Love in Smoke

by Holly Hall

  Town Mom? I make a mental note to ask Lynn what the hell that is, but I have a feeling I won’t fit into their ranks enough to care. I smile and nod along. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Of course. You’re all anyone’s talking about these days. Have you settled in okay?” Her voice is so sickeningly sweet it leaves a saccharine aftertaste in my mouth. I wait for Lynn to interrupt and say something funny to detract from the subject of me, but she just observes with amusement.

  “Basically. Now I just have to get used to everything in town closing down at seven o’clock.”

  “I imagine that would take some getting used to, coming fresh from the city. I’d be happy to help you get acquainted. In fact, a few of us reserved the party room in the back for this week’s girls’ night! Y’all should join!”

  I make a little noise of distress in the back of my throat before I can stop myself. A girls’ night with the mommy version of the Plastics sounds worse than walking on broken glass for fun. Lynn makes a toasting motion, like I should be happy to oblige.

  “We usually have a ‘no children allowed’ policy,” Rachelle says, glancing at her stroller and giving us an apologetic look, like her kid will be the thing that scares us off.

  “Good thing I’m childless.”

  “You’re just hysterical. The girls are going to love you. Come on back when you’re ready! I insist!”

  “We will, thanks,” Lynn answers for us. When Rachelle cackles all the way back to the party room, I shoot Lynn a scathing look. “What? Your introduction to the gossip train would’ve happened sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.”

  “If I wasn’t eating bacon right now, I’d be angrier.”

  Once we’ve finished our meals, we head toward the back of the restaurant, pushing through a pair of swinging doors into one of the private dining rooms.

  Upon seeing us, Rachelle stands from her place at the head of the table. “Raven! Y’all, this is who I was telling you about! She just moved here!” she exclaims, rounding the kitchen island and embracing me with one arm, like she didn’t just see me half an hour ago. Her eyes are a little glazed, and I wonder how many cocktails she’s guzzled since she arrived.

  “Hi,” I say, acknowledging the rest of the women with another obligatory smile. There are three with identical bob haircuts, only one’s is died black underneath and platinum on top. I learn that the women of the “Bob Squad”—as I’ve dubbed them in my head—are named Josie, Felicia, and Meg. There’s a petite girl with waist-length hair that’s dyed black named Brittany, and another named Emma who seems to be the more reserved of the bunch, judging by the casual way she lifts a couple of fingers in a wave instead of immediately fussing over us.

  “I know you two already ate, but help yourself to the dips. We got Buffalo-chicken and spinach-artichoke!” Rachelle says, waving a hand over the table. There’s not a spare inch of surface area, with all the empty glasses occupying the space.

  While Lynn is intercepted by one of the Bob Squad members, I make my way over to Emma. She’s already claimed what I’ve deemed the safe-zone, at a corner of the table where all the dips seem to be allocated, and I’m hoping she’s open to making an ally.

  “Goodness. They don’t mess around,” I say, surveying the spread of appetizers—what looks to be the entire menu.

  “It’s just for show. Everyone orders this shit, then nobody eats it. It’s the most wasteful day of the week, I swear,” Emma says snidely. The amber-tinged ice in her glass rattles as she tips it skyward, emptying it.

  “Where I come from, that’s called sabotage,” I respond, selecting a few pita chips and dipping them into the closest dish. Buffalo chicken dip. Delicious.

  “You could be onto something.” She inclines her head subtly and I glance to the left, where the other girls are watching me through their peripheral vision as if waiting to see if I instantaneously gain twelve pounds.

  “Mmm,” I moan appreciatively, mostly for their benefit.

  “Nashville, right?” Emma asks, and I cringe inwardly as I nod.

  “How did you know?”

  “Oh, you were the hot topic of conversation before you and Lynn came in, but I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

  “I wish I could say that’s news to me, but I have a feeling it’s standard for newcomers in Heronwood.”

  “Mostly. But they’re all very interested in you. I’m pretty sure they’re working up the courage to come over here right now.” Emma sends a quick glance to her left again, and I feel my cheeks boil. I knew this would happen, but I didn’t think it would be so awkward.

