by Wendy Warren
He stopped her with a laugh. “I’m a big Andy Griffith fan. I like Westerns, too.” His expression—amused, self-deprecating, and irresistibly boyish—made her toes curl in her boots.
“You know, I think Gilberto is a lot like me. He needs to belong somewhere. I never felt like part of something until Walt showed me I could be part of Thunder Ridge. It made all the difference to my motives. Changed me in a way I might otherwise have missed.” He fiddled with the heat knob. “You warm enough?”
Willa nodded. It was impossible to feel cold sitting so close to him.
“Gilberto’s parents are out of the picture,” Derek went on, turning the subject toward the boy who was the reason they’d climbed into the truck to begin with.
A stab of frustration surprised her. She wanted to hear more about Derek. Marshaling her focus, she nodded for him to continue.
“According to his school records, he was being raised by an aunt who was a single parent with a few kids of her own. When the burden on her became overwhelming, Gilberto moved in with one cousin or another until he wound up with Roddy. Gilberto’s teachers say he’s smart and is always eager to learn when the school year begins, but as the lessons pick up steam, he falls behind and his absences begin to increase. It’s a vicious cycle. Since first grade, he’s been truant nearly fifty percent of the time.”
Willa gasped.
“At this point,” Derek said, “it’s a pattern everyone’s come to accept. But we’re going to break the pattern.”
So determined. So confident.
“Can the school give him extra support?” she asked.
“He doesn’t qualify. Truancy isn’t a learning disorder.” Derek’s fingers drummed the steering wheel. “Academics weren’t my strength, but I’m going to help him any way I can.”
Eyes narrowed, jaw set, he looked like a cross between heroic warrior and plain old determined dad when he spoke like that.
Gazing thoughtfully out the windshield, Willa made eye contact with Jeanne Frank and Myra Newsome as the duo crossed the parking lot on their way to the library. Both women exhibited obvious surprise at seeing her in the truck with Derek. Jeanne waved wildly, and Willa raised her hand limply in response. Myra was an inveterate gossip. Tempted to sink low in her seat, Willa looked at Derek for his response. If he noticed the women at all, he didn’t seem to care that he and Willa were about to become headline news. He was still watching her.
“I thought you should know more about Gilberto,” he was saying. “I want you to understand the impact that doing chores at the bakery is going to have on his life. I know, or I think I know, that it’s been hard for you to have him there.”
“Not hard,” she said carefully. “He’s fun to be around. He hums and dances now when he works.”
Surprise and then gratification deepened Derek’s smile.
“You’d be a good father,” Willa blurted before she had time to think. She reached toward the dash, trailing her fingertips along the smooth, shiny red metal. It was cold, of course, a hundred and eighty degrees different from his skin, which had been warm the other night and downright hot to the touch the evening they’d made out after leaving the White Lightning Tavern together.
“I make whole grain bagels now,” she said overly loudly to fill the conversational vacuum left by her awkwardness. “They’re good, not too heavy.” Her eyes were still trained on the dashboard rather than on the man who kept it polished. “We have a new cream cheese, too. Sweet Marionberry. In case you were thinking about coming in for breakfast again. Sometime.”
Dear lord. Bagels and cream cheese? Seriously? Why couldn’t she simply say what was on her mind? “We make our own jam now.” Oh, please. “You haven’t been in for a while, is the thing, and...you’re missed. By everyone. All the regulars, everyone who’s there in the morning, you know, misses seeing you.” Coward.
Derek’s expression did not say, “This chick is crazy,” but she figured that’s what he was thinking. She needed to get honest. Just spit out what she wanted. And what she wanted was...?
His touch. His warmth to melt the chill in her soul. She wanted the feeling his arms and his lips had given her—the feeling of summer in the midst of an achingly long personal winter.
Her throat threatened to close with nerves, but she forced herself to speak. “I’ve missed seeing you, too.”
One second passed. Then two. As she counted to five, she began to worry, stopped fiddling with the dashboard and chanced a look at his face.
