Meet Me on Love Lane

by Nina Bocci

  “What’s his problem?” I asked, shushed almost immediately by an angry-looking woman sitting in the row in front of us.

  “Hi, Mrs. Rogers. Nice to see you,” Nick said sourly.

  She leveled him with her heavily made-up gaze before turning around and beaming at the man up front.

  Wife? I mouthed, and they both nodded. I pretended to swing a gavel. Kirby? I mouthed again, and they nodded with an added matching eye roll that made me snort-laugh.

  Henry tipped his chin up at Cooper, who was pretending to nod off himself. Every time we whispered between one another, Kirby’s wife would shush us.

  After a few minutes, Nick waved to me for my phone, which was still sitting on my lap. I unlocked it and handed it over. He pulled up my text app and typed in some numbers before handing it back.

  Looking down, I saw two numbers with the Hope Lake area code.

  ME: New phone, who dis?

  UNKNOWN NUMBER: This is Nick.

  I assumed the other was Henry, but he didn’t have his phone out. Quickly entering their contact info, I shot off another message.

  ME: This is Charlotte.

  Brilliant conversationalist, Charlotte.

  NICK: This is easier than getting shushed.

  NICK: Plus, now you’ve got our numbers.

  NICK: If you need anything.

  NICK: We’re your guys.

  Nodding gratefully, I set my phone back onto my lap and tried paying attention to the meeting.

  The majority of the comments and discussion were certifiably boring. No one was paying any attention until Kirby said, “And now on to the annual Fourth of July festivities. You should know that this year the mayor’s office is taking on a greater role.

  “Emma Peroni will be explaining the breakdown.”

  Emma stood, straightening out her blouse. I still wasn’t exactly sure what her job was, but it seemed like if something happened in Hope Lake, she and her department were in charge of it.

  “Hello, everyone. This year’s festivities will be a bit more structured than in years past.” You couldn’t miss the way her eyes slid slightly toward Kirby. “We’ll be breaking out into subcommittees and having separate meetings before coming to the collective meeting and sharing our thoughts and progress.” She smiled before continuing. I couldn’t help but notice how engaging she was.

  Emma, though not on a mic and amplified, still completely captivated the room. All eyes and ears were on her with the exception of Kirby, who had a death grip on his gavel, and his wife, who actually pulled out a nail file.

  Emma continued, unperturbed by the rudeness. She read off her iPad, where, I assumed, she had a list.

  “The floral arrangements will be done by Charlotte Bishop. I know you guys were thinking someone from Barreton, but Charlotte has agreed to help Lucille get the florist shop in the former bank building open for us.”

  “Excuse me,” someone from the front of the audience said. “Did you say Charlotte Bishop? As in Rose’s daughter?”

  My face grew hot. Apparently, word hadn’t traveled to every single person in town. It wasn’t just that more than a couple of eyes swung toward me, seeking out a way to place the new face. It was that the woman specifically used my mother’s name. Not the easier, and more fitting, Dr. Bishop’s daughter or Gigi Bishop’s granddaughter. No, they had to bring her and all the bad memories into it.

  “Is that her?” someone whispered from behind me. Then the rest started murmuring.

  “I didn’t know she returned.”

  “Wow, takes a lot of nerve showing back up here after so long.”

  “She looks just like her mother,” another said.

  At the last comment, Henry placed his hand atop mine. He didn’t try to hold it or pat it consolingly. It was just resting there as a comfort and weight. I didn’t feel so alone in that moment.

  Trying to shut out the whispers and the stares, I closed my eyes. The photo on Gigi’s wall with me and the little boy with our toothless smiles flashed in my mind. “Henry,” I whispered, and my eyes shot open.

  He leaned over, and I took a deep, steadying breath. “Is everything okay?” he whispered, this time taking my hand and sandwiching it between both of his.

  An image of a little boy laughing at a birthday party danced in my memory.

  “Just thought of something,” I said, smiling. “Thank you.”

