“Granny!” I shout as I cover my face with my hands. “I am so sorry,” I whisper, peering through my fingers at a smiling doctor. Turning my attention back to her I ask, “Are you sure you didn’t bump your head too?”
Chuckling, the doctor extends his hand and introduces himself. “I’m Doctor Kilton. Now, let’s take a listen and see if we can get you out of here today.” Pulling his stethoscope from around his neck, he places the little rubber ends in his ears and listens to Granny’s chest. When he’s done, he returns the device to his neck and his attention to me.
“I assume you’re here to help Betty when she goes home.” I nod.
“It’s just a bad sprain but I’d like to see her in my office next week for a follow-up and to discuss physical therapy. You joked about her head and while she did take quite a tumble, there were no issues overnight so I’m not concerned. I’ll instruct the nurse to start the paperwork and we’ll get you out of here as soon as we can.”
“I’m right here you know. I may be old but I’m not hard of hearing.”
“Sorry, you’re right. Remember what I said, Betty. Rest that leg. Keep it elevated and weight off it.”
“Wait. It isn’t broken?” I ask.
I look to Granny, who is suddenly very interested in something on the opposite side of the room. The way my mom sounded on the phone, I was sure she was not only in excruciating pain but also at death’s door. It’s obvious that someone has some explaining to do.
“No but I’ll be honest, a break would’ve been a quicker healing process. This will be weeks of minimal weight on the leg. No driving at all.”
Relieved that it isn’t worse, I throw myself into the chair at the side of the bed and release a long breath. “My mom made it sound . . . I envisioned surgery and my granny in a cast from her toes to her waist. I’m so relieved.”
The doctor spends the next twenty minutes giving me the instructions on her aftercare and begins the discharge process. When he and his little group of what I assume are interns leaves the room, I turn my gaze to Granny. This is a moment I wish I could manage a single raised brow.
“What? I never said it was broken and am not responsible for other people’s assumptions.”
“If you didn’t want to be alone, you could’ve just asked me to come.”
“Ally, you haven’t been home in three years. Thank goodness your mother has a flair for the dramatics.”
Oh yeah, it’s all my mom. Pot meet kettle.
Chapter 8
Ally
Waking up in my childhood bedroom after years away from home is surreal. My teenage obsession with sunflowers is evident and honestly, quite nauseating. Blinking my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the morning sun, I roll to my side and bring my phone to life and groan.
“It’s too early for a Sunday morning.” Myson stretches his body and releases a sound that can only be called a roar.
Joining him in his cat-like yoga stretches, I point and wiggle my toes and grip my hands on the headboard as I release two long cleansing breaths. Once I’ve stretched out the kinks in my back, courtesy of this old mattress, I lift myself up onto my elbows and take in the room.
It looks like a field of sunflowers threw up in here. From the curtains to the bedspread to the chair in the corner, if there’s a place for fabric, it’s covered in the flowery pattern.
My mom has left most things untouched from when I was last here with the exception of the dresser. She’s pushed that off center from the wall and the open space is now occupied by a treadmill. A large television sits atop the dresser, and I know from our phone calls, she spends each morning walking while she watches episodes of Judge Judy. There’s no question where my love of ridiculous television comes from.
Hopping from the bed, Myson walks in circles in front of the door, a sign he needs to go out. Last night, I set up his litter box in the bathroom across the hall so I open the door and watch as he makes a run for it. I follow him into the room and handle my morning business before heading toward the kitchen.
Sitting at the table, Granny is sipping from a cup while she reads the paper. An actual newspaper. It feels like a lifetime since I’ve seen someone read a paper instead of scrolling online. Another difference of Pickerton.
“Mornin’, honey. How’d you sleep?”
“Okay. That bed leaves a little to be desired,” I reply as I pour myself a cup of coffee before adding a splash of the vanilla creamer on the counter.
“Granny, you should have waited for me to get up and help you. The doctor said to stay off of your leg.”
“I sprained it, not had it cut off. If I can’t get my old lady bones up out of the bed and make coffee, you should just put me in the home now.”
“Still. Please listen to what he said. How about I make us some breakfast?” I ask as I open the fridge and assess the food situation.
As expected, my mom has stocked it well, but as I rummage through, I don’t see anything but vegetables and whole grains. Turning my head, I catch my granny’s eye and she starts laughing.
“Your mother thinks I need more fiber in my diet. She also thinks this town is bigger than it is and nobody will bring me a pot pie or some fried chicken.”
“I’ll go to the store later and get a few things. Until then, how about some eggs and . . . turkey bacon?” I ask incredulously before opening the freezer and finding sausage links. “Sausage. Thank goodness.”
Laughing, Granny sits back in her chair with Myson now sitting on her lap, purring as she runs her hand along his back. So much for him being a one-woman cat. We fall into comfortable conversation as I whip us up a quick breakfast and she, once again, tries to get me to break my NDA. When I refuse, she changes the topic to local gossip. As she regales me with story after story, I forget for a few minutes that it isn’t a television show she’s talking about.