  “Remind me why I agreed to this?”

  As if in answer, she gestures to a nearby waiter and orders another whiskey. “They’re mostly harmless. All bark, no bite. Unfortunately, the Bobs can bark pretty loud.”

  I whisper-shout, “You nicknamed them, too?”

  “Hard not to. They’ve been sporting that ’do for the past decade, it feels like.”

  Just then, Lynn rounds the table to join us. “Emma, it’s been a while,” she greets.

  “Only because you never come to these things.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “No.” Emma raises her fresh glass of whiskey, and Lynn clinks her beer against it. These two clearly share the same humor.

  There’s a crash at the opposite end of the table, and Rachelle disappears below the tabletop, retrieving a few glasses from the floor. Meanwhile, the toddler in the stroller looks incredibly guilty.

  “Sorry, ladies. Greg and the boys decided to go to the pool hall last minute, leaving Bryson with me.” Rachelle explains regretfully, grabbing a handful of napkins and diving back beneath the table. The rest of the group just nods and offers understanding looks. Thankfully, a couple of servers enter the room bearing sizzling skillets of fajitas, and all attention is focused on serving up the tortillas, meat, and vegetables.

  Conversation is light throughout dinner, but once everything has been picked over and fresh drinks have been delivered, it’s a free-for-all. The seat beside me has been vacated by Lynn, who is either using the restroom or hiding out in it, Brittany and Emma have gone off to look at Brittany’s new car, and I’m suddenly surrounded by two members of the Bob Squad before I even know what’s happening.

  “So, how are you liking Heronwood so far?” one of them asks, perching on the edge of the table, a little close for comfort.

  “It’s a nice change of pace,” I answer honestly.

  “That’s great to hear. It’s a unique experience, living in this little town, there’s nothing quite like it.”

  “Everyone’s real close,” the one with the contrasting hair elaborates, dropping onto the chair beside me.

  “What is it that you do for a living?” the first asks.

  “I’m a dental hygienist in Clarksville.” I look down at the glass of wine Rachelle insisted on buying me, considering chugging it so I’ll have an excuse to leave the table for another. But alcohol is like truth serum to me; the second I’m tipsy, I start spewing all the things I would otherwise die if anyone knew. Doing that here would be like baiting shark-infested waters.

  “What brought you out here, then?” the one in the chair inquires, swaying precariously. By her squinted eyes, I deduce she’s had the most to drink.

  “The quiet. I like the remoteness of it.”

  “I guess that’s something we all take for granted after living here most of our lives. I’m glad you appreciate it, though,” the other one says.

  The one in the chair leans in close and blurts, “You used to be Raven King, right?” It’s as effective as telling a dirty joke at a funeral; all the heads in the room swivel in my direction.

  Tension tightens in my chest. This is the reason I chose this town, where I knew no one, and it’s the reason I wanted to keep the Heronwoodians at arm’s length. Jenson filled every nook and cranny of my past life, and I wanted to keep him out of this one. This life is mine; it feels like the first
time I can truly say that. But there’s something about being vague that seems to lure these people like flies to honey. Maybe if I tell them everything, they’ll find me less interesting than they thought.

  “I was. But that’s in the past,” I finally answer, and Lynn gives me an empowering nod from where she’s just reentered the room.

  “And we will have no more talk of ex-husbands. Especially famous ones,” Emma says helpfully, but the Bob leaning on the table narrows her eyes.

  “Didn’t I tell you that in the first place, Meg?” she chastises the drunk one. “I said, ‘don’t that girl look just like Raven King, only with darker, shorter hair?’ ”

  “Okay, you were right about that one, fine,” Meg slurs, raising her glass and sloshing a bit of wine in the process.

  The third Bob, who’s gravitated closer and closer over the course of the conversation, leans over to me and says, in a low voice like she doesn’t want to stir up trouble, “I loved the dress you wore to the CMAs last year.”

