Anything But Extraordinary (Extraordinary Series Book 1)

by Mary Frame

  Throwing the soup container in the microwave, it runs for a few seconds before I hear the front door opening.

  “Will you show me how to shoot your gun?” Paige’s voice accompanies the clomping of her feet across the hardwood floors as they come into the house through the shop.

  “I don’t know, we’ll have to check with your sister,” Jared’s rumbling voice follows.

  “Hey, you’re up,” Paige says when she sees me standing in the kitchen. “Are you feeling better?” She gives me a hug and takes the opportunity to whisper in my ear. “He totally bought it.”

  I give her a relieved smile as she steps back. “I’m feeling much better. Where did you guys go?”

  Paige is holding a small pizza box in her hands.

  “Jared took me to dinner at JJ’s. It’s like thirty minutes away, but they have great pizza. We should go sometime.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She puts the pizza box in the fridge and then eyes me and Jared in turn. “I have homework.” And she disappears down the hall with a quick smile. A second later, her feet pound up the stairs.

  “Thanks for taking care of Paige.” I turn my back to grab a spoon out of the drawer.

  When I turn back around, he’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “She’s a good kid.”

  “I think so.” I glance at the ground, uncomfortable with his presence, not really sure why he’s still here and what he wants from me. “Um. I’m going to eat this in the living room and watch something girly so . . .” you are free to leave, hint hint. I mostly hope he’ll take off, but a smaller, yet stronger part of me hopes he’ll stay.

  “What are you going to watch?” he asks.

  What could I say to make him leave?

  “I Love Lucy.” I walk past him toward the living room. To my surprise and dismay, he follows me.

  “I love that show.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. My favorite episode is the one where she bought all the baby chicks and they get out everywhere.”

  “Right. That’s a good one,” I say, for lack of any better words or turning into a pile of goo at his feet.

  I turn the TV on and sit on the couch with my soup. He sits at the opposite end.

  We watch the show in silence until I’ve finished eating.

  “Thank you for the soup, it was delicious,” I tell him. I lean forward to put the now empty bowl on the table and then sit back, which moves me a couple inches closer to Jared.

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Thanks again for fixing the car. And taking care of Paige. And feeding her, and me . . . I’m sorry I was cranky about it earlier. It’s just that I’m not used to getting help. It sort of stings to realize I need it.”

  “Everyone needs a hand sometimes. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re helpless. It’s obvious you’ve done a great job with Paige. I didn’t exactly make it easy on you when you first got here, and I feel bad about that. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m willing to help out if you ever need it.”

  While he talks, he leans a little in my direction.

  I’m not sure what to make of it. I still don’t understand why he wants to help me. What is he getting in return?

  I take in our positions on the couch, leaning toward each other. I didn’t even realize we had been moving closer.

  My thoughts turn. What if he does want something in exchange for helping me? It makes more sense than believing anyone would do kind deeds out of the goodness of their hearts. Tabby wants me to be her friend because she has none in town, so she helps me. I get that. I give her someone to hang out with, she gives me cabinets. I help her at the festival, and she fixes my roof. What’s Jared’s angle?

  “I’m not going to sleep with you for fixing my car,” I blurt.

  His brows lift and he leans back onto the arm of the couch.

  “That’s not where I thought this was going.” He tilts his head, his eyes sharp and assessing. “Haven’t you ever had anyone help you without expecting something in return?”

  I don’t know how to answer that. There are no selfless good deeds, at least not that I’ve ever experienced.

  He doesn’t seem to expect a response because he keeps talking.

  “I’m not helping you to get something from you. I’ve seen the way you take care of your sister, and those boys and Mr. Bingel. And Mrs. Hale told me about her reading. You made her feel better about her husband. Something I’ve been trying and failing to do for years. I’ll admit, I don’t understand what it is you actually do, but you are making a difference here. I can respect that.”

  I have no idea how to respond to his barrage of compliments.

  Is he for real?

  “I guess what I’m trying to say, very badly, is that I like you.”

  He likes me?