By the time we finish breakfast and I clean up the kitchen, she’s yawning and agrees a nap is probably a good idea. I help her settle into the recliner in the living room and hand her the remote control before retreating to the bathroom for a shower before getting ready to face my hometown grocery store.
Small town grocery stores are the epic center of local gossip. Each aisle has proven to be a different version of the great fall of Betty Honeycutt and the plethora of injuries she’s suffered. They have ranged from splitting her skull open to breaking both legs and stuck in a half-body cast. Her fall sounds more like she plummeted from cliff into a ravine as she bounced off six trees before landing face first in the marsh.
The simple story that she mis-stepped from a stool as she was trying to get a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard isn’t as dramatic as the ones the town conjured up. The only person who seems to know, and accept, the truth is Mrs. Corning, my fifth-grade teacher and Granny’s best friend. She was also there and had plans to help her drink the aforementioned whiskey, so it is a little difficult for her to come up with a better story.
By the time I fill my cart with items from my list, I’ve said hello to what feels like half the town. Exhausted from the smiles and accepting healing wishes for Granny while also insisting my time in Pickerton Grove is short, I abandon the rest of my list. There’s always tomorrow. Once I’ve checked out, I push the cart out the door, pretending to be on the phone for a few minutes of peace. As I load my groceries in the trunk of the sedan my mom and Granny share, a black truck pulls into the space next to me. The door opens and an older gentleman exits and offers me a smile.
I recognize Gary Nelson immediately, but before I can say anything, my phone actually beings ringing with Fin’s designated ringtone.
“Fin, give me one minute,” I say as a greeting while closing the trunk and pushing the cart to the corral.
Once I’ve settled behind the wheel, I turn the ignition and let the air conditioning cool the car and turn my attention back to the call.
“How are you, Ally?”
“I’m fine, Fin. You don’t have to worry about me. Is everyth
ing okay with you?”
“Good, good. You have a few chapters in your in box. We’ve hit the sweet spot so you know me, I’m going to sign off for a few days and see if I can finish this book.”
The “sweet spot” for Fin is when he’s established the foundation of the story and becomes immersed in the characters and their plight. He tends to disconnect from not only social media but the rest of the world until he types “the end.”
“Sounds good. I’m excited for these chapters. I’ve been on pins and needles these last few days. Just send me what you have when you’re ready and I’ll turn it around quickly.”
“I never say it enough, but thank you, Ally. You keep me sane and I couldn’t do this without you.”
“You could but why would you?” I tease. He laughs, and we end the call before I pull out of the parking space and return home.
As I drive, I’m hit with pangs of nostalgia for this town. Growing up here, I never appreciated how lucky I was. Small town living isn’t for everyone, but for me it set a foundation for my values and dreams. I miss the simplicity of this world, the neighbors and friendships that last a lifetime.
There’s no big box store here, no multiplex movie theatre, and certainly no mega malls to stroll and window shop. Instead, there are small local businesses for every need. A community of people who support one another and always welcome you home, even when you haven’t been back for years.
When I return home and walk through the door with bags of groceries, I’m greeted by the laughs of my granny and her friends. Sitting around the living room with glasses of what I know to be sweet tea, each greets me with a huge smile and a hug.
Excusing myself, I go about unloading the bags before pouring myself a glass of tea and going to sit on the back deck. Myson has adjusted to his new environment and is lying in the sun, asleep. Settling into the lounger, I pull up my e-mail on my phone and begin scrolling through ads and newsletters until I see an e-mail from a sender I recognize.
Re: Is this weird?
From: DC1331
To: LightningBugCatcher
I’m not even sure how to start this. Why does it feel awkward? We’ve been talking for weeks but this feels different. Real life is that way I suppose. My life has changed drastically since we first met, but I did leave my e-mail the same. What can I say? Creativity is not my strong suit.
I’m here in the house I grew up in. Not much has changed as far as my hometown goes. I guess small towns are like that. Although, I haven’t really ventured out much, the way I feel here is the same. I’ve been working and sleeping. I guess years of sharing a small space with another person has a way of exhausting you.
Anyway, I just wanted to say hey and hope you’re doing well.
My question for you . . . What if Thor wasn’t on that island? Who would you save?
P.S. To answer your last question: I would take my non-meat eating date to another restaurant.
P.S.S. What’s the story with your e-mail?
D
Smiling, I re-read D’s e-mail before setting my phone aside and closing my eyes. I’ll need to think long and hard on that question. I take my Avengers seriously.
Chapter 9
Drew
Insecurity isn’t something I’m used to. My arrogance and cocky attitude are what lead me to spending the last few years living in a box. Those choices forced me to face how I was living my life and chow down on a big slice of humble pie.
It’s why I’m trying to remind myself that not hearing from Ally the last few days doesn’t mean she’s ignoring me. Or, having second thoughts about our friendship. New friendship. Guilt tugs at me just enough that I know I need to come clean with her. My reasons for keeping my identity from her are selfish and undeserving. I don’t want to disappoint her.
