Show Me the Way

by Ashley Farley

  “With the right marketing campaign, we can have this inn booked to capacity and your restaurant teeming with customers like that,” Mark says, snapping his fingers.

  Marcia thrusts a business card at Presley. “Please have Stella call us.”

  Presley pockets the card. “I absolutely will. Enjoy the party. I hope to speak with you soon.”

  Mark and Marcia may be pushy, but they’re right. First thing in the morning, Presley will have a serious discussion with Stella about marketing.

  As she’s turning away from the Porters, Presley runs smack into Rita and Emma Reed. “Well . . . hello there,” she says. “Welcome to Homecoming.”

  Surprise registers on Rita’s face. “You’re that girl, the one who . . .”

  “Fell on her face in front of your house? That’s me. I’m Presley Ingram.”

  “Presley Ingram?” Rita gives her a closer look. “What a pretty name. Where are you from, Presley?”

  “Nashville, originally. But I moved to Hope Springs three weeks ago. I’m the new event planner.”

  Emma says, “Cool! I’ve been considering a career as a wedding planner. I’d love to talk to you more about it. Can you come to dinner one night this week?” She elbows Rita. “Is that okay, Mom? If Presley comes to dinner?” Emma doesn’t wait for Rita to respond. “Wednesday or Thursday would be best for me. Does either work for you? Do you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions?”

  Presley laughs out loud. This girl who was so rude to her when she tripped on their sidewalk is suddenly her best friend. “Your outgoing personality will serve you well in planning events and dealing with diva brides.”

  Rita smiles. “Emma’s wanted to be a wedding planner since Santa brought her Barbie Bride. I attended at least a thousand Barbie and Ken weddings.”

  Emma covers her face with her hands. “Mom! Stop!”

  “I had a Barbie Bride,” Presley admits. “And I’d love to come to dinner. Wednesday night would be best.”

  “Perfect.” Someone in the distance distracts Emma, giving Presley the opportunity to study her. Despite her casual attire—Barbour coat over jeans and cowboy boots—she’s strikingly pretty with dimples, a tiny turned-up nose, and prominent cheekbones.

  Emma tugs on her mother’s coat jacket. “I see Chad. I’m going to talk to him.”

  “Okay, sweetheart.” Rita waits until Emma is out of earshot. “Chad is her boyfriend. They’ve been dating forever. We’ll see if their relationship can stand the test of college.”

  Presley looks around for Abigail. “Did your other daughter come with you?”

  “Abigail? No, she’s at home studying for a calculus test tomorrow. Crowds aren’t her thing.”

  A server approaches with a tray of spiked oyster shooters. Rita accepts one and swallows it in one gulp, handing the empty shot glass back to the server. “Delicious. Oysters are one of my favorites. You all did a wonderful job with the party. Lucy Jordan, the sommelier here, is my sister.”

  “Lucy and I are friends,” Presley says, and then it dawns on her. Rita’s sister’s name is Anna, not Lucy. Is it possible there are three Townsend sisters? It’s not only possible, it’s entirely probable since Presley’s knowledge of the family is based on information gathered from random websites. Lucy has mentioned sisters, but never by name. Her story of putting her baby up for adoption comes rushing back to Presley. Is Presley that baby? She feels a crushing weight against her chest, and she struggles to catch her breath.

  Rita braces Presley’s arm. “Do you feel okay? You’re very pale.”

  She shakes her head to clear it. “I’m fine. I felt lightheaded for a minute. We’ve been working so hard these past few days, I haven’t taken the time to eat a decent meal.”

  Presley has been waiting for the right moment to talk to this woman, who she is certain . . . was certain is her mother. But now, all she can think about is getting away from her. “Have you been down to the cellar yet? Lucy has organized an impressive wine tasting.”

  “No, I came outside first to help Emma find Chad.” Rita glances over at her daughter. “Now that she’s occupied, I’ll sneak down to the wine tasting. Thanks for agreeing to talk to Emma about your career. Does seven o’clock work on Wednesday?”

  “That’d be lovely.”

