Bad news? Jackson fired Earl.
Yeah, our wires got crossed, and now no one is working on our air conditioner. We are guyless.
However, I’m on my way to fix that. I pull up in front of FM and Missus’ house and park illegally, if that’s really possible in Chancey. Walking up their sidewalk, activity at the old house next to theirs catches my attention. It’s one of the two between their house and their son Peter’s. The young family looks to be moving out. I could’ve told them restoring an old house is not for the weak of heart or wallet. It sounds romantic, but it’s not. If you disagree, you’ve never done it. Try it. Just once.
The screen door slamming pulls my attention to the porch in front of me. Missus’ voice comes from its depths. “Heard you were all dolled up yesterday. What for?”
“Oh, hey Missus. I had lunch with—wait—I’m sure you already know who I had lunch with and where. Is FM here?”
Missus steps out to the edge of the porch, to the center of the steps I was planning on walking up. Because of the way her arms are crossed, I stop where I am.
She uncrosses her arms to plant them on her hips. “Do you know what Anna is planning now?”
“No.”
Missus sighs and her hands drop to her side. “Me either. But something’s going on. I can feel it. Why do you want to know if FM is home?”
“Jackson accidentally fired Earl. I need to get him back.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“And that’ll fix it?”
Missus turns to go back inside her house, but she doesn’t need to yell for me to hear her say, “Earl will do anything I ask.”
“Really? Why?”
She turns around, one hand on the door handle. Her light blue sleeveless shirtdress, catches the light and shimmers. It’s only a couple shades off her silver hair, which also catches the light as she bends her head. “Earl and I have a history. That’s why he and FM are such good friends, FM likes to keep an eye on him. You know, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?” She smiles a bit. “I’ll put on some lipstick first, but I will take care of this for you.”
While my mind argues with whether she’s pulling my leg or just losing her mind, nothing comes out of my mouth. And then she’s gone. I always thought as people got older they settled down, got boring. Wrong again. I turn back the way I came.
Things are busy on the square this afternoon. Next door there’s all the activity of the family moving out. Lots of buzzing around the old MoonShots, which is now Peter’s bistro. There’s a group of kids doing something in the gazebo, and the front door of the museum is standing open with people milling around it. Probably some meeting of something or other. Small towns are all about meetings. The weekly newspaper has a whole column dedicated to who is meeting where and when and what they’re going to discuss. What’s crazy is it’s the same people in that meeting that were in a meeting yesterday about some other topic. There’s not enough civic-minded people to fill all the committees these people think they need. It’s practically a full-time job just avoiding being put on a committee. Sometimes I forget which groups I actually belong to and fail to show up for a meeting. Then sometimes I don’t forget, and still fail to show up for a meeting.
I’m gaining a reputation for being undependable.
Finally.
A horn honks. A big white box truck is trying to park in front of the house next door, but there’s no room. I scoot down to my car and move out of the way. In my rearview mirror, I see the driver wave. As I slow for the stop sign at the end of the block, I take in the library passing on my right. The gray block building should be one of my favorite places in town since my hard-earned master’s degree, which is only a couple years old, is in Library Science, but I kind of burned my bridges there. The head librarian hired me, made me start hating books, and then I quit. She’s not someone that takes lightly to being called hateful, arrogant, and small-minded. And that is not just my opinion. It’s fact.
Such a shame, as librarians are usually my favorite people.
I use the intersection to turn around in, and as I’m doing that I see the chalkboard in front of the museum says the meeting today is of the Chancey Preservation Society. I do not know what the Preservation Society does, and I will not ever know, because asking that question is as good a way to find your name on their rolls as there is. I wave at the couple of folks I know standing out front, and then go back down the street I was just on and turn to drive down Main Street. I’m not really cruising, but would like to see what’s going on in Ruby’s, the bookstore and flower shop, and Peter’s bistro without having to talk to anyone.
Okay, I’m cruising.
