In a Jam

by Cindy Dorminy

  She sneers and reaches over to pick up the cooler then hands it to me. “Can you give me a ‘get out of jail free’ card since I barely drove over the county line? Plus, my first ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gift was a hood full of bird crap. That wasn’t very neighborly.”

  She hasn’t been here more than ten minutes, and she’s already asking for favors. “Negative.”

  She shrugs. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  Girls like her peg me for a pushover. Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it.

  “Follow me,” I say, not giving her another chance to give me any lip. I wave to Charlie when I exit the parking lot in my squad car. He waves to me then to our new guest. From my rearview mirror, I see her give him a cute finger wave. Oh Lord, this is going to be a long, hot summer.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Andie

  Twangy and muscled Officer George Clooney drives ahead of me through the town. I assume we are on Main Street because it seems to be congested. And by that, I mean three cars are on the road. Wow. And none of them are cabs. Several people wave to the officer as we pass. He gives them a one-finger wave without taking his hand off the wheel. One old lady points at me and whispers to another old lady as we pass. Well, that’s a little on the creepy side.

  The cop pulls over to the side of the road in front of a shop. The green awning over the front door droops to the left. On the front window, the words “In a Jam” float like steam out of a coffee cup next to a plate of biscuits and, I’m guessing, jam. A rusty bistro table and chairs sit beside the front door, and a wilting plant covers most of the tiny round table. Other than needing a serious window washing, the store isn’t in bad shape, at least from the outside.

  I step out of the car and observe the other stores on Main Street. Across from Granny’s shop is a used car lot. I chuckle at the sign: Hunter’s Motors - Bait, Tackle, and Guns. Next to that store is a gym, and from the old-time filling station pump, I assume it was a gas station at one point. The sign says Big Ash Fitness: Tony Ash, Owner-Operator. Maybe I can get a short-term membership while I’m here. For once, I don’t have to fake interest in joining to get a few weeks free. A fat guy walks out of the gym with a towel wrapped around his neck and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Classy. Not that I’m any better when I eat a dozen donuts complemented by a Captain Morgan and Diet Coke. I guess we all have our vices. Cigarette Man bows his head in a greeting before he saunters toward his parked car.

  “Quaint,” I mumble to myself as I drag my overstuffed suitcase out from the trunk.

  The officer waves to Cigarette Man. “We sure did love Miss Gracie. I would come by every morning for my coffee and her world-famous biscuits and jam.” I don’t think he means anything by it, but his comment has me clenching my hands around the suitcase handle until my knuckles are white. These people know my own grandmother better than I do. It’s embarrassing at best.

  He notices I’m struggling with my bag. “Oh, let me get that for you.” He takes the luggage out of my struggling hands, and his strong fingers brush across mine. His eyes flick toward mine for a second before he snatches up the suitcase as if it weighs only five pounds. With the other hand, he fishes out a set of keys and unlocks the door of the store.

  “World famous, huh?”

  Bells on top of the door announce our entry into the store. He hands me the keys, and I stuff them in my shorts pocket. Mr. Christian said the key would be waiting for me, but this is a bit much.

  Inside, it seems as though the store hasn’t been updated in twenty years. Plastic red-and-white-checkered tablecloths have seen better days. I run my finger across the dust on the Formica countertop that is worn in places. Some of the barstools have two-by-fours for legs. The curtains could use a serious washing. Behind the counter is a stairwell leading to what I assume is Granny’s apartment. All in all, the store is run-down but kind of... cute.

  “Shouldn’t you be patrolling the streets instead of having tea with my grandmother?”

  He grins and slides onto a barstool. His uniform pants stretch around his tight butt.

  Stop staring. That’s rude.

  “I know it seems like a bustling city, but the townsfolk behave, for the most part.”

  Even though I’m not facing him, I know his eyes are on me as I take in my grandmother’s place. My heart skitters a bit, and I’m afraid to turn around for fear he’s not really ogling at all. I’ve been in this town only ten minutes, and my Southern roots are already showing. My heart is skittering? Ugh.