Other than Gary, Ally is the only person in my entire life who cared about me for me. She was more than my best friend, she was my first love. Sure, we were kids and the kind of love I had for her was strictly platonic, but it was love nonetheless. Even at ten years old, Ally Honeycutt didn’t put up with my shit, and she certainly wasn’t impressed with me.
My hormones were running wild and instead of looking at me with hearts in her eyes like the other girls in our class, she called me on my crap and forced me to be better. Not just with my fishing skills but in life. She saw the mess my home life was, but she still believed we were going to do special things when we were grown.
It was in those moments when she stood toe to toe with me, her long hair secured in braids and sun-kissed freckles across her nose, ordering me to be more than my mom said I was, that I knew what nobody else knew. Allyson Honeycutt was my soul mate. My forever best friend and the person who would be by my side for life. The night my mom walked in my room and told me to pack my stuff because we were leaving Pickerton Grove did more than rip me away from the only father I’d known, she took away the only other person I cared for.
My instinct was to climb out my window and run away. Run far and fast so my mom couldn’t find me. Sure, I’d probably head straight for Ally’s house or her granny’s but I wouldn’t have to leave with my mom. I’d be able to spend Ally’s birthday with her like we planned. I’d get to camp out by myself for the first time and try out for little league. I had plans.
In the weeks and months that followed our flee from Pickerton, I wasn’t allowed to call Ally or my stepfather. I was forbidden from mentioning anything that had to do with the years we spent in that “shithole town.” That was the thing, what my mom saw as small and stifling, I saw as home.
Eventually, I adapted to our new life. Or lives. It seemed my mom only had a relationship shelf life of no more than seven years. She’d spent those with Gary and after him she never stayed in a relationship for more than a few years. We moved so often, I lost track of the number of schools I attended. By the time I entered my junior year of high school, I refused to move again. For some reason my mom agreed, and we lived in that apartment together with various boyfriends moving in and out of our place until the night I was arrested.
“You’re in deep thought there, kid. Wanna talk about it?” Gary’s question pulls me from my thoughts.
“Just thinking.”
“I think we already established that.”
“Sorry, I guess I’m used to keeping things to myself. It’s nothing really. I was thinking about the last time I was here and all the places we lived after moving from Pickerton.”
Sighing, he takes a long sip from his coffee cup before setting it down and clasps his hands together on the table in front of him. He doesn’t speak right away and instead looks just past my shoulder like he’ll find his words somewhere outside of this kitchen.
“I’m sorry you had a rough go of it after you moved out.”
I snort at his simple version of what happened.
“We didn’t move out, Gary. My mom bailed like she always does. I still don’t know why she insisted on dragging me around with her. I was nothing but a burden with each new relationship.”
“Look Drew, I don’t know what happened after you guys left, but I know the kid you were. The heart you had, the same one you still do. You’ve never been a burden to me, and I’m glad you’re here. Instead of dwelling on the past and letting that chip on your shoulder weigh you down, think about letting it go. No use trying to fix the past, it’s yesterday’s problem.”
“Wow, getting kind of deep there. Have you always been this philosophical?”
A piece of bacon comes flying toward my face and I snatch it out of the air before it can land on the floor and take a big bite out of it with a huge smile. Gary’s right. I can dwell on the past, make excuses and put the blame for my choices on my mom, but the reality is, I made each and every one, and it’s my own personal hell I need to dig myself out of.
Maybe Ally has the right idea to keep her distance from me. If only I could keep my own from her.
How Gary has managed to run this shop with his outdated business plan and
accounting program I’ll never know. He’s a kick-ass mechanic, but he’s the least business savvy person I’ve met. That’s saying something since I’ve just spent years with men whose only business knowledge was dealing and growing weed.
Even those guys had a better five-year plan than my step-dad. I’ve been sitting at this desk for three hours and all I’ve managed to do is sort his payables from his receivables. For last year. His poor accountant. I sure hope he or she charges him extra for the amount of work they must put in.
When he found out I had a degree in business administration, he asked me to take a look at his books. I was surprised he’d share something so important and private with me, a virtual stranger, but now that I’m looking at everything, I realize he had no choice. Thankfully, being the only mechanic in Pickerton Grove means he has a steady stream of business and faithful customers who pay for his excellent service.
I stand from the desk and stretch my back before walking to the large white board on the wall and adding “new desk chair” to the list of things to purchase if I’m going to help him. Needing to get my hands dirty and not just sit behind this desk, I exit the office and close the door behind me before walking out to the garage.
Gary’s bent over a silver sedan, talking to himself, and I smile at the memories of being in this garage as a kid. I learned a lot from him by just watching and asking questions. A million and one questions, each one he answered even if they annoyed him.
Clearing my throat so I don’t startle him, I wait for him to rise from the car and turn his attention to me.
“Hey, kid. How bad is it?”
“Remember yesterday when I said it’d be no big deal?”
He nods his head.
“I lied. Don’t worry though, I’ll get it done. In the meantime, I need to get my hands dirty. What can I do?”
“Want to take a look at the SUV in bay two? I think it’s the tranny but I could be wrong.”
It Was Always You Page 5