by Haley Cass
The uneasy feeling that had started to work through her dissipated and Taylor tapped her hand definitively against the counter, shaking her head affectionately. “You bet your ass I’ll come down for a visit. It’s been a while.”
It had been at least three years since she’d actually been to Faircombe for one of her two or three day stopovers.
Ever since her parents had retired and relocated to Chattanooga to be closer to her mother’s parents, she’d gone to stay with them for holiday get-togethers, bypassing her hometown altogether.
Her sister chuckled, the sound laden with nerves. “Yeah, that’s… that would be great. But I was also maybe wondering if you could… stay for… longer.”
“Stay?” Taylor repeated, the word feeling foreign on her tongue. “In Faircombe?” She could hear her own ludicrous tone, but the words didn’t compute in her mind. They couldn’t.
Stay in Faircombe just didn’t feel like a natural sentence in her vocabulary.
“I know it’s not something you usually do,” Savannah rushed to say, the hopeful edge giving away just how much she wanted this.
That unease came flying back and skittered through her veins, and an uncharacteristic helplessness sliding through her as she ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know…”
“I know! I know, but – there’s so much to plan and to do. And Ben’s been all wrapped up in his own crap since the divorce from Teresa last year and he’s got his hands so full while dealing with Jo these days, I can’t add onto his plate. With Mom and Dad living a few hours away now, I don’t feel like… and I just… I want you here.”
Savannah’s voice was soft and heartfelt, and Taylor felt it like a tug right to her heart. Her mouth fell open, but no words came out over how dumbfounded she felt.
“You’re my sister and my best friend, and I want you here. Just for a little while,” Savannah asserted, her voice stronger, still with that pleading edge in it.
“For how long?” The question sounded faint to her own ears as she fell back onto the stool.
“Just for a few months. I mean, I know once you leave for Antarctica right after Christmas and New Zealand just after that, so you’re going to be gone for a while. But maybe, before you go, you could be in Faircombe? You want me to do yoga! You’re an instructor, and you always talk about how you’ve never gotten the chance to instruct. You can teach me. Just for a few months,” she pleaded, sounding tentatively excited again.
She just was so hopeful, it landed heavily in Taylor’s chest and she reached up to rub her hand over her forehead.
It was because of how happy and hopeful Savannah sounded that she wanted to affirm that of course she would come and stay for a few months.
But the idea of staying in most places for months at a time, let alone Faircombe… god, the idea of it left such a bad taste in the back of Taylor’s mouth.
“I don’t – I mean, where would I even stay? No offense, but I can’t stay on your pullout couch for more than a few days,” her argument was weak, but also true.
While she kept limber, her back could no longer handle long periods of time sleeping in uncomfortable places. It was the only way her body had really turned on her after forty.
“With Ben!” Savannah had it all figured out, apparently. Because that answer was ready to go. “He’s got Mom and Dad’s house now, and it’s just him and Jo there; they’ve got more than enough bedrooms for you to stay. Your old room was spruced up into a guest room, but it could be yours again real quick..”
“I’m sure he’d love that,” she drawled, imagining the look on their brother’s face at the suggestion.
“He won’t say no to it,” Savannah insisted. “I’ll make sure.”
And she was right. Ben wouldn’t tell her she couldn’t stay, even if it was for a much longer time than she ever did. And he would be much more magnanimous about the whole thing if Savannah was the one doing the asking. Neither Taylor nor Ben had ever been particularly good at telling their little sister no.
Which was why, even though her stomach clenched at the thought, she let out a deep sigh and squeezed her eyes closed, blindly reaching out and closing her notebook on the map.
Her sister, her best friend, her person was pregnant. And Faircombe might be a gossipy one-horse town that she’d been more than happy to leave behind twenty-five years ago, but… it wasn’t like it would be forever.
It was only a place, just like any other place.
She repeated that to herself.
“I’ll be there soon, then. But you’re the one telling Ben, and I want you to tell him that he has to at least act like he’s happy about me staying for a while,” she added, managing a short laugh at the thought.
The laugh fell away in seconds, as she easily imagined the many ways Ben liked to avoid having a real conversation with her whenever they saw one another. It confused her and it… well, it hurt, though she had made peace with it years ago. She couldn’t change Ben’s feelings if he wouldn’t talk to her; it was what it was.
Savannah’s cheer was enough to make Taylor genuinely smile again, even as she took in a deep breath and held for a few moments before letting it out, practicing one of her breathing exercises.
She’d been ready to get out of San Diego soon, hadn’t she? Maybe – definitely – it wasn’t the place she would have chosen for herself, but like all of her trips, it would be over before she knew it.
Taylor nodded with the thought, unable to fully convince herself, but the acceptance was already settling in with a grimace.
She flicked her gaze back to the laptop, arching an eyebrow at Brooke’s picture. Still feeling a little unsettled, though, she managed a half-smile at the screen.
Faircombe bound; it looked like she’d be returning the pants and the necklace in person. And at the very least, she got to look forward to the look on Brooke’s face when she did so.
Chapter Five
“Is he kidding me?” Brooke muttered under her breath, scowling as she scribbled down a note for herself on the pad of paper she had laying open on the kitchen table next to her laptop.