Ruby’s looks closed. Gertie and Patty are in the bookstore. Shannon is talking to a lady in the florist’s. Peter has bunches of people in his place, and I decide it’s safe to check it out. Plus, I’m wearing khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt. No red lips or slicked back hair today. I pull into a parking place across the street and then take a walk over. As the sun begins to slide behind the mountains, a coolness tries to push at the afternoon heat. Soon, it’ll be cool enough to go back home, but for now… I know when MoonShots opened Diego put in a whole new AC unit, so it’ll be nice and cold.
Peter has done a lot to undo the modern coffee shop look. Diego Moon is one of his partners, so he has a vested interest in taking off Peter’s hands the barely used equipment put in only a couple months ago. Plus, Diego seems a tad embarrassed that he put all the money and effort in to essentially exile his cheating wife from New York. Jordan couldn’t get out of Chancey fast enough. According to Facebook and TMZ she’s back to being a loving mother and wife and looking gorgeous doing it. She’s saying she was at the resort at Barnsley Gardens, and I’m sure they’re loving the advertising, but everyone knows the truth, thanks to our little spring tornado that got us Atlanta TV coverage. Can’t say I really miss Jordan; she was pretty high maintenance for a friend.
The counter remains and the glass shelving at each end of the counter, too. Also left are the tables and chairs, which are stacked along one wall. I miss having MoonShots coffee, but it never felt right having a chain like that here. They are leaving one coffee machine, but stressing that it won’t be MoonShots beans. However, unlike Ruby’s, we will be able to get coffee to go, and that solves my biggest coffee issue in Chancey.
The new rustic wooden shelving units are placed around the room, and judging by the boxes stacked everywhere, some stock has come in.
“Carolina! So good to see you,” Diego yells as he enters from the back room. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and I’m disappointed he stays upstairs in Jordan’s old apartment now instead of up at Crossings like he used to. “Isn’t it all coming together?” He’s Colombian, and he uses a lot of energy when he’s in a good mood. He opens his arms like a ringmaster introducing ladies riding elephants. “This bistro idea could become big for us. Maybe it’s the next thing after coffee shops.”
Peter comes up behind him and rolls his eyes at his partner’s enthusiasm, then smiles. “Hey. What are you up to?”
“Wanted to see how things are going. And trying to stay cool.”
“Oh yeah, Dad said your air is out. He didn’t talk you into using Earl, did he?”
I hold my hands up. “No, do not tell me anything bad about Earl, or that you have a guy. Earl is now my guy.”
“Okay, but let me know if you change your mind.”
My eyes close and my heart drops. Shoot. I thought Earl was my guy. Never mind. I look up, smile, and ask, “Is Savannah around?”
Peter and Diego grin at each other and then me. “She’s around,” Peter says through his grin.
“Around where? What’s going on?”
Diego shrugs. “My nephew is here. Alex. He’s my sister’s son. The sister that lives in New York. Ah, there they are.” He points out the front window with his chin, and I turn in time to see a tall young man open the door for Savannah to walk inside. She has one of Rub
y’s baskets in her arms.
“Hi, Mom. This is Alex.” She lifts her head, but it’s at an angle and to the side. And not because Alex is standing to her side, offering me his hand to shake. It’s because that’s what girls do when they are being coy. I just never have put Savannah and coy in the same sentence. Her head is cocked, her eyes slant upward through her eye lashes, and she’s not exactly batting them, like Scarlet in Gone with the Wind, but she’s not far from it. Her smile is soft, lips barely open, and as he steps toward me, she sighs.
I do not roll my eyes as I hold my hand out. “Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Carolina.”
Shaking my hand, he says, “You’re Savannah’s mother? Ruby up at the café was asking if I’d met you yet.”
I just bet she was. “Yes, Ruby likes to know everything going on. So you’re from New York?”
“Yep.”
Diego interjects. “Yes, ma’am. Use some manners.”
Alex nods at his uncle and says the requested words, but his heart isn’t in them. And the little look he shares to the side with Savannah tells the rest of us in the room exactly how old we are.