  I don’t know how to process this. Does this mean he likes me, likes me?

  He sticks his hand in my direction. “Friends?”

  Oh, right.

  Friends.

  I nod carefully and shake his hand.

  His fingers grip mine, warm and stable.

  “Friends.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I spend a few days avoiding Jared and pretty much everyone except for customers and people who come in for readings. Luckily, it’s not too busy but steady enough to provide distraction.

  I even avoid Tabby because where Tabby and Troy go, Jared is likely to follow. I don’t mind being his friend. After the whole hand shaking, we spent an hour talking about TV shows, Paige, the town…it was nice. But something about him makes me uncomfortable. He’s too nice. Too good. And I’m a complete and total fraud.

  I walk Paige to school and make sure she’s brushing her teeth and doing her homework, but ever since the night with Jared, I’ve just been going through the motions.

  It’s almost like depression.

  I’m sad because I like our life here, and we’re going to have to leave it. I can’t help but wonder, what’s the point? Why bother with anything?

  I don’t even drink my coffee on the porch in the morning when Mr. Bingel is out clipping his roses and tending his garden. I avoid everyone, only peeking out the window at eight thirty like a creeper to watch Jared run by.

  I’m lucky there haven’t been any more thefts or any reason for anyone to really need me. The videos have been useless; even though I’ve given up checking on them, Paige still looks every day and reviews the tapes.

  By the third day of avoidance though, I’ve apparently gone too far.

  “Ruby!” A fist pounds on my door. “Don’t make me break your shit. Your lame texts won’t keep me away anymore!” It’s Tabby.

  Every time she’s messaged me, I’ve replied claiming exhaustion. The general avoidance of . . . well, everyone, is over.

  I open the door as she’s raising her fist again and flinch. “Don’t punch me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “What the hell are you doing? You look like an extra from The Walking Dead.”

  “Thanks.”

  She frowns and then grabs my hands in her own. Her eyes fix on mine in concern. “Seriously, Ruby. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Jared’s been, like, freaking out. I don’t know what his deal is.” She shakes her head.

  “Really?” The thought sort of perks me up, but it doesn’t last long. It’s not me he likes, it’s Ruby. “I’m okay. Honest. I’m just a little . . .” I shrug. “I don’t know, hormonal?”

  “Oh, yeah, I get that. I know exactly how to fix it, too.” She nods solemnly.

  “Margaritas and ice cream?” I think of the last time we hung out.

  “No, something even better.”

  “What’s better than booze and sugar?”

  “Bingo night.”

  I laugh and then stop abruptly when I realize she’s not laughing with me. “You’re not serious.”

  “As a heart attack. It’s at the senior center and most of
the people there tonight have had at least one of those so . . . it will be fun, I promise. They’re knocking down the old sock emporium at the boardwalk tonight and everything downtown closed early, so it will be super packed and exciting.” She gives me a bright grin.

  I’m about to protest further, but Paige’s voice behind me stops me. “If you go out with Tabby, can I go to Naomi’s for the night?” she asks with a pleading smile.

  Tabby claps. “That is perfect!” Then she points at me. “You need to shower first though. You smell like you rolled around in rotten potatoes and then slept in garbage.”

  Before I have a chance to formulate a plausible argument for continuing to live the life of a recluse, she’s pushing me up the stairs and into the bathroom.

  After I shower, Tabby braids my hair and shoves me into the cleanest clothes she’s managed to scrounge up from my room. They must be some of Ruby’s leftovers because I’m pretty sure I didn’t pack a flowery sundress with spaghetti straps and matching strappy sandals.

  “You look awesome,” Paige tells me before heading over to her friends.

  “Do I really need to get this dressed up for bingo?” I ask Tabby.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re wearing jeans,” I point out.

  She rolls her eyes. “We can stop by my house and I’ll change on the way there. Now hurry, or we’ll be late.”

  I’m not sure why she makes that sound like a bad thing, but I follow her without argument and we drive to her house. She changes into a fifties-style polka-dot dress and clips her hair into an