  “Ms. Bishop,” Kirby sneered.

  I had two choices. Deliver what I had come for or bolt from the room.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I said, standing up.

  Kirby slammed the gavel down on the table so hard, the wooden disc it hit jumped. I geared up for a confrontation. I didn’t like bullies, and this guy was obviously one. “Hi, Charlotte Bishop here, newly returned—at least for the moment—Hope Lake resident. I’ll be designing the floristry work for the event; I have many ideas for how to really amplify the look of the festival. Nothing too mundane or traditional but eye-catching and bold. Something that really knocks the socks off the tourists who come in from the larger towns and cities. I’ll put together something to show the planning committee to see. You’ll have them rebooking their stays in Hope Lake if I have anything to do with it. I just wanted to say thanks again for the opportunity. I’m really looking forward to it. Stop in the shop in a couple of weeks after our grand opening. I’d be happy to help you.”

  As I moved to sit back down, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest, I was peppered with question after question.

  “What made you come back?”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Are you qualified to handle this?”

  The last question was one that couldn’t be ignored. I stood back up, rolling my shoulders confidently. “I’d say I’m more than qualified, actually. The last event I designed in New York was a society wedding at the Plaza. It featured more than one thousand authentic Dutch tulips that were flown in two nights before the event that needed to be incorporated into the design last-minute. Besides the decade of high-society design work and planning on my résumé, I graduated from Temple with a degree in business. I studied advanced floral design and ornamental horticulture in both traditional European and Asian designs under the best event planners and florists in the country. Any other questions?”

  When I finished, I stood waiting for something, anything, to be said, feeling winded and drained. I was tired of trying to defend my capabilities and experience. I did enough of it in New York.

  Henry took my clenched fist in his hand and gently pulled me down into the seat. Once I was seated, he took my hand between his again and just pressed. It was the calmest I’d felt in ages, and something that I couldn’t explain away.

  Emma walked over to Kirby, grabbed the gavel from his hand, and slammed it down onto the table. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this under control. Ladies and gentlemen, while I understand that Charlotte being here is amazing and exciting news, let’s just welcome her to Hope Lake and show her all the incredible things this community has to offer. Now, carrying on.”

  Emma floated into more about the festival. The urge to run out of the room screaming was palpable, but thankfully the whispering stopped. The group was instead hanging on Emma’s every word as she discussed the food trucks that would be there, and the local bands from neighboring towns that would perform.

  By the end of the meeting, Emma looked as exhausted as I felt. She and Cooper made their way over to me, Henry, and Nick.

  “When you told me to come and introduce myself, you couldn’t have prepared me for what I would face?” I asked, trying to sound lighthearted, but inside, I was a nervous wreck.

  “You did great. But you need a break, and frankly, so do I,” she explained. “Get some rest. I have a feeling we’re all going to need it.”

  Giving me a quick hug, she took Cooper’s outstretched hand to leave. Before they reached the door, she turned back. “And, Charlotte, I’m sorry if you felt like I set you up in front of a firing squad. I didn�
��t think it through.”

  I gave her a small smile, not feeling like much more. Cooper bro-hugged his friends, and they walked out of the meeting room with a flurry of people following behind them.

  “So,” Nick said, turning to me. “Hungry? We’re headed to Casey’s to get some wings. Unless you’re a vegetarian. Then we can … I don’t know—eat grass?”

  “Nick,” Henry groaned. “You’re endlessly tactless.”

  “I’m what?” Nick asked, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m going to assume that’s an insult.”

  I laughed. “I’m not a vegetarian. I’d love to go for wings. Is that all right with you?” I looked at Henry. Nick glanced between the two of us curiously, then smiled.

  Henry shrugged. It wasn’t a yes or a no. It was an indifferent whatever if I ever saw one.

  “Okay, great. Can I, uh, catch a ride with one of you? I am unlicensed, in case you hadn’t heard.”