  Glad she at least had the grace not to mention Jenson’s drunken stumble on the red carpet, I mutter my thanks.

  “He musta been quite the romantic, huh? Is it true that ‘Puzzle Heart’ was written about you?” Drunky Mcgee asks, nudging me rather hard with her shoulder.

  “All right, give it up. If she wanted to discuss her marriage and divorce, I’m sure she’d hire a therapist to do it with instead of you three,” Lynn says, shooing Meg out of her chair.

  “Okay, Shanalynn, damn.” Meg goes to stand, bobbling and dumping the entire glass of wine down the other Bob’s shirt. A dark bloom of cabernet immediately spreads across the fabric. “Oh, hell,” she says, just as Rachelle slaps a hand over her mouth in horror.

  “I’ll go ask for some soda,” Emma grumbles, making for the bar.

  There’s some fluttering around the wine stain for about fifteen minutes, then, when it’s finally determined that nothing can be done, Rachelle notifies Meg she’s been cut off. I’m not sure how girls’ night survives such ordeals, but somehow it marches on.

  Talk of Jenson and my divorce is mostly forgotten, but it’s sparked a therapy session involving ex-boyfriends, ex-husbands, and infidelity. I manage to ignore most of it, using that time to browse my neglected social media pages on my phone—I’ve been avoiding my overflowing inboxes and notifications since I moved—but it’s not long before the tone of the conversation drags my attention back to the room of women.

  “I don’t care what all of you say, Emma’s situation trumps all. I mean, can you imagine finding out that your fiancé has not only been screwing your future maid of honor, but also paying her for it?” Brittany says, shaking her head in disgust. Emma only pours more whiskey down her throat in answer.

  “What else do you expect from a Cross? They’re all dogs,” the Bob whom I’ve determined to be Josie says bitterly. At the mention of the Crosses, my ears perk up. I wasn’t aware either of them had been engaged, especially to someone from this room, and despite my previous lack of interest, I can’t deny they’ve become a bit of a fascination to me. Especially because the rumors don’t seem to match up with the Dane I’ve come to know.

  “Girl, I have faith that some men can change. But, Trey? Did you really think a ring and a piece of paper would be enough to change his ways?” Rachelle asks gently.

  “In my defense, he was very convincing. He said all the right things and made me think I was just some jealous bitch with a shitload of insecurities,” Emma responds. I feel for her. I can see how Trey could be charming to someone more sheltered, less guarded. Luckily for me, I’ve come to associate charm with deception.

  Josie’s voice is thick with suspicion when she says, “Well, of course he’s a manipulator. I personally would keep my distance from all of ’em. Once a dirty criminal, always a dirty criminal.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” I ask. For reasons I’ve not completely figured out, I find myself sympathizing with Dane. I know how difficult it is to outrun your past. I’ve hardly spent any time here, and it feels like mine is already knocking at my door. Dane’s dealt with these people all his life, with nowhere to hide his mistakes.

  In response to Josie’s blank stare, I say, “From what I’ve gathered, Dane’s made a few mistakes in the past. But haven’t we all?”

  The expressions in the room range from dismissive to frigid.

  “If you had seen Grant Michaels’ face after Dane was through with him, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have called it a mistake. He was the handsomest thing around, and his face got turned into ground beef,” Josie says, her tone quiet and patronizing.

  “All right, so he got into a fight and won. What started it?” I push, schooling my expression into one of indifference. If they sense I’m interested in the town criminal—which I’m not, really—there will be no dragging me out of this intact.

  “Rumor has it that it was unprovoked. You don’t just beat the shit out of a teammate’s dad unless you have some issues,” Felicia says, pointing at her head to hint that the issues she’s referring to are mental.

  “Oh, please. You can’t really believe Dane is that cruel, can you? The guy said something about his dead mother,” Lynn retorts.

  “Nobody backed that up, and in any case, words are words. They’re basically harmless. Grant’s face, on the other hand, has never been the same. You know what it’s like out here; no good plastic surgeons.” Josie shakes her head regretfully.

