Hometown Healing

by Jennifer Slattery

  “That didn’t seem to bother you much. You were too busy chasing cheerleaders to notice.”

  “That’s not true. Things were hard for me, too. My dad alternated from giving me the cold shoulder to telling me how I was never going to succeed in life. On account of I didn’t want to be a lawyer like him. My mom was nagging me all the time to make a college decision—a life decision. The pressure was too much, you know?”

  Her eyes searched his, and the edge within them softened some.

  He released a breath. “I felt like I was failing everyone, especially you. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I didn’t. I just quit thinking about it all—about everything. I started hanging out at parties. But I didn’t leave you. I couldn’t have. You’d already left.”

  “I was upset and totally freaked out. You knew that.”

  “I should’ve held tight to you. We should’ve held tight to each other.”

  Silence stretched between them, but then she inhaled and smiled. “Seems to me you never quite responded to Ricardo’s challenge.”

  “Ricardo...?” He grinned. “I see how that could be a problem.” He rose and rounded his desk, fighting the urge to pull her close and kiss her. “So, tell me, Paige Cordell, are you saying—?”

  “Why do you have to put everything into a box?” An old phrase he used often in high school, whenever she tried to overthink things.

  He chuckled. “Using my words against me, I see.”

  “Something like that. So...now what?”

  “Guess maybe we’ll figure that out as we go?” As much as he wanted to lasso her for good, he knew he needed to take things slowly. To prove he planned to stand beside her and Ava for good.

  “The fellas and I are throwing a cookout tonight. Want to come?”

  She didn’t respond right away, then took a deep breath and nodded. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll go.”

  That was a start.

  * * *

  Paige stepped back from the billowing fire and grabbed a soda from the cooler near Jed’s truck. She tried to tell herself it was the thick smoke swirling toward her that caused her eyes and nose to sting, but it was more than that.

  She felt as though she’d regressed to that shy, awkward teenager who always felt like the outsider. This was Jed’s world—boots, cowboy hats and cookouts.

  She fit much better in Chicago. There, people accepted her for who she was.

  No. They left her alone. Allowed her to believe her self-imposed isolation was normal.

  And the busyness and traffic and constant noise allowed her to distract herself from the loneliness invading her heart.

  A loneliness she hadn’t felt lately. Not since she and Jed had been hanging out again.

  She sat at the base of an old, gnarled oak tree. With her back pressed against the rough trunk, she hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. She watched as Jed’s buddies laughed and carried on.

  Was there room in their world for her?

  Did she truly belong back in Sage Creek?

  Jed stepped back from the fire and looked around. He strolled over. “You all right?”

  “Just tired, I guess.”

  He lowered to the ground beside her; his shoulder felt warm against hers. “You sure? Because seems to me you clammed up the minute Tyler’s girlfriend arrived. She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

  Paige plucked a blade of grass. “No. It’s just...” She sighed. “Never mind.”

  “Don’t do this, Paige.”

  “Do what?”

  “Hide behind that protective shell of yours. If we’re going to give this a go between us, we’ve got to do things differently. We owe ourselves that much.”

  “I guess.” How would she know what it took to make a relationship work? She hadn’t exactly had the best role models in her parents. Nor had she done any better than they had with her own marriage.

  “So, tell me—” he nudged her shoulder with his “—what’s gotten you so quiet?”

  She gazed toward the fire, wishing she could verbalize all of her emotions. Wishing she understood her feelings herself. “Your friends don’t like me.”

  “They hardly know you.”

  “They know what they remember.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She shrugged.

  He cupped her chin in his callused hand and turned her face toward him. “Like I said, they don’t know you. Because you haven’t given them a chance. Instead, you’re seeing rejection that isn’t there. Besides, who cares what they think? I sure don’t.”

  Her breath caught as he leaned closer. His lips brushed against hers, causing her insides to melt.

  Someone whooped, and she jolted backward, whacking her head on the tree behind her. Snickers erupted.

  Jed shook his head. “What is this, junior high?”

  Paige smiled. “Apparently.”

  Except, for once she no longer felt like the awkward, frizzy-haired middle schooler. Maybe Sage Creek wasn’t so terrible after all.

  Suddenly she was rethinking her plans to return to Chicago. She knew she couldn’t live in her mother’s guest room forever, not to mention she was a journalist, not a scriptwriter. Besides, for all she knew, Jed’s theater could go bust before summer’s end. By then she could be employed with a prestigious, well-paying magazine, if everything went well at the writers’ conference.

  But could she give up her dreams of making it in the magazine world for Jed?

  Could she give up Jed for the life she’d left in Chicago?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jed stomped muck from his boots and then entered into his parents’ mudroom, where he took them off entirely.

  Dad’s voice drifted from the kitchen. He must’ve cut his business trip short, probably because of the basement flooding. And likely he wasn’t in the best of moods.

  Jed strode down the hall and around the corner. He touched the brim of his hat and gave a quick dip of his head. “Pop.”

  “Son. Thanks for coming out. For keeping an eye on things while I was gone.”

