“Look, I know this is presumptuous of me, but would you like to grab some lunch after we’re done here? I can tell you about the town and you probably don’t know many people here yet—”
I felt an immediate sense of gratitude. “I would love to. The only person I’ve met so far is the postman, Mr. Brindleson.”
“Probably not someone you’d picture as best friend material.”
“No kidding.” I laughed. “He seemed like a nice man, maybe a little nosey.”
Half an hour later I followed Jennifer out of the bank. She looked both ways down Main Street. “Let’s see, I’m not sure what you like. There’s Molly’s Pie House, kind of an everyday café-type restaurant. Really great cherry pie and burgers. Or we have Italian, Mexican, some chain restaurants—”
“I’m not picky, really. How about Molly’s Pie House? Can we walk there?”
“We could, but it’s the end of June and pretty hot. I don’t want to be all sweaty when I go back to work. I can drive.”
The inside of the diner was all mid-western cliché, with its black and white tiled linoleum floors and red vinyl-covered booths. It was early for the lunch crowd, so we got a table right away. The menu was pretty middle-America comfort food, just as cliché as the decor.
“I didn’t ask if you’re a healthy eater, being from New York where I’m sure everyone is into fitness, and you look like you’re in great shape. Maybe you won’t find anything you like here?”
“I’m a ‘when-it’s-convenient’ healthy eater. Definitely not vegetarian or vegan. I’m craving a burger so this is perfect. Being new in town, I don’t want to become known as that typical uppity New Yorker who turns her nose up at comfort food.”
“That sums me up, too. By the way, my friends call me Jen. You can, too, if you want.”
“I appreciate it, Jen. You’re my first friend in Marysville.” I contemplated the fact that I’d just met her and she immediately invited me to lunch, and that I pegged her as a friend so quickly. Maybe it’s a small-town thing.
“You haven’t met any interesting people since you moved here?”
“Not really,” I said, taking a sip of my water. “I’ve mostly been getting used to the new house. Putting things away, arranging cupboards and drawers the way I want them. I did a little exploring around the town, but mostly I’ve been sticking close to home to help my son settle in. I’m only out and about today because I enrolled him in the summer camp program the Methodist church offers.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard it’s popular with the elementary crowd.”
“I hope so. TJ needs to find friends. It was hard on him leaving everything he knows in New York, especially his friends. I think he was angry with me for dragging him out here.”
“I bet. The church camp should be a good place to make friends.” Jen had shoved her sunglasses onto her head when they’d come in out of the sunlight, and now she took them off and tucked them into her purse. “What does TJ stand for?”
“Tom, Jr., after his father. We used to call him Tommy, but he thinks that makes him sound like a baby. We compromised on TJ.”
Jen glanced up at the approach of our server.
“No more talking,” I said. “I have to devote myself to this burger!”
She laughed around the bite she’d just taken, nodding in agreement.
Chapter 4
O
I
had a friend. I was surprised how relieved I felt at the thought. Suddenly, I wasn’t facing my new future alone. I sniffed. One lunch doesn’t a lifelong friendship make. She might not even like me after she got to know me. And vice versa. But, still . . .
I pulled up at the church at four fifteen, not wanting to take the chance of being late and causing TJ to worry. Turns out, I had zero reasons to be concerned. He got off the bus with two other boys, the three of them looking thick as thieves. His beaming face caused me to smile and let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. When he spotted me, he waved, then said goodbye to the other boys, and raced to the car, his face full of light. Happy.
“How was it?” I asked as he climbed into the car.
“It was totally cool,” he said, his little-boy face animated. “We hiked to a waterfall.”
“That is cool. And it looks like you made a couple of friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, what? Do they have names?”
“Oh, Mom. Of course they have names.” He grinned at me, teasing.
I poked him in the ribs. “Give, big guy!”
He settled back in his seat, reaching for his seatbelt and pulling it across his chest to click into the slot. “Mike and Kevin.”