  Lynn rolls her eyes. “Grant Michaels is an asshole who probably deserved it.” While the rest of the women shriek, Emma nods in agreement.

  “Lynn!”

  “How can you say that?”

  “He’s the mayor of our town!”

  I’m piecing bits of information together in my mind, but the picture they’re forming has plenty of holes. With these ladies around, it’s nearly impossible to get an objective look.

  “Well, I’ve found Dane to be refreshingly honest,” I finally say, and when the attention has been redirected to me, I almost regret it. I can already hear the low, disapproving tsks. Whatever. It’s not my fault this flock has nothing better to cluck over.

  Rachelle turns toward me. Her expression is kind, but she’s giving me that pitying bless your heart look you save for occasions when someone has been given the run-around. “Honest? The Crosses are a few things, honey, but honest isn’t one of them. How did you happen to run into Dane in the first place?”

  I sit up a little straighter, preparing my defense. “One of the first few days I was here, he had my car fixed at his shop and saved me a ton of money.”

  Josie throws her hands in the air. “Well of course they did, Raven. Look at you. Not only do you have a vagina, but you’re also decent-looking, and their car parts aren’t even legit. Seriously. Whatever you did end up paying, you were robbed.” I skip over the term she used for me—“decent looking”—and hone in instead on the comment about the stolen car parts. It might not be the term she used, but it’s clearly inferred, and I can’t help but be curious.

  “How could you possibly know their parts aren’t legit?”

  “People may turn the other cheek when times get tough, but there are no real secrets around here,” Felicia says, calm and matter-of-fact. “If you’d been here a few years ago, you would’ve heard about it. It was all over town. Why else do you think they send the cute one over to Henderson’s to get customers? They lost most of their business when their chop-shop was exposed.”

  “Alleged chop-shop,” Lynn cuts in, rolling her eyes. “None of that was confirmed.”

  “My husband is close to Officer Knapp, and I’ve heard what they found was suspicious,” Felicia says imperiously. “And even if you choose to see past all that, go ahead and look into the accusations made against Trey for the murder of Dalton Briggs a few years ago. And don’t forget the drug charges. He served time for the drugs, but he couldn’t have been running that much meth alone. It’s a family operation, and no matter what y
ou think about Dane and his ‘honesty,’ he’s involved in something fishy, and anybody close to him will get taken down too when all this comes to light.”

  I swallow my response, trying to recall some of the redeeming moments from Saturday, when Dane was helping me with my porch and coaching Victor. But all that’s imprinted in my mind now are those dilapidated meth labs you sometimes see on the news and the makeshift junkyard at the front of the Cross’s property. Without even knowing me, Dane knew just what to say to convince me to walk out of Henderson’s and have my car worked on by a supposed criminal. The criminal who owns a brand-new Mercedes that must have cost upwards of eighty grand. That he bought on a “mechanic’s” salary. It’s all becoming more and more twisted in my mind, and try as I might, I just can’t get the facts to line up. I came to Heronwood to find reprieve from the chaos in my life, not to be thrown into the middle of something worse.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling light-headed. Dane is supposed to be coming over in two days to finish our project. Is he going to assume we’ve become friends? What if he hits on me and I have to turn him down? The temper the girls just warned me about comes to mind—Grant Michaels’ face: ground beef. And what if my association with him just makes life more complicated? What started out as an innocent home-improvement project just became a lot more than I bargained for.

  Though they’ve moved on to another topic, I wave down the waiter to close my tab. My mind is preoccupied not only with coming up with an excuse to leave the restaurant, but also to break things off with Dane. Nothing is really going on between us, but it would be better to end whatever this is before any assumptions are made.

  God, how could I have been so stupid?

  Lynn nudges me, lifting her eyebrows as if to ask if I’m okay. I nod, tipping my head toward the door in answer.

  “Well, ladies, it’s been fun. Raven’s gotta go into work early tomorrow, and I have a lot to do myself. Thank you for having us!” Lynn announces, shouldering her purse.