  As Presley watches Rita stroll back toward the main building, a second wave crashes down on her. If Lucy Jordan is her mother, based on the story she told Presley at lunch, her father is a rapist.

  22

  Everett

  Presley nailed the theme. The party feels like a homecoming with the citizens of Hope Springs talking loudly and laughing, hugging and backslapping, as though they haven’t seen one another in years. And some of them probably haven’t. Even though the town is small, everyone has such busy lives these days.

  As Everett moves through the crowd from bar to bar, he overhears bits of conversation. Overall, the guests are impressed with the renovations. Men speak of bringing clients for drinks at Billy’s Bar, and women make plans for girls’ nights out and celebratory dinners at Jameson’s. One young woman suggests to her fiancé they have their wedding reception here next fall while another wants to rent out the game room for a football party in honor of her boyfriend’s birthday.

  Everett deems the party a success. He anticipates a drastic increase in business soon. At least for the restaurant and bars. The room bookings may take a little longer.

  A thickening in his throat surprises him. While he’s worked at the inn only a short time, he’s grown to love the vast rooms and mountain views. Except for Naomi, the other members of the team have become his friends. He enjoys the mixology aspect of bartending, and meeting new people, but he finds the work unfulfilling. During the past two months, he hasn’t been working toward anything. He’s been biding time. While he’s ready for the next stage of life, leaving the inn come January will be bittersweet. He can’t even bring himself to consider a life without Presley. He’ll have to convince her to come to Nashville with him.

  He’s leaving the library when Jazz sneaks up behind him, tugging on his shirttail. When he turns around, she leaps into his arms, and he twirls her around a few times before setting her back down. When she wobbles, he holds onto her until the dizziness passes. He will definitely miss Jazz. How can a kid with such a pure spirit come from a rotten soul like Naomi?

  “Are you having a good time, kiddo?” he asks.

  “Yes! Come see the magician!” Taking him by the hand, she tries to drag him down the hall.

  “I’m working right now, Jazzy. You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow.”

  She sticks out her lower lip. “Okay.”

  He offers a fist bump, and she reluctantly touches her tiny balled fist to his. Tossing a wave over her shoulder, she stalks off in the solarium's direction.

  The kid needs a dad. It makes Everett sad to think she might never get one. Naomi’s already run off one husband. No matter how beautiful she is, no man in his right mind would marry her.

  As he hustles from bar to bar, Everett rehearses his speech in his head. In a few short hours, he will tell Presley everything. The burden of his lies has weighed him down since he arrived in Hope Springs, but even more so in recent weeks as his feelings for Presley have deepened. He hopes she’ll be understanding. If not, while he may lose his chance at happiness with her, he’ll at least be able to live with himself again.

  Everett is so engrossed in his own thoughts, he doesn’t believe his eyes when he sees Presley talking to Carla and Louie out by the bonfire. He blinks hard and rubs his eyes. What on earth are Carla and Louie doing here? Wait a minute. Is it possible? Memories flash back and he finally connects the dots. He met the fisherman from Atlanta, Turkey Neck, at Blue By You one night. Carla introduced them. “Meet my uncle, Mack Lambert.” Only he isn’t Carla’s uncle. He’s her neighbor, her father’s best friend.

  Everett imagines the conversation between Mack and Carla at a neighborhood barbecue. “I ran
into your buddy, Rhett. He’s working as a bartender up in the mountains of Virginia. He’s going by the name of Everett. Claims he’s from North Dakota. But I swear he’s the guy I met with you at Blue By You. What’s his deal? Why’s he in hiding? Is he wanted by the police or something?”

  Presley’s conversation with Carla and Louie appears to be cordial. They haven’t stirred up any trouble yet. Maybe they don’t know about his relationship with Presley. His gaze shifts slightly to the right, to Naomi, who is staring straight at him with a grin so smug he wants to smack it right off her face.

  She tried to warn him. I just got off the phone with your friend from Atlanta. He booked two rooms for this weekend. I convinced him to stay through Sunday to attend the party. Everett had assumed that by friend, she meant the fisherman from Atlanta.