“Mike and Kevin, huh? Are they good friend material?”
“Yeah, they’re cool. They’ll be here tomorrow. I’m coming back tomorrow, aren’t I?”
“Sure, if you want to.”
“I do.” He started fiddling with his backpack, tuning me out. Glancing at him in the rearview mirror, I could see his eyes getting heavy. It made me happy to see him content and worn out from his day of fun.
I pulled into the driveway and turned off the car, unable to convince myself to park in the detached garage. It was easier just to pull up by the kitchen door. Truth be told, the garage was a tiny bit creepy, so dim and dusty, with boxes stacked along the walls and old tools scattered on a workbench.
“TJ,” I gently rubbed his shoulder. “Go get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” I watched him clamber out of the car, and followed him up to the back door, bags of groceries in hand.
I set the bags on the kitchen counter and put away items that needed to be refrigerated, leaving things I needed for dinner sitting out.
“Alexa, set a timer for 10 minutes,” I called as I dumped the bag of spaghetti into a pot of boiling water.
Timer set for 10 minutes, came the response.
Dinner was on the table by the time TJ came back downstairs, and I filled his plate with pasta and a bowl with salad. He did an admirable job cleaning his plate, but most of the salad was still in the bowl by the time he asked if he could be excused.
He scooted back upstairs after finishing his pasta, rinsing his dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.
I hummed to myself as I cleaned up the kitchen and turned on the dishwasher. Seeing my baby excited about something made my heart happy.
It was too early to get ready for bed, and the TV’s guide didn’t list anything I was particularly interested in watching. Not that I minded. I was content to curl up in the corner of the couch with my Kindle and a glass of wine. For almost the first time since Tom’s death I was able to concentrate on the story I was reading, my mind not tied up in a knot of worry and grief. Funny, only two things had changed: I’d made a new friend and my son was looking forward to tomorrow.
When my eyes started to lose focus and I kept re-reading the same paragraph, I knew it was time to turn in for the night. I looked in on TJ, smiling at the small bundle under the comforter, a dinosaur book open on the floor by his bed. “I love you, honey,” I whispered as I leaned over him and kissed his forehead, stifling a yawn as I headed for my own room.
“Alexa, set an alarm for six forty-five tomorrow morning.”
Okay. Alarm set for 6:45 a.m. tomorrow morning.
Right on time, Alexa’s blue ring lit up and a buzzy humming sound roused me from sleep. I stretched and swung my legs off the side of the bed, sitting up and rubbing my eyes, not bothering to ask Alexa to let me snooze for fifteen minutes. It felt like I’d turned a corner. I found the sunlight coming in the east window of my bedroom welcoming, instead of resenting its intrusion into my darkness.
I showered and dressed and roused TJ, then went downstairs to make breakfast before we needed to head for the church parking lot.
He jumped out of the car as soon as I stopped, tossing a “Goodbye, Mom” over his shoulder as he spotted Mike and Kevin standing by the bus.
“Bye, sweetie,” I called, knowing he was already out of earshot. I smiled and shrugged as I pulled out of the parking lot.
It seemed like a good day to explore Marysville. The city exuded a New England vibe, with its century-old architecture and lush greenery. The downtown area was entrancing with its brick Victorian and Regency buildings, some dating from the 1800s, many with arched doorways and wrought-iron balconies. Inside, the aging but modernized buildings featured an array of quaint boutiques, antique stores and restaurants. Not a single “big box” store to be found. The fragrance of summer blooms in flower baskets hanging from old-time black-post streetlights wafted through the air, their sweet smell intoxicating. I felt good. How long had it been since I’d been able to say that?