  I don’t see any water spots on the ceiling, and the floor feels solid. I walk behind the counter to inspect the kitchen area. The stove is old but clean. On the far side is a pantry with no obvious signs of rodents, thank goodness. Next to the pantry, Granny’s red-and-white-checkered apron hangs on a hook. I slide my hand down the fabric, hoping she knows I’m here and that I’ll do my best to fulfill her wishes.

  I’m here, Granny. Wish you were too.

  Officer Wills clears his throat, snapping me back to reality.

  The shop is in pretty decent shape. I should be able to sell it for a decent price unless it needs a new roof or if the pipes are older than dirt.

  “Cozy, don’t ya think?” the officer asks.

  I shrug. “Well, it’s not Starbucks, but it’ll do for now.”

  He shivers. “Yeah, I ordered coffee at Starbucks one time, and they glared at me like I was insane. I only wanted a cup of coffee. No latte, no mocha cappuccino, Frappuccino, whatever. Just coffee.”

  I giggle. I don’t know where that came from. “I kind of pictured you sitting on your big wraparound porch, with your dog and two point five kids, reading the Smithville Daily News, sipping an espresso.”

  He snickers, and I think I made him blush a bit. “Plain coffee. Miss Gracie made plain coffee.” He points at the monster-sized coffee maker perched in the corner of the counter, next to the wall.

  That might come in handy if I slip into my old ways and need a massive hangover remedy. I’ve been semi-dry for two whole days, and I’m already getting the itch. This is going to be a long, hot summer.

  “I see the attraction.” I pivot to face him. “Wait a second. My grandmother had a coffee shop, and all she served is regular coffee?”

  He leans his head to the side then shrugs. “Well, there’s black coffee, coffee with two creams, cream and sugar. Actually, lots of options.”

  “Lots.”

  He motions with his head to the set of stairs. “Do you want to see your apartment upstairs?”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Oh, so you have a key to my apartment too?”

  The corner of his mouth twitches, and this time, there’s no doubt about the flush across his face. It rests right over that dimple. Eek.

  “Should I feel safe or scared?”

  He points at my pocket. “Uh, it’s on the key ring I gave you.”

  Snap out of it, girl. He’s not flirting with you. He’s doing his job. “Oh yeah.” I pull it out to show him. “Here it is.” Idiot.

  Then he mumbles under his breath, “Except for the extra set I made yesterday.”

  “I heard that, Mr. Protect and Serve. You were kidding, right?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  He leads me up the narrow wooden staircase. I’m glad he’s carrying my luggage because I don’t think I could haul it up the steep stairs. And on top of that, I get a really nice view of his butt. Yep, he fills out those cop pants as well as the cop shirt. I can totally see him as a Chippendales dancer, and he already has the uniform for the job.

  “Do you have a first name, or should I keep calling you Mr. Po-leece-man Wills, savior of white cars that have been attacked by birds who eat red berries?”

  He chuckles, and it rumbles through the small staircase. Nice face, nice butt, nice laugh. Please tell me he’s got at least one bad quality.

  “Ha ha. It’s Gunnar Wills.”

  “Whew. Way better than ‘The George,’” I mutter.

&n
bsp; He squints. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” Girl, stop thinking out loud.

  We get to the top, and I hand him the keys to unlock my apartment.

  He drops the luggage, and it almost lands on my foot. “Sorry about that. Tight quarters on this landing.”

  “I noticed.” His chest is at my eye level, and I could so easily reach out and grab that butt of his... to steady myself, of course. I clear my throat in an attempt to clear my mind, which has gone down the dirty trail. “So, Gunnar is a cop... with a gun. Your mama must have known what you would be when you grew up. Lucky for you, she didn’t name you Steele Johnson because you don’t look like a porn star to me.”

  He cocks an eyebrow, and I want to stuff the words back in my mouth.

  “I mean, you totally could be a porn star. I mean... I think I’ll stop now.”

  Shit. Can I die right here and be done with it?

  He chuckles as he fiddles with the stubborn lock.