  It was Henry’s turn to laugh. “Oh, we heard. Birdy was on a roll about it. Apparently, Duncan is considering you a more impressive collar than when he busted this one driving his tractor naked in O’Shea’s field.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Nick. “Well, I’m sorry to have beaten you out of such an illustrious honor.”

  Nick wasn’t blushing like I expected. If anything, he looked proud. “I wasn’t naked, I’ll have you know. I had something on.”

  “Something?” Henry barked, rolling his eyes. “Ask him what.”

  “Not sure I want to know!”

  We were drawing attention to our conversation. “Let’s get those wings,” Nick suggested, ushering us out of the emptying room.

  “How far away is this place? Maybe I can just walk?” I said as we exited the front doors of the town hall. It was a grand old building with a great big weeping willow out front.

  “It’s just down the street on the left. I drove, but my truck doesn’t have room for three. Henry, I’ll throw your bike in the back. You guys can walk so you can make sure she doesn’t get lost. I’ll meet you there.” Nick took off toward the parking lot before we could answer.

  “Well, I guess that’s settled,” I said, looking up at Henry. His head skimmed one of the low branches from the willow tree. The drooping leafy branches framed his head like a wig.

  “What?” he asked when he saw me staring and smiling.

  “I’m not sure,” I said honestly. There was a flash of the same young face from the photo, but this time, those big blue eyes held an expression of pure sadness. “I can’t explain it. Sometimes I get these weird, I don’t know, I guess visions? Memories?”

  “What was this one?” he asked, stepping forward to lead the way toward what I assumed was Casey’s.

  I stayed silent a beat too long.

  “Of course you don’t have to share,” he said, sounding self-conscious.

  “No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to. I’m still trying to get a handle on them. I never experienced something like this before, so it’s an odd sensation when they hit me out of nowhere.”

  “Do certain things trigger them? The memories?” he asked, slowing his stride so I didn’t have to struggle so much to catch up.

  It was a sweet gesture.

  “The first day I was here, I remembered a nurse from my dad’s office, but only when I walked down the hallway. I mean, I have a hard time remembering college, and that was only nine years ago. I haven’t lived here in twenty-one.”

  “And you were young. That doesn’t help.”

  I nodded, leaving off the parts where my mother insisted for years that anything from Hope Lake was poison that would try to ruin my life as it had hers.

  “Just inside, at the meeting, you pressed your hand on mine like a weight, and I think I remembered you doing that before. There’s this crazy sense of familiarity, and yet I can’t put the pieces together.”

  Henry smiled. “When we were kids, I used to take your hand like that when you were worried or anxious. You used to say that Gigi told you that it was like a hug—just feeling the weight would help. I’m not sure what made me do it tonight. I’m not even sure if I thought before I did it. It was like muscle memory, I suppose.”

  I smiled, putting my hand out. He sandwiched his over mine. “Whatever the reason, I’m glad you did.”

  He nodded. “I’m happy to help however I can, Charlotte.”

  Shivering a bit when the wind picked up, I tried tamping down the nervous feeling so that I could just enjoy the walk. It was a beautiful summer night, with a clear sky smattered with thousands of stars.

  “I couldn’t tell you the last time I saw a sky like this,” I said dreamily. I imagined lying down on a blanket in the middle of Gigi’s yard. Falling asleep under the stars.

  “Yeah, New York isn’t exactly the best place for stargazing.”

  I hazarded a sideways glance at him. “Visit the city often?” I asked curiously.

  A beat passed, and then he shook his head.

  It felt like there was a story there, but I didn’t think he’d tell me tonight.

  “While I’m thinking of it, we have a pretty good telescope at the school, if you’re ever interested,” he said, looking down at his feet. I couldn’t miss the hopeful tone in his voice. “I’m no astronomer, but I could get a book for help.”

  “I’d like that, Henry.” I liked saying his name. Simple, classic, and earnest. For as little as I knew about him, it seemed perfect.