  Everett pushes his way through the dwindling crowd to Presley’s side. “What’re the two of you doing here?” he says to Carla and Louie.

  Carla loops her arm through his, leaning possessively against him. “We came to see you, silly.”

  “Correction! Carla came to see you. I came to give you this.” Drawing back his hand, Louie punches Everett in the eye. Everett stumbles backward, and Louie tackles him to the ground. “You stole my money, your rotten a-hole, and I want it back.”

  Carla squeals, “Stop!” as she kicks at them with her pointy-toed boot.

  They roll around on the ground until Everett wrestles his way on top and begins pummeling Louie with his fists. He manages several hard blows to Louie’s face before Martin, the head of security, jerks Everett to his feet and sets him down in front of Stella.

  Stella’s face is beet red, and her nostrils are flaring. Her arm shoots out, finger pointed at her cottage. “Come with me! All of you! Now!”

  Martin takes Louie and Everett by their collars and marches them down the narrow road to the caretaker’s cottage. Everett feels as though he’s on his way to the guillotine with Queen Stella leading the procession and her attendants—Naomi, Carla, and Presley—bringing up the rear.

  Their party of seven packs into the tiny living room. Presley remains by the door, with one hand on the knob as though preparing to bolt. Carla uses her brother’s body as a shield, as though she needs protecting from the man who impregnated her. Everett’s eyes travel to her swollen belly. Damn, she’s still pregnant.

  Louie, who is bleeding from his nose and a cut above his eye, catches Everett staring. He takes another swing at him, but Martin holds Louie off.

  Stella stares Louie down. “If you go after him again, I’ll have you arrested.” She turns to Everett. “What is wrong with you? This is beyond embarrassing for me to have one of my employees cause such a scene at a party we’re hosting. Start talking, Everett. What’s this about?”

  “Everett?” Louie snorts. “Where’d you come up with a fancy name like that?”

  Stella’s jaw drops. “Your name isn’t Everett?”

  Louie answers for Everett. “I’ve known him all my life. Ain’t never called him nothing but Rhett.”

  Stella’s eyes still on Everett, she says, “So these people are friends of yours from North Dakota.”

  Louie barks out a ha. “North Dakota? The three of us are from Georgia. Born and raised in Atlanta.” Louie takes Carla by the arm and jerks her forward. “This here’s my sister, Carla. Rhett knocked her up and split town with three thousand dollars in cash that belongs to me.”

  “I knew it!” Naomi says. “You are a thief. I thought there was something sketchy about you when I caught you using my computer the other day? How much did you steal from the inn, Rhett?”

  “I didn’t still a dime from the inn,” Everett says to Naomi, and to Louie, he adds, “And I have touched none of your money.”

  Everett risks a glance toward the door. Presley is gone. When did she leave? How much did she hear?

  Stella massages her temples. “This sounds like a personal matter to me. Everett . . . Rhett . . .whatever your name is, go home. Take the rest of the night off. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Everett is crossing the room on his way out when he hears Stella say, “Martin, politely escort our guests back to their rooms.”

  Everett, to avoid the lingering partiers, follows the road around the main building to the front. His vision blurred by tears, he stares at the sidewalk as he walks home. He craves a drink. Town Tavern is closed. He’ll go to the market for beer or wine. A memory from two years ago comes flashing back. He’s lying drunk and bloody from a bar fight at his parents’ front door. The door opens and his mom is standing over him. She’s shaking her head, her expression twisted in a grimace. You’re better than this, Rhett.

  Everett hurries inside to the safety of his apartment. He throws open his window and straddles the sill. Town Tavern is open for brunch on Sundays but closed on Sunday nights. Downtown is quiet with few cars on the road and only a scattering of people walking home from the party.

  So, Carla has decided to go through with the pregnancy. He’s going to be a daddy. Shouldn’t he have experienced something when he saw her baby bump? A tug at his heartstrings or butterflies in his gut? But he feels nothing for this child. No tenderness or pride or concern for its wellbeing. Is that because he feels nothing for the baby’s mother? Or is it because he’s a vile human being like his old man?