Derek’s brows were still pulled together. Rather than softening, his features were once again set in stern granite. “I need to head to the office. I have some paperwork to do.”
Whoa. For the first time since she was engaged to be married, she’d told a man she liked him and that was his response? “I need to head to the office”? Attempt to flirt with the sheriff: total fail.
“Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asked, clearly being polite. “I can drop you at—”
“No. No, no,” she said cheerily, her hand already going to the door. “Such a beautiful day. I’m going to walk. That’s what I was doing before I stopped at the library, actually. I was walking. I do that now later in the day. In fact—” extricating herself from this embarrassing situation now seemed tantamount to anything else “—I’m not going to walk in the morning at all anymore. Nope. I’ll just drive myself to work. Sleep in a bit. Walk when other people are out walking. So, you won’t have to follow me around.” She emitted a trill of laughter that sounded faintly maniacal. “You’ll be able to sleep in, too. Unless you’re working, of course, following suspicious people. But you won’t have to follow me.” Now he was scowling and looking at her as if he might call for backup. She opened the door and slid out. “Bye.”
She gave a quick wave, shut the door and was off, walking as quickly as she could toward home.
That could have gone worse, she thought, nodding to herself. If there had been, say, a sudden tornado-like gust of wind that picked up the truck with them in it, whirled it through the air and dropped them on top of the General Store, sending terrified shoppers running for their lives into the street, that would have been worse.
Willa watched her square-toed boots eat the pavement. He’d kissed her, she’d kissed him back, he’d changed his mind. End of story. Not flattering, not encouraging, but certainly not the end of the world. And maybe she was being protected. Maybe she only thought she was ready for a man’s arms, for his company, for the physical plunge that offered oblivion even as it reminded a person she was, in fact, very much alive.
“I need a hobby,” she muttered.
As time marched on, Willa decided, she would try very hard to be proud of herself for acknowledging that she wanted the sheriff to kiss her again. For the first time in nearly two years, she had been willing to admit she needed something more than a life frozen in time and memory. For just a moment, she’d glimpsed the spring thaw, and she’d been glad.
Chapter Seven
She handled the DVD delicately, reverently, the way one might handle a Fabergé egg, removing it from its case, blowing specs of dust off its glassy surface, touching it only by the edges as she set it in the DVD player and closed the little door. The motor whirred, the TV screen assured her that her video was loading and gave her enough time to seat herself on the edge of her couch, her posture and her breathing both strained.
This was something Willa hadn’t watched in the past two years, unlike the other home videos she had watched and rewatched so many times that she’d finally burned them onto additional discs to avoid losing them.
When the menu screen came up, she chose Play All. A young woman dressed in bridal lace and satin appeared on the screen, grinning at the camera as a small group of bridesmaids surrounded her. They were helping her don a garter, and the bride, with cascading auburn hair held back on one
side by a jeweled clip, looked up at the camera and mugged, waggling her brows and pursing her lips in mock flirtation.
The next scene showed Willa again, this time walking toward her groom, who grinned like a fool. Lighthearted, winsome joy defined the ceremony and reception, befitting two kids who were barely out of their teens, but sure they had found their forever.
As the wedding portion of the video wrapped up, the screen went dark then lit again with a beatifically smiling Willa, only a year older, and a sleeping baby wrapped in the palest pink. The tiny girl had cupid’s bow lips, skin like strawberries and cream, and auburn lashes that fanned her round cheeks as she snoozed. Willa cuddled her daughter close and looked at the camera, mouthing so as not to wake the baby, I love us.
The video stopped then started again. This time Willa was behind the camera, and her husband, Jason, held their still-sleeping Sydney. Jason’s face, trustworthy and triangle-jawed, open and approachable (perfect for the doctor he planned to become, everyone always said) beamed contentment. Unlike Willa, he had no fear of waking Syd, because he complained that she was never awake enough when he was home.
Now he looked straight into the camera lens and proclaimed, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” The pride and gratitude in his eyes left no doubt that he was sincere.