Savannah steps to the counter and sets the basket down. “Here’s what Ruby has made so far. She says these should be easy to wrap up and sell.”
We all gather closer as Peter lifts out cookies and shares them with us after breaking them in half. “I only had her make chocolate chip and snickerdoodles today. She also says she’ll make a toffee shortbread.”
When I turn to hand Savannah part of my snickerdoodle, she’s looking up through her lashes again. Alex is tall and thin but not skinny, with dark hair, longer than the boys in Chancey wear theirs. He’s looking down at her, and I realize the heat in the room is despite the completely functioning air conditioning. I’ve seen this look directed at my daughter many times. However, I have never seen it returned or even acknowledged. Well, looks like Ricky showing up with Charisse on Sunday is no longer an issue. Thank goodness Alex doesn’t live here, or the biggest issue might be standing right in front of me.
Peter pulls the checked towel over the rest of the cookies. “Alex is going to give me a hand with opening the bistro. He’s going to live upstairs.”
What now?
Diego clears his throat and moves behind the counter, but I get my question out before he can dart through the back door. “With you, Diego?”
With a big grin (which doesn’t look very genuine to me), he turns and spreads his arms. “He’s here for some education about business, before he starts college in the fall. He’s going to live upstairs this summer. I have to go home.”
Peter’s eyebrows are high, matching Diego’s, and they both shift their focus to the young man in question. The young man meets their looks with a shrug, saying, “Why not. Gotta be somewhere.”
Savannah, however, giggles. Giggles. And yep, bats her eyes ever so quickly for half a second.
This summer just got very long.
Chapter 6
Earl’s truck is in the driveway when I get home. It’s old with a faded red paint job and a foot-high flame painted down the side, which is also faded. Pretty easy to know when Earl is around. Opening the front door, I pause, hoping to feel a chilled breeze, to hear that quiet hush of running fan, and to experience the stillness of a sealed room. Having the windows open is nice for a while, but it’s so noisy and you have to close them if it rains and it just makes the house feel so, so alive. Okay, that sounds like a nice thing, but really? Is it?
Our house feels alive. Shoot.
“Earl?” I yell. He answers from the kitchen.
“In here.”
Earl is a big man. His clothes are baggy, along with his skin. He has gray hair sticking out underneath his truckers cap, and it flows down his face in a thick beard. He seems clean, just disheveled, and well, baggy. He’s leaning on my kitchen counter eating a sandwich. Before I can say “hi” or he can tell me my AC is working (fingers still crossed), he says, “This is the last of the ham.”
Oh. “Oh,” and that’s all I can say or think. “Oh.” Wait, there’s more. “Is the air fixed?”
He chews and nods, as he leans over and reaches for his glass of iced tea. “Almost. Needed to get some supper, since I’ve got more to do.” He leans back against the counter.
“I guess I need to go the store and get some more ham. So, you’re good here?”
He chews and nods.
“You think you’ll be done tonight?”
Now he chews and shakes his head. “Hard to say,” he says, and then takes another bite and goes back to just chewing.
My car keys are still in my hand, and I hold them up. “Well, I’ll be back.” And I walk back through the living room. I came home to make Bryan a sandwich, which I was going to take to the Lake Park. I was also going to make myself a sandwich, grab the book I’m reading, and go have supper at the park, too. But now I need to buy lunchmeat. If only we still lived in the suburbs where I had my pick of meals to go. Every fast food choice, along with a deli in every grocery store where I could have sandwiches made to order.
It may be healthier doing your own cooking, but the extra work could kill you. I never had to think about food so much when we lived back in Marietta. A glance at the clock in the car tells me I’m just about to miss the deli closing. So I bounce over the track crossing and hurry down the hill. At the Piggly Wiggly, I scatter gravel pulling into the parking lot too fast. Another thing, gravel parking lots are so unforgiving on car paint jobs and nice shoes. Who knew to be thankful for paved parking lots?