It was the first Sunday of October. For most people in Faircombe, that meant gathering around and cheering on the Titans or going out to enjoy the beginning of the break from the summer heat on a lazy day off.
For Brooke, it meant working.
It wasn’t like Brooke wanted to work on Sunday afternoon, but she knew that she’d thank herself later this week for reviewing the city planning proposals and budgets for the final quarter of the year in advance.
The city council met at the beginning of the month for an overview on the upcoming plans for Faircombe, and their meetings at the end of every quarter were particularly long. She knew this one was going to be even more grueling than normal, given how divisive the council fell in terms of their vision for the city.
And that put a lot of pressure on her to try to keep the peace, while also advising the direction she felt was best.
Her job was a juggling act and while Brooke wouldn’t say they could be making room for her in the circus any time soon, she did think she’d been holding her own for the past few years.
Absently, she reached up to toy with her necklace, as she always did when stressed at work, only to remember when she didn’t find it resting around her neck, that she’d lost it in San Diego.
She closed her eyes tightly, heat rushing up her neck at the night that she’d kept well in the back of her mind. Mostly. She dropped her hand back to the table and forced out a deep breath – no thinking about that today; she had a lot more to do.
The proposals for the management of the large plot of land on the southeast side of town had been due to her at the beginning of the previous week. She wasn’t shocked in the least by the fact that she hadn’t actually received all of the proposals until closer to Friday.
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she reread the final proposal on her docket, her stress compounding with irritation.
“A ma
ll,” the word fell from her lips, coated with disdain.
She didn’t have to scroll up to the top of the detailed document to see who’d sent it. She knew very well that this was Kevin Leland’s proposal. She knew because he’d been trying to push for this same damn thing for the last year. Ever since the city had voted and approved to demolish the significant plot of land that once had been made up of old, small, crumbling homes. The neighborhood had fallen into disrepair decades ago, and within the last decade had become even worse, with most of the foundations of the homes being declared unsafe.
She let out a heavy sigh as she reluctantly had to save the proposal.
As much as she wished she could delete it.
“We’ll see later this week which way the council’s turning.” She grimaced, knowing that this had a real chance of getting passed through, even if only by the slimmest of margins.
She was met with an answering meow that pulled her from her thoughts and glanced up to meet light green eyes. Spoon, one of her three cats, often liked to sleep on the chair directly next to the one Brooke sat in.
And one of Brooke’s favorite things about Spoon was how she often made sounds back at Brooke, as if she were answering her. There was always a short meow sound from Spoon, as if she wanted to say something matter of fact and to the point.
Brooke appreciated that about her.
Inevitably, the single sound from Spoon stirred up Dolly, who popped his head up from where he’d been napping, curled up on the chair next to his mother. And immediately, he started on his own vocalizations.
If Spoon could talk, she’d be short and sweet. If Dolly could, he’d never stop.
She didn’t mind that about him, though, since he was also a good commiserator.
“He wants the city to go ahead with planning for a mall and condos,” she informed the two of them, annoyance lacing the words, as they blinked up at her. Dolly chattered back and stretched, reaching out one of his orange paws in her direction.
Exactly.
“Thank you, I knew you wouldn’t like it, either.” She nodded at him before she dropped her head to her hands and rubbed at tired eyes. She’d been at this for hours, and that was after the proposals that hadn’t made it past city planning had been weeded out.
“Shit,” she muttered, as her eyes caught the time on her laptop, hastily saving her work and shutting it down, while her cats watched her curiously. “I have to get going. You two already ate, but I haven’t.”
If she didn’t leave in the next few minutes, she would be late. And Brooke hated being late, even if it was just for Sunday dinner.
By no means a formal affair, Sunday dinner with the Vandenbergs was a staple for her, and had been ever since childhood. Even now, a few years after Ben Sr. and Amy had moved to Chattanooga, the tradition held strong.
Unlike when Ben Sr. and Amy had lived in Faircombe, dinner was now on a rotating schedule to be prepared, between herself, Ben, and Savannah.
On Brooke’s weeks, that meant she was able to cook for more than just herself, which she always found preferable. Today, that meant spaghetti and meatballs, with a sauce she’d made from scratch and had simmered all day.
Within a few minutes, she’d scooped the meal she’d had on a low simmer into the plasticware that she’d purchased for these nights and grabbed a light jacket from the coatrack in the kitchen.
“I’d tell you to make sure Gremlin doesn’t get into trouble, but I don’t think either of us has that power,” she spoke to Spoon, who remained lounging on the chair, while Dolly had hopped up and disappeared.
Gremlin was the most unpredictable of the three cats. While Spoon and Dolly were sweet ninety-nine percent of the time, Gremlin – per her name – was a true toss-up. She could be cuddly or she could be a nightmare. Mostly, she liked to disappear for most of the day and try to knock things over in the dead of night.
“I’ll be back,” she muttered to Spoon as she gave her a soft scratch on her way out.
When she’d taken Spoon in – not expecting her to be pregnant – she’d felt… well, more than a little ridiculous talking to her like she was a human who could actually understand her.
