big-city girl by now. But then I never thought I’d be one, and just look at me.”
Hometown Girl Page 7