Picking up the remote, Willa hit Stop. She remembered that day so well, zooming into Jason’s face so that in the decades to come their daughter would see her father’s eyes and know: you are loved fully and completely.
Tossing the remote onto the coffee table as if it were burning her fingers, she rose and wrapped her arms around herself. She had loved that life. Had felt grateful for every single day, even the messy ones, the boring ones, the worrisome ones. Never in a million years had she thought it would end so soon.
Still hugging herself tightly, Willa crossed to the window and looked out. After the sunny morning, the afternoon sky had turned gray. Now Thunder Ridge was being sprinkled with a dusting of snow. School was out for the day, and the kids across the street were standing on their lawn, jacketed arms outstretched, heads back and mouths open as they caught snowflakes on their tongues.
Their joy was vivid and fresh and real. Hers was a faded photograph, something she could no longer feel, only take out and look at. She felt as if she were fading, too.
“This is no good.” Moving quickly, she grabbed her jacket off a hall tree, jammed her arms in, slipped on her boots and went outside. At first she didn’t know where she was headed, but as she marched along, snatches of her conversation with Derek played in her mind, and she followed their path.
According to the sheriff, Gilberto needed focused help to catch up to his academic benchmarks. If he didn’t catch up, his future would be dim, for sure, yet the school couldn’t provide the extra help the boy needed. Derek didn’t think he was capable, and tutors were expensive. Willa, on the other hand, was familiar with fifth-grade curriculum.
An idea began to take shape in her mind.
Checking her watch, she saw that it wasn’t yet four o’clock. Gilberto’s teacher might still be at school. Her footsteps struck the sidewalk with more resolve.
The snow was delicate, melting as it touched the ground, and merely being out in it made her feel more alive. By the time she reached Vista Road, leading to the elementary school, Willa knew exactly what she wanted to do.
* * *
“I’m telling you, dude, it’s her birthday, and she’s not doing nothing.”
“Anything.”
Gilberto growled. “That’s what she always does. Tells me how to talk. Anything...nothin’...whatever. That’s not the point.”
“It’s absolutely the point.” Derek turned from the window, where he’d been contemplating his thoughts more than the view outside his office. “Your education is the reason Willa started tutoring you. She wants you to have a future.”
“Yeah, which is why I want her to have a present for her birthday. You get it, dude? She cares about my future, I want her to have a present. Oh, man, I’m good.”
“Uh huh. You are good.” Since the evening Gilberto sped off with the donation jar, he’d changed from a furtive kid who seemed moody and awkward around adults, to an outgoing, far more confident young man. And the change in the two weeks since Willa had begun to tutor him in all his subjects was even more profound. Derek wasn’t sure what had sparked the change in Willa, but her willingness to help Gilberto had unlocked a door.
Gilberto might still voice a casual attitude toward his schoolwork, but now that he was beginning to grasp a few things, his posture was straighter. He looked happier, chatted more and was currently chatting with Derek about Willa’s birthday, which was, apparently, tomorrow.
“Izzy, she come into the bakery—”
“Came into the bakery.”
“I know. Dude!” The boy took a noisy deep breath. “Okay...came into the bakery, ’cause she needed Willa to fill something out, and she said—I totally heard her—‘Hey, girl, your birthday is tomorrow.’”
“I’ve never heard Izzy say ‘Hey, girl.’”
Gilberto shrugged. “I mighta got that wrong, but then Willa said, ‘Yeah, I’ve got plans after work,’ but, Dude, she don’t. Wait—I know, doesn’t.”
“How do you know she doesn’t?”
“Because I asked her if she could help me with my homework tomorrow, and she said, ‘Sure.’”
“Her plans are probably for evening, Gilberto.” Derek told himself not to wonder what those plans were, or with whom she was sharing them.
Two weeks ago, Willa told him she wanted him to come back to the bakery, and he’d had to force himself not to think about her, not to convince himself it was okay just to drop in to get a bagel and coffee or to see how Gilberto was doing. True, that day in his truck she had seemed to be telling him she was interested, after all. But he knew too much now. He knew Willa was not ready for all the things he wanted. And, he knew he wasn’t ready to settle for less.