  An honest and hard-working woman, a friend he’s known most of his life, is having his child out of wedlock, and all he can think about is another woman. Presley is lost to him now. He’s almost certain of it. He could try to explain. But what’s the point. A relationship between them would never work. He and Presley are nothing alike. Everett comes from redneck trash, and Presley from wealth and privilege.

  The sound of his guitar echoes throughout the silence as he fine-tunes his latest masterpiece, his best work yet, a song he calls “Raven” about a red-headed beauty who has stolen his heart. He sees Presley’s shadow on the sidewalk below long before her body comes into view. With head bowed and shoulders slumped, she doesn’t look up at him, even though he’s certain she can hear him. A moment later, her apartment door closes with a thud, and light spills through the window.

  He continues to play his guitar and sing into the wee hours, not for Presley but for himself. He’s lost his way, and he’s counting on his music to guide him back.

  Everett, unshowered and unshaven and wearing sunglasses to hide his black eye, goes to the bank when it opens at nine the following morning. He never transferred any of Louie’s money to his mother. His conscience wouldn’t let him, not until he knew for certain Louie owed him the money. Withdrawing the full three thousand dollars in cash from his account, he continues down the street to the library.

  He checked his email sporadically over the weekend whenever he could sneak away from the inn. On his last visit to the library yesterday before the party and still having heard nothing from his mom, he sent her an urgent message asking her to please let him know she’s okay. Today, thankfully, he has an email from her waiting in his inbox. The message is brief: Call ASAP.

  Panic sets in and he hurries to the checkout counter.

  “Can I use your phone?” he asks Rose. “I have an emergency and I need to call my mom.”

  Rose’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes his black eye.

  “Please, Rose! I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

  She lowers her gaze to the desk phone. “Is it local?”

  Everett shakes his head.

  She removes her cell phone from the pocket of her pink cardigan and slides it across the counter to him. “Go outside to make your call, and don’t forget to bring me back my phone.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” He gives her his most genuine smile. “Thank you. And my mom thanks you.”

  Outside, he paces the sidewalk in front of the library while waiting for his mom to answer. He calls three times before she finally picks up. In a suspicious tone, she asks, “Who’s this?”

  “It’s me, Mom.”

&nb
sp; She begins to cry. “Oh, Rhett.”

  “What’s going on, Mom? Are you okay?”

  “No, son, I’m not okay.”

  The bottom falls out of his stomach. “Where are you?”

  “In the hospital. Your father went off the deep end. After beating me into a coma, he suffered a massive stroke.”

  Everett grips Rose’s phone tighter. “Is he—”

  “Yes!” she sobs into the phone. “He’s gone.”

  Everett stops pacing. Is she seriously sad the bastard is out of their lives? “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but you’re better off without him. You know that, don’t you, Mom?”

  Her voice is meek. “Yes. I know that. He nearly killed me. I’m just so emotional right now. The doctor has me on a lot of painkillers. I really need you, Rhett. I hate to ask you, but can you please come home?”

  Everett hates that she has to ask. “Of course, Mom. I’ll be there tonight. Tell me the extent of your injuries.”

  A rustling sound comes over the line, and his mom says, “The doctor just walked in. He can tell you better than me.”

  Lowering himself to the library steps, Everett rakes his fingers through his hair as Dr. Mullins speaks of broken ribs, a punctured lung, a severe concussion, and an arm broken in two places. “Those are the worst of her injuries. She has other minor cuts and bruises. I’ve been a doctor for thirty years, but I’ve never seen an assault of this magnitude.”

  If his father wasn’t already dead, Everett would kill him with his bare hands. “When did this happen, Doctor?”

  “An ambulance brought her in last Wednesday. She came out of the coma yesterday. We’ve been trying to reach you, but our calls keep going to your voicemail.”

  Guilt expands in Everett’s chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. “I’ve been having trouble with my phone. I’m out of town now, but I’ll be home tonight, by midnight at the latest.”

  “Good! Your mom needs you. I’ll expect to see you during my morning rounds tomorrow.”