The temperature hovered in the mid-80s. Hot and mid-level humid. Not miserable. Yet. Half a block down from where I’d parked, a cute boutique caught my eye and I stepped inside, sighing in appreciation of the air conditioning. Given the heat of late June, the summer selection of shorts and tank tops was especially enticing, and mostly on sale to make room for the upcoming fall season. After forty-five minutes spent browsing and trying on summer outfits, I left the store with my bank account $200 lighter. I walked along, swinging my shopping bag and looking in windows, now and then stopping when something caught my eye. In a few of the stores, I braved introducing myself, wanting to make connections, to make Marysville start to feel like home.
An antique rocking horse in a shop named Dreams of Yesterday caught my eye. I tried the door, and noticed the posted store hours indicated the store was closed on Tuesdays. Disappointed, I peered through the window for a few more minutes before I moved on, intending to try again in the future.
I think I fell in love with it. Growing up, I had a small collection of rocking horses. Two, to be exact. They currently reside in my parents’ attic. If I’d had more room growing up, the collection might have been much bigger.
Now, I have more room and, maybe, just as much desire. I probably can’t afford it anyway, I thought, ruefully shaking my head. Even looking through the store’s window, I could tell it wasn’t your run-of-the-mill rocking horse. It was a gleaming chestnut-colored horse with real horsehair for its mane and tail, a leather saddle with stirrups, and deep brown glass eyes. I’d always wanted one of the true-to-life horse-hide covered rocking horses.
Before heading home, I stopped at Molly’s Pie House and picked up a cherry pie for TJ, his favorite. I didn’t let him eat a lot of sugary desserts, so this would be a treat.
The tart sweet aroma of the pie filled my car as I drove through the quaint tree-lined streets. Reminiscing over the day, I found myself smiling a genuine smile. It was good for me to get outside of my grief, and being out in the world was the way to do it.
Jen and I had lunch toward the end of the week. She’d made a list of vital contacts for almost anything I might need: plumbing, electrical, handyman, babysitter, house cleaner. I was set now.
We shared pictures on our phone; me of Tom and TJ, her of her fiancé Jason. They were childhood sweethearts who broke up after high school but found their way back together following college. Nice looking guy.
A couple of years younger than my 28 years, I found Jen to be very different from me in some ways. She was a little shorter than me. At 5' 7", I’ve always been taller than most of my friends. My hair is blonde, hers is dark brown, but long like mine. Those differences don’t qualify as very different, though. Where she really differed is that, notably, she was bubbly and happy. I was not.
I was trying, though.
“I think I’ve forgotten how to let it all go,” I said. Jen and I were sitting in the town’s only Mexican restaurant, a dark, hole-in-the-wall establishment with the aroma of tortillas and roasting chili peppers permeating the air. “The grief, I mean. I used to be bubbly and sunny, like you, until Tom was killed. People used to remark on how much I laughed. I wish you could have known me the way I was. I just haven’t gotten my equilibrium back yet.”
“Kelly, it hasn’t been that long since you lost your husband. You can’t expect the sadness to go away with a snap of your fingers. You’ll get there. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Feel what you need to feel.”
“I know you’re right. I have to give it time. Maybe if I hang around with you enough, some of your exuberance will rub off on me.”
Jen laughed. “I’m sure it will. I’ll do what I can to help it along.”
“I don’t cry myself to sleep every night anymore. Puffy, red eyes and a headache were my morning reality for a long time. I still have bad days, just not as many.”
“Sounds like you’re making progress.” She cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, Kelly, can you tell me about . . . what happened to Tom?”
She caught me off-guard. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell her, but when the tears threatened, she noticed and apologized for asking.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m okay. Really. But maybe we should talk about something else for now.”
“Of course. I’m really embarrassed.” She looked alarmed at my reaction, which made me alarmed that I’d made her uncomfortable.
I wiped at my eyes with my napkin and leaned across the table toward her. “Is my mascara all messed up?”
She laughed and pointed to a spot under my right eye. “Maybe just a little right there.”
I fished a mirror out of my handbag and dipped my napkin in my water glass, then proceeded to dab at the small spot. “Thanks,” I said after I’d scrutinized my face.