  Jed nodded and faced his mother. “I talked to my contractor buddy about your wood floors. He said he’ll call next week to schedule a time to come give you an estimate.” The basement flooding had caused the wood floors in the half bath to buckle.

  “He’ll work with the insurance company?” Mom set her towel on the counter and crossed her arms.

  He nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Thanks for your help.” Dad clamped a hand on Jed’s shoulder. “Now that that’s taken care of—” he glanced around “—when’s supper?”

  Mom’s eyes lit. “Let’s go out to eat.”

  He sighed. “Jillian, I just walked in the door not ten minutes ago.”

  “Come on. When’s the last time Jed had a night off? Besides, I don’t have anything thawed.”

  Dad frowned. “You’re not going to let up, are you?”

  Mom grinned. “Just give me a minute to freshen up.”

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled into Wilma’s parking lot, where his sister and brother-in-law would be meeting them. Hopefully the conversation would remain light.

  Jed glanced at the time on his phone. How was Paige doing? She was probably packing for that writing conference she was going to.

  The one she hoped would somehow get her back to Chicago.

  Dare he hope she’d change her mind? Stay in Sage Creek?

  He’d find out soon enough.

  * * *

  Paige cast her mom a sideways glance and placed the last clean towel, now folded, into the hamper. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

  “You go. Mira’s your friend. I’d feel silly intruding.”

  “She wouldn’t bat an eye—promise. I really think you’ll feel better if y
ou get out for a bit.” As far as she knew, Mom hadn’t left the house in two days. Not even to visit Mrs. Tappen. Would she be okay while Paige was away at the writing conference? She was scheduled to fly out first thing in the morning. Maybe she should cancel her trip.

  But she didn’t want to blow her chance at meeting some of the top magazine publishers in the nation. And what about Jed? Could she really leave him, move to Chicago or Minneapolis, or wherever else her career demanded?

  Mom wrapped both hands around her steaming mug of tea and shook her head. “What I need is a good, long nap. To rest these aching bones.”

  Paige frowned. Depression could make someone hurt, right? Wasn’t that what the commercials said? “You can rest at Wilma’s, and I’ll bring you back right after.”

  “Quit worrying, sweetie. And tell Mira hello for me.” She smiled. “It’s so nice to see you reconnecting with your old friends.” Mom’s knowing smile implied she meant friends other than just Mira. As if she knew how Paige’s heart skipped whenever her thoughts shifted to Jed—which was constantly.

  But as much as she cared for him, they still had so much to figure out. They came from completely different worlds. His parents had always hated her. Though his mom never came right out and said so, her curt tone and pinched expression had made it clear that she thought Paige was beneath him.

  She was trying to be smart about all of this, but each day, with every conversation, Jed was dismantling all of her logical reasons for why they wouldn’t make it.

  Though the past still stung, she’d forgiven him. Like he’d said, they’d both been dealing with issues at home, and Paige had withdrawn, from him and everyone else. She’d just been so sad. Scared. Confused.

  She’d pulled away from him much in the same way Mom had pulled away from her.

  How much of the ache she felt came from her breakup with Jed, and how much was from the rejection she felt from her father?

  There was no sense in brooding over the past. Tonight she planned to have fun with her friend and eat ginormous quantities of junk food.

  And try not to stress about her and Jed’s burgeoning relationship. And the writing conference. And her decision whether or not to return to Chicago.

  Less than twenty minutes later, she sat in a restaurant across from her childhood best friend with a massive platter of nachos between them.

  She scooped guacamole onto a chip. “Honestly, I feel like an idiot for going.”

  “Why?” Mira sipped her sweet tea.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I’m chasing after a dream that, if my recent layoff is any indication, I’m incapable of.”

  Mira rolled her eyes. “Way to be overdramatic, Paige.”

  “All right, so maybe I’m not entirely inept—”

  “Far from it.”

  “But writing is a competitive field. Who’s to say I’m not wasting my time and money going to this thing?”

  “Is this what you really want?”

  If Mira had asked her that question a couple of weeks ago, Paige would’ve responded with a resounding yes. Now she wasn’t sure.

  “I need to use the restroom.” She set her napkin on the table and stood.

  Mira took a sip of water. “We can finish this conversation when you get back.”

  Paige smiled and made her way toward the back of the restaurant.

  Halfway there, her gaze swept across a table of five, and she halted. Her heart gave a leap. “Jed.” She smiled.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Howdy.” He looked first to his mom, then to his dad. “Uh... You remember my...uh...friend Paige.”

  Friend? It wasn’t just the word, but the way he said it that made her tense. Was he ashamed of her?

  “Of course. Marilyn Cordell’s daughter.” His mom’s features tightened, and then she slid a glance toward her husband. “Jed offered her a job at his theater.”

  “Oh?” Mr. Gilbertson scooped fajita meat onto a tortilla. “That’s nice.”

  His wife nodded. “You may have heard she lost her job in Chicago.”

  Paige’s mouth dropped open, and her throat suddenly felt tight and scratchy.