  “I tend to babble when I’m nervous.”

  “I noticed.”

  I hold my hand out to him. He gazes at my hand then at my eyes. He licks his lips. Oh dear, that’s the international symbol for wanting to kiss someone.

  “Pleased to meet you, Officer Wills.”

  My hand is lost in his large, warm, calloused grip. It’s inviting, and like the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, it feels just right—strong and controlling with a trace amount of grease under the thumbnail. He’s definitely not a pencil pusher. That’s for sure. And with the guns he has for biceps, my guess is he spends a lot of time across the street at the gym.

  Hello, workout partner.

  “Call me Gunnar. We’re not formal around here.”

  “Okay, Gunnar.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “It’s Gunnar.”

  “Yeah. I said Gunnar.”

  A smile spreads across his face. “Not Gunnah. Gunnar.”

  “Gun-errr.”

  “Better.”

  Oh, as if he has room to talk.

  He glances down at my hand still clenching his. “Don’t do anything to make me handcuff your hands together.”

  My mouth falls open. “That’s definitely not original. I’ve spent enough time around cops to know about their fantasies.”

  He drops my hand and cocks his right eyebrow. “I meant like drive drunk. I know all about the terms of your grandmother’s will.”

  “Tinsley has a big mouth.”

  He cringes. “Yeah. Cops are like brothers, no matter where we’re from. And I didn’t say anything, but the grapevine in this small town is already buzzing about the will. So don’t be shocked if people mention it.

  I plant my hands on my hips. “Nuh-uh.”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  Dammit. Every person in this town will be watching me to see if or when I mess up. I’m not going to let them win, no matter how hard the summer might be. This time next year, I won’t even remember their names.

  “You be a good little girl, and we’ll see you in church tomorrow.”

  He pinches my cheek as if I’m five years old. I swat his hand away. He winks then gallops down the stairs and out the front door. The bells let me know he’s gone.

  “Thank you,” I yell as if he could really hear me.

  I survey my home for the summer. A small galley kitchen is to the left of the entrance, and to the right is a tiny but clean bathroom, complete with a shag rug and matching toilet tank cover. It takes no more than two steps, and I am in the middle of my studio apartment. Granny sectioned off the sleeping space with a rustic louvered room divider. The main living space is stuffy and filled to the brim with furniture, but it does have a huge bay window overlooking the street. I imagine sitting on the window seat in the mornings, sipping a cup of tea, and dreaming about how my life will be so much better in only a few short months.

  Every surface in the main living area is covered with picture frames of all sorts and sizes. I don’t recognize any of the people in the photos until I come across one of my mother. She’s holding a baby and appears so pretty. Wait. That baby is me. I pick up the picture and run my hand through the dust covering it. I never realized until now how much I favor my mother. With her short-cropped light-blond hair and freckles sprinkled across her nose, if I didn’t know better, I could swear I was staring into a mirror. She seems happy in the picture, but I never remember her that way. We never got along, and as soon as I had the means, I left for the big city and never looked back. I put the photo down, feeling as though I’ve invaded my grandmother’s privacy.

  Another photo catches my eye. It’s a picture of me in my college graduation cap and gown. I didn’t even know she had a picture of that day, much less that she thought it was important enough to proudly display it among her other cherished photos. From the way Mama talked about Granny, I didn’t even think she kept in touch with her, let alone cared enough to send her photos of important times in my life. They had a falling out when I was little, and I thought my mother was the best and that Granny had to be the bad guy. It was only later that I figured out my mom suffered from an “I infection.” She loved herself more than anyone else. Maybe I had Granny pegged wrong. Maybe Mama had her pegged wrong. And since she lied about Granny being dead, I’ll never get a chance to find out.

  First things first before I get all sappy. I have to unpack and find something suitable to wear to church tomorrow. I need to make a nice first impression on the townspeople. If they know about the terms of Granny’s will, I’ll have to work extra hard to walk the straight and narrow.