“She doesn’t have any plans. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Impatience colored the boy’s voice. “I told her I got a test on Friday, so could she help me a little longer tomorrow, and she said, ‘Yeah, I’ve got plenty of time.’ See? She forgot what she told Izzy.”
“Or maybe she’s making you her first priority.” To give himself something to do, Derek reached for a stack of papers on his desk. “Want to hand me that stapler?” he asked the boy who was sitting in his desk chair, swiveling left and right in agitation.
Gilberto grabbed the heavy black stapler and handed it over the desk. “I’m telling you, she’s not doing noth—anything for her birthday. And that’s not cool, ’cause she’s, you know, she’s nice. She’s good to people.”
Derek nodded. Shortly after their conversation in his truck, Willa had told Gilberto that she was going to help him with school, and she was, apparently, quite proficient at it. “Like a real teacher, except that I understand her,” Gilberto had become fond of saying.
Gilberto was a good person, too. He came to the office after finishing his jobs and his homework at the bakery. Derek had spent time with Gilberto the past two weekends, too. They had gone ice-skating at the temporary rink Jax Stewart set up in Trillium Park. Then they went to the movies, where Gilberto ate popcorn and chocolate-covered caramels until Derek was sure he was going to be sick. Derek’s days off were more full and more fun than they had been since Nate Thayer had come to town, claiming Derek’s best friend as his bride.
And now his new little buddy wanted to do something for Willa’s birthday. Self-preservation warned Derek to change the subject. Pronto. But the image of Willa celebrating her birthday alone overruled. He squinted at Gilberto. “What do you have in mind?”
* * *
Willa did her marketing on Friday evenings. The large grocery store outside of town stayed fai
rly quiet at night, and she was able to wander the aisles, looking at ingredients and wondering what she could experiment with for the bakery. She saw no reason to alter her pattern on this particular Friday.
She’d already had phone calls from her parents, her aunt Esther and cousin Nancy. Daisy had phoned, too, singing “Happy I-Can’t-Believe-We’re-This-Old-Day to You” on Willa’s voice mail then asking, “What are you doing tonight? It had better be good, and it had better involve a man.”
Thirty-four is not old, Willa had texted back. Big plans for the evening. Many men involved. XOXO.
At the market, she had a nice conversation with the butcher, who, yes, was a man. Then she chatted with the cashier, also male, and declined help out from the bagger, another XY chromosome carrier. So she hadn’t lied, exactly.
Putting her groceries in the trunk of her car, she got in, turned the key in the ignition and hoped the heater would work quickly. After spending the afternoon helping Gilberto study for a math test he had the following week, she was surprisingly hungry. She planned to make a toasted pancetta and brie cheese sandwich with a smear of the homemade fig jam they sold at the bakery. Then she would eat in front of the television, watching an episode of Downton Abbey on Netflix. There was nothing wrong with spending her birthday like that, even if her family and Daisy disagreed.
Pointing her car toward home, she traveled less than a quarter mile before she saw a trio of lights flashing in her rearview mirror. Though no siren wail accompanied the lights, Willa knew she was looking at the lights of a police car. She pulled over, wondering what she had done wrong.
Rolling down her window, she smiled, hoping she could talk her way out of a huge fine on her birthday, “Hello, what did I do—Oh. Hi.”
Derek nodded, looking official in his uniform and even a hat, which she rarely saw him wear. “Evening. Are you aware your undercarriage is sparking?”
“My...what is what?”
“I saw sparks coming from the undercarriage of your car. That’s very dangerous. I’ve alerted the local fire department, who I’m sure will arrive shortly. For now, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle for safety’s sake.” He spoke quickly, which emphasized the danger of the situation. “If you’d like to bring your purse and any other belongings you need to take with you, I’ll have Dan Bowman tow the car in and look at it.” He attempted to open her door, which was locked. “Dan will contact you. Will you unlock your door, please?”