Two years ago, Spoon had just appeared on her front porch, quietly meowing every so often. Small, with short black fur streaked with orange, she’d made a home on one of the rocking chairs for several days. Brooke didn’t intend on letting her move in; she had never had pets growing up and, like little children, they sort of made her uncomfortable.
Especially because people so often spoke to them with that baby-voice. That in and of itself seemed to be a whole gene she was missing; animals and babies didn’t make her coo. They made her anxious.
Spoon didn’t seem to mind, though. She always sat up attentively when Brooke spoke to her, and for reasons she didn’t think too hard about, she’d settled in easily talking to her cats like they were simply other members of her household.
She took the time to lock her front door, then tested it, before she stepped off the porch. Crime in Faircombe was limited, and Brooke knew that her house – out in the woods on the edge of town – was likely to never be pegged for a robbery; it was cute but by no means glamorous or convenient. But still.
The just over a half-mile long, winding path from her home was lined on either side with trees, shielding her from the sun that was beginning to edge down in its setting descent. And, miraculously, provided a breeze that hinted at an autumn chill to come.
She was more than ready to say goodbye to the summer heat, she thought, as she came out at the end of the path.
Her cottage had one access road to drive up to it, often forgotten by almost everyone unless they had a reason to come calling. The dirt road wasn’t particularly welcoming or convenient, given that you had to drive all the way to the edge of town to find the subtle turn.
Brooke loved a lot of things about her house, but the location was likely number one.
Being the city manager was by no means a job in the public eye. At least, it wasn’t in a big city. In a big city, most residents would be hard-pressed to name the person who actually called many of the shots that dictated what direction their city was heading in.
Faircombe… was not a big city.
And before Brooke had moved out to her more remote home, she’d had people literally knocking on her apartment door. At nighttime, on the weekends… As if that would help sway her opinions in their favor. Merely being out and about in town usually meant running into someone who just desperately had to talk about something.
“Brooke!”
Case in point.
She heard her name called from across town square and recognized the voice immediately as Mrs. Andrews. She knew exactly what she’d find even before she turned to see Mrs. Andrews, Mrs. Hibbard, and Ms. Kellerman sitting at their habitual spot on the patio at Cafferty’s.
She waved at them, giving them a small smile even as she wanted to sigh. Now that she’d been spotted, she would never make it for six o’clock dinner.
“Brooke, honey, come over here!” It was Ms. Kellerman this time, and Brooke resigned herself to her fate.
Cafferty’s was a Faircombe staple. The café had been open for Brooke’s entire life and at least two generations before her own. Located on the northwest corner of town square, the hand-carved wooden sign beckoned in customers.
The other two coffee joints in town served their own purposes, even if they didn’t quite have the steady volume of customers like Cafferty’s. The Morning Buzz on the west side of town offered more variety and kept later hours, and The Coffee Factory operated up in the north side, closer to the richer homes, and kept in brand with their clientele.
Most of all, Cafferty’s patio was where the gossips hung out. If you needed any information about the comings and goings in Faircombe, that’s where you had to go. Mrs. Andrews, Kellerman, and Hibbard were perpetually there, often joined by others who would sit and gab for an hour or two.
Brooke was equally as
fond of the old women as she was regularly exasperated by them.
After all, much like Cafferty’s, they were a staple of her life.
“Hey, y’all.” It was the fondness that won out, even as she resisted the urge to check her watch in front of them.
“Brooke, is it true? About the mall?” Mrs. Hibbard at least had the grace to lower her voice, as close as she ever got to actually whispering. That was to say, it wasn’t an actual whisper.
“Oh, lord.” Brooke dropped her head back with a groan, irritation easily sliding right back through her. “How did you hear about it?”
Mrs. Andrews’ eyes gleamed with amusement. “Come on now, you know we hear about everything.”
Ms. Kellerman rolled her eyes and waved her hand toward her friend, dismissing her. “Nick Mitchell’s assistant had a date last night with Meredith Allaire – you know, the new girl who moved onto Woodland Drive? She’s actually not from France, even though she says –”
Mrs. Andrews cut her off, mimicking her hand gesture. “Shelby, Brooke isn’t here to listen to that. The point – so it’s true? Poor Nia, she heard about it, too. She’s real worried about a Starbucks going in there.”
Sympathy for Nia, the third generation of Cafferty’s to run the coffee shop, wove through Brooke even as she had to bite back her aggravation at Kevin Leland and Nick Mitchell. The pair of them, she swore to god.
Forcing herself to blow out a deep breath, she placed her Tupperware on the table and leaned in to keep her voice down and as calm as she could. “Listen, no decisions have been made yet.” She arched an eyebrow and made eye contact with all of them, her tone clipped. “So don’t you three be going around, telling even more people about this. All right?”
It was hard for women that had known you since you were a baby to take you seriously sometimes. That was something else Brooke had been battling since taking on her job.
The three of them nodded like bobble heads though, and Mrs. Hibbard pretended to zip her lips, before her eyes fell to where Brooke’s hands still rested over her food. “You going somewhere for dinner, darlin’?”