  I stand in the middle of my grandmother’s tiny apartment, and the silence is deafening. At times like this, when I’m alone, I’m reminded of how lonely I really am. The only time I hang out with “friends” is when it’s happy hour, and I cannot remember the last time I went on a real date. I peek out the bay window to the vacant street below. This small town is too quiet and picturesque to be without some Southern Comfort. Oh boy, this whole staying-sober clause is going to be harder than I thought.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Andie

  Granny’s bed is way more comfortable than I thought it would be. The frame may be something straight out of the fifties, but that memory foam mattress put me in dreamland within seconds of my head hitting the pillow. I fell asleep so fast, I didn’t have time to set an alarm. In my typical Andie fashion, I’m late, and to church, of all places. Dammit. If it weren’t for the church bells ringing, I would still be asleep. Now I only have ten minutes to get dressed. If I had gotten up in time, I could have leisurely strolled to church, but no, I have to drive a measly two blocks in order to get there before it’s all over.

  I know first impressions are everything, and I’m sucking at it right now, real bad. When I pull the door to the tiny church, it creaks open, and a streak of sunlight hits the pastor’s face while he’s making the weekly announcements. Our eyes meet, and he pauses for a moment then continues as if no one interrupted him. Several little girls turn around and gawk at the idiot who is late for service.

  I slip into a seat in the back row and hope I can fade into the background. I scan the crowd and notice Charlie, the gas station attendant, at the other end of my pew. He waves, and the polite thing to do is wave back, so I do.

  I’m trying to fit in, Granny. I promise.

  Without realizing it, I do a quick scan of the congregation in hopes that Officer Wills is the churchgoing type. Before I can finish my search, a cell phone chimes, and everyone turns toward one of the old biddies that were pointing in my direction on the sidewalk yesterday. Her thumbs fly across the screen faster than a teenager’s can. Her eyebrows furrow when she glances my way, then she focuses again on her phone. Another phone chimes. The other old lady pulls out her phone from her bra. Gross. Over her glasses, she reads her phone screen then crinkles her brow before she peeks in my direction. With one index finger, she types a message then returns her phone to its resting place in the nether re
gions of her bra. They both peer over at me with an “I’ve got my eye on you” expression that sends a shiver up my spine.

  An old pipe organ cranks up a tune, while the pastor leaves the pulpit and starts making his way down the aisle. The two old ladies sit up tall as if they’ve been paying attention all along. One has the nerve to shush someone.

  “Friends, we have a new face among us today. Let’s all sing our welcome song. C’mon, everyone. Let’s stand and sing.”

  The entire congregation stands and rotates to face me. This cannot be happening. One of the members, a lady not much older than me, tries to take me by the hand. I stand my ground and am ready to dig my heels in if necessary. I will not be paraded like a calf being sent to the county fair.

  “We won’t bite,” she says. “Come on, honey.”

  Yeah, I’ve heard that before.

  She pries my white-knuckled hands off the pew in front of me and walks me up and down the aisle. Surely to God they don’t do human sacrifices here or drag out snakes. Please God. Not snakes. That wouldn’t be very Southern of them. Sweat trickles between my boobs. I swear I can hear my heartbeat in my ears as the woman takes me to the front of the church. I’m doing my best to act as if I’m happy to be here, but I’m sucking at it. I wish the frickin’ sanctuary floor would open up and swallow me whole.

  The congregation sings, “I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart.”

  Someone in the church yells, “Where?”

  The booming voice makes me practically jump out of my skin.

  “Down in my heart,” the rest of the congregation recites back.

  “Where?” the person yells again.

  “Down in my heart. I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Down in my heart to stay.”

  Oh please, God, if you exist, please take me now. Take me out of this hell I’ve been placed in. When I finally get the nerve to scan the congregation, my eyes fall on Gunnar. He’s dressed in a suit, standing on the other side of the aisle, in the second row from the front. And if I thought he was as hot as the third level of hell in a cop uniform, he’s beyond scorching in that double-breasted number. Somebody needs to splash some holy water on me to bring my core temperature down a few notches.