  “Mom.” Jed’s voice was low.

  Mrs. Cordell dipped a fry into her ketchup. “Which reminds me, I need to pick up a few more auction items for the charity ball. Jed, would you mind asking your buddy Michael if he’ll donate some of his wonderful handcrafted items? It’s for such a great cause.”

  Paige’s face grew hot. She and her mom reminded Mrs. Gilbertson of a charity function?

  A cell phone trilled, and Mrs. Gilbertson glanced at her screen. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” She pushed away from the table. “Aileen, hello...”

  Paige stepped back to allow her by and then offered a stiff smile first to Jed’s mother, and then to him. “Enjoy your meal.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  Ignoring Jed, she walked to the bathroom and locked herself in the stall to give herself a moment to calm down. To throw off the sting of rejection she always seemed to feel whenever Mrs. Cordell was around.

  But she refused to allow that woman to spoil her night. She’d enjoy her time with Mira, get a good night’s sleep and have an amazing time at the writer’s conference tomorrow. Where people would evaluate her based on her skill set, not her past or where she came from.

  With a deep breath, she fluffed her hair and pushed open the bathroom door.

  Mrs. Cordell’s voice, drifting from the hall, stopped her. “The Cordell girl. Oh, I know. It’s so sad. Mental illness is hereditary, you know.”

  Old insecurities, the ones that had plagued her throughout high school, came rushing back.

  Paige shook them off, squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall.

  Mrs. Cordell’s eyes widened when they landed on Paige.

  She jetted her chin. “Ma’am.”

  No one could make Paige feel like trash unless she let them.

  But why put herself in that position in the first place? Clearly, Mrs. Cordell felt Jed was too good for her. What would family reunions and Christmas dinners be like?

  How would Mrs. Cordell treat her sweet Ava?

  It was one thing to endure personal rejection; it was another matter entirely to willingly expose her daughter to it.

  * * *

  Once dinner was over, Jed excused himself and hurried to his truck to call Paige. She’d clearly been upset when she’d left their table, and understandably so. His mother had no right to make Paige feel so small. And knowing her with all of her five-year plans and thought processes, she was probably fretting over what she might have to endure should she and Jed merge their lives together.

  He just needed to convince her that it wouldn’t be an issue.

  Which meant he needed to have a firm and clear conversation with his mom.

  But first he wanted to talk to Paige.

  Unfortunately he got her voice mail, so he left a message. “It’s me. I’m sorry about tonight. I know you’re probably upset. And I understand why. But I’ll deal with my mom.” He released a heavy breath. “Don’t let her ugliness get between us. Please.”

  Jed ended the call and prayed it wasn’t too late.

  * * *

  Paige trudged up the Chicago O’Hare Jetway, carrying her computer bag on one shoulder and her carry-on on the other. As she neared an airport coffee shop, the rich scent of fresh roast and cinnamon baked goods made her empty stomach rumble. She pulled her phone from her back pocket and checked the time. Just after eight o’clock, which allowed her nearly an hour to buy her caffeine-and-sugar fix, grab a taxi and make it to the conference center.

  Was this a mistake? What if she was no good, and that’d been the real reason the magazine had let her go?

  Then this whole trip would be a waste of time and money. She felt guilty enough, and
even a little irresponsible, considering the state of her bank account, blowing round-trip airfare for a one-day conference that could easily amount to zilch.

  But she refused to become her own limiting factor by paralyzing herself with doubts. She had more important ways to keep her brain occupied, like presenting herself well.

  Standing in line in front of the bakery counter, she pulled a typed slip of paper from her computer bag and reviewed her bio.

  She inhaled a deep breath and mentally rehearsed what she hoped to say to the editors she’d encounter. Hopefully they still had appointment openings. Apparently, Paige had registered later than most of the other writers. The online form said appointment registrations had been closed, but that attendees might be able to sign up for last-minute openings the day of. In other words, Paige really needed registrants not to show or to change their minds.

  If any of them were experiencing the same preconference jitters as she was, she stood a reasonably good chance of that.

  She practiced her article pitches a few more times in the cab ride to Juliet, then again as she waited outside the cavernous appointment room. All of her ideas felt...bland. Ordinary and overdone. But they were all she had.

  “You going in?”

  She turned to see a tall bald man standing beside her.

  “I...um... Is this where we make appointments to meet with editors?”

  He nodded. “Go on in. The tables have signs showing who’s where and sheets on them listing available time slots. Mr. Edwards from Ink Splotch won’t be here until this afternoon.”

  “Thanks.” She turned back to the room and then froze. Ardell Dannheim was walking toward her, looking at her phone. If Paige moved fast, she could dart away before her former boss saw her.

  Or she could hold her head high and act like the professional she was.

  Before she’d made a decision, Ardell glanced up, and her steps slowed. A deep groove formed between her pencil-thin eyebrows. “Ms. Cordell, good to see you.”

  She swallowed. “You, as well.” How could Chic Fashions magazine send a representative to a conference designed to connect editors with writers after having just laid off a quarter of their staff?