I returned the mirror to my handbag, and cleared my throat. “About Tom,” I started.
“It’s okay. I don’t mean to pry.”
“You didn’t. I just . . . . He was killed by a drunk driver. A stupid son of a bitch drunk driver.”
“How awful.” She reached across the table and touched my hand. “I can’t imagine how you must feel.”
“I feel a lot of things. Grief, loneliness, of course. But anger. That’s the one that seems to consume me. I hate the man who killed Tom.”
“I would, too.” She sighed and took a sip of her iced tea. Neither of us knew what to say.
I wadded up my napkin and dropped it on the table. “You probably need to get back to work.”
“Probably,” she said. “But we should do this again. And I promise we’ll only talk about fun things.”
Chapter 5
O
O
n my way home from lunch, I noticed the door to the antique store was open, and impulsively pulled into a parking space. The horse looked at me from its prime spot in the window and I smiled. Once inside, I made a beeline for the horse, running my hand over its smooth coat.
“I can carry it to your car for you,” a deep voice behind me said.
“Thanks, but I—” My voice trailed off when I looked up into the face of the good-looking man who’d spoken. “I, uh, I’m just looking.” What was wrong with me, stuttering because of a man I just met?
“No problem. Glad you stopped in. I’m Rob Porter. Let me know if you have any questions.”
“I will, thanks.” I pushed my hair behind my ear and extended my hand. “I’m Kelly Harris. I recently moved to Marysville.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Harris. How do you like our little town?”
“So far, so good. My son and I are settling in.”
“Can I get you some coffee or a bottle of water?” He laughed. “Maybe it’s a little warm out there for coffee.”
“Water would be great. Thanks.”
I watched him walk toward the back of the store. There was something about him that appealed to me beyond that he was handsome, quite handsome, although that didn’t hurt. He had a genuine warmth about him, a welcoming vibe. I found myself wondering about him, whether he was married, had kids. Not that I was interested in that way. It’s in my nature to be curious.
“Here you go,” he said as he handed me the bottl
e. “I’ll let you browse. Let me know if you have any questions.”
I smiled and found myself following him with my eyes as he walked away. A tug in my heart brought tears to my eyes, as memories of Tom came unexpectedly. I’m not sure why. I think I felt guilty for having even one thought about Rob Porter.
A tissue from my pocket corrected the problem, and when my eyes were dry enough I turned back to the rocking horse, running my hand over its silky coat. It was even nicer in person. In almost pristine condition. I turned over the tag and tried not to gasp at the price. $1,500. From England in the early 1900s. Such perfect condition must mean that it hadn’t graced the playrooms of little children.
A tad rich for my budget. Ah, well. I gave a short laugh. What would I do with it anyway? But I glanced back over my shoulder at it once more as I walked away.
I browsed among old furniture and various pieces of objet d’art, also known as knickknacks. There were lots of ancient tools and kitchen implements, glassware, dusty pictures in dusty frames. Now and then, I glanced around for a glimpse of the proprietor elsewhere in the shop. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t open to anything, even if he turned out to be single.
Perusing a glass case, I picked up the lid of a small box with various rings and old jewelry tumbled together inside. I fingered through it all and picked out a round pendant that was no bigger than a quarter. It was an indeterminate gold or silver, with tiny diamonds or rhinestones and no chain. I found it pretty and intriguing, my mind wondering about its history. As Rob approached, I held it up and asked the price.
He laughed. “Just a dollar. A bargain, right?”
I laughed, too. That probably left out the possibility that they were diamonds, or that it was real gold or silver for that matter. “I think I want it. Do you know anything about it?”
“I don’t know where it came from. Sorry. It’s been in that little box for a long time.”
I pulled a dollar out of my wallet and a quarter from my coin purse and handed it to him.
“Keep the quarter,” he said with a grin.
Under the Willows Page 2