  “We’re here, by the way,” Henry said, pointing toward a building with a bright neon sign that read CASEY’S. “Nick’s not here yet.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He has his own parking space,” he said, pointing toward a sign labeled:

  PARKING FOR THE WING-EATING CHAMP ONLY

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I am not.”

  “This is a thing?”

  “At Casey’s it is. They host it every year. Nick has won every year. Between this and the Peep-eating contest on Easter, he’s quite the food-consuming champion.”

  “Amazing. This place never ceases to amaze me,” I said, thinking of the Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest every year. “You know, this is the first year that Parker—that’s my roommate—and I won’t be at Coney Island on the Fourth. That’s so weird.”

  “You should invite her here. The wing-eating competition is on the Fourth.”

  I bumped my shoulder into his as we walked the last couple of feet into Casey’s. “Maybe I will.”

  “I mean, we’re no Coney Island, but we do have a couple of bounce houses and a dunk tank that yours truly volunteers for every year.”

  Henry wet and shirtless? Sold.

  “Oh,” he said, scrolling through the messages on his phone. “Nick just bailed. He has a thing.”

  I laughed. “That could mean a myriad of reasons.”

  We stood on the sidewalk, under the neon sign that illuminated the ground around us. We looked everywhere but at each other.

  “So,” we said together.

  “You first,” we said in unison followed by a laugh.

  He held up his hand, waving it toward me. “Ladies first.”

  I mock curtsied and smiled. “I’d still like to have dinner, if you’re up for it.”

  11

  I held my breath waiting for him to answer. Maybe he was just interested when Nick was there as a buffer. The two of us alone may not have been something that he was willing to sign up for.

  His answer—a smile—made my heart skip two beats.

  “I’m hungry,” he replied simply. It wasn’t exactly the glowing acceptance that I was hoping for, but it worked.

  Plus, I, too, was hungry.

  I followed him into Casey’s, a dimly lit space with an elbow bar and a dozen or so tables of varying sizes. It was surprisingly crowded.

  “Every night of the week, there’s a special, so it’s always crowded at dinnertime. Even though the bar is up front, they allow families at the tables,” he explained, pointi
ng over to where a couple sat with their two kids.

  He held up two fingers to a young waitress, who glanced in our direction. She then proceeded to stroll up to us, beaming at Henry.

  “Henry, I’ve been wondering when you’d show up again. It’s been ages! I needed to thank you for everything you did for me and Bridget with the Hemingway paper. It really pulled up our grades.”

  Oh, that wasn’t what I thought she was going to say. I assumed she would be flirting with him. That’s what I would have done. I rocked back on my heels and watched Henry’s reaction.

  He smiled; the tips of his ears pinked in the dim bar light. “No problem. I’m glad the extra help paid off. Never hesitate to ask. I’m always here to help former students.”

  She grinned. “Appetizer for you two is on me.”

  “Thanks, that’s kind of you,” I said, glancing around at the tables. “Anything open for two?”

  “For you and my friend here, always.”

  But it was so crowded; our choices were limited. Instead of something cozy, she ended up leading us to a quiet table for four in the corner close to the long oak bar.

  “Thanks,” Henry said, smiling briefly.

  She deposited two menus and flicked the beer menu that was already on the table with her long red nail. Henry walked around me and slid the chair out for me.

  “Thanks,” I said, sinking down onto the slightly wobbly seat.

  There were three other seats, and I wondered which he’d choose. Where did I want him to sit? Either next to me or across from me. Next to me would be closer, but then I’d have to turn every time I wanted to look at him. If he was across from me, he’d be farther, but I’d be able to glance up at him over the flickering candlelight.

  Okay, Charlotte. That’s a bit much. It’s a bar and dinner, not moony-eyed romance.

  He took the seat on my right, which meant I had to turn to talk to him, but if I wanted to, I could accidentally-on-purpose brush up against his hand. Or grab fries from his plate.

  But I was jittery. Pulling the paper napkin into my lap, I tore at it systematically. It helped keep the nerves at bay.