The store has that air-conditioned feel: sealed, quiet, un-alive. It’s great. Pulling out my buggy, I can see the deli area is dark. Shoot. Packaged lunch meat it is. Now that I’ve missed the reason for hurrying, I can take my time. Everything in town is dead by this time of the day in Chancey. Oh, it’s only six-thirty, in case you thought I might be whining without reason. Back in the suburbs, folks are just now making their way home from jobs in Atlanta. Here? Things are already quieting down. Meetings at churches or the civic meetings all start at five, six at the latest. School evening activities start at six. Even when Jackson isn’t on the road, getting to things by six is hard for him.
At the register, I put the few things I’ve collected onto the conveyor belt and move up to the card reader. “Hey, Danielle.”
“Hey, Mrs. Jessup.”
I put my head down and dig in my purse, because Danielle can’t scan groceries and talk at the same time. Laney says when Danielle checks her out she pretends she’s having a conversation on her phone to keep the cashier scanning instead of talking.
“I hear Terry is fixing your air conditioner,” Danielle says, holding my head of lettuce in her right hand. “He’s good. He’s cute, too, isn’t he?” She’s in her late twenties, but she acts younger. Her dad is head usher at the church. She and her two sisters sit on the front pew, just like they did when they were little girls, Susan says. After their mom died when they were in elementary school, their dad told them to sit there and behave while he was doing his ushering duties, and I guess he never told them any different. All three are in their twenties now.
“No, Earl’s working on it.” Although “working” may not be the best word to use.
She scans the lettuce. Picks up the package of ham and says, “Really? But Terry had to cancel a date with Sissy to work up there tonight. Sissy was real upset. She’s been trying to get Terry to take her out forever.” Her hand holding the ham drops to the belt, before passing over the scanner panel. “Oh no. He couldn’t have lied to her. Could he?”
All I can do is stare at the package of ham and choke out, “I don’t know.”
After a pause to consider the possibilities, she scans the ham and picks up a bag of chips. “Maybe I should call her.” And she lays down the chips and reaches into the pocket of her pink smock, pulling out her phone.
“Please, Danielle. Can you do that after I check out? I really need to get Bryan some supper.”
&nb
sp; She shifts her gaze from me to the counter in front of her and laughs. “Of course. Silly me.” She quickly whips through the rest of my things while I stuff them in the plastic bags at the end, then load them in my buggy. I pay and am headed to the parking lot when she hollers at me.
“Mrs. Jessup?”
I turn around.
“I’ll let you know about Terry. You know, whether he’s working up at your house or not, if you’ll give me your phone number.”
“Thanks, but I’m headed there right now.” I wave and push through the automatic doors to the outside warmth.
You know, if I was here on vacation that would all seem real cute.
Okay, I hated the idea of my son, my young, innocent son, dating that girl Brittani with an “I.” Find that I’m hating this even more.
Bryan is sitting across from me at the picnic table. He’s wet from the lake and has a towel draped across his shoulders. His friends Grant and John sit on either side of him in the same posture, all with heads down, water dripping from their hair, not saying a word, just eating. John and Grant had brought sandwiches since they all have a lifeguard training session tonight when the park closes. Bryan and Grant are tanned already, John is fairer, so he’s the lightest of the three. Usually these three are laughing and goofing around, but not now. They chew and listen. Listen to the laughs from a blanket down beside the water. There’s a familiar redhead on the blanket with a high school boy I don’t know. The laughter from the blanket is hard to take, but even worse is the silence, because that’s when they are making out.
Yep, my son has been dumped by the skank.
And I thought I wanted to tear her eyeballs out when they were dating.
When I got here, the boys were out on one of the floating docks. They saw me and dove in, since John and Grant were waiting to eat until Bryan’s food showed up. I fully expected them to head off to their own table, so my first clue things weren’t normal was when they sat down with me. That was odd. Then them not saying anything, just opening their food and eating. Finally, I looked for the source of the laughing and saw that girl. When my eyes widened and my mouth opened to speak, Bryan shook his head, adding, “Mom. It’s nothing.”
Kids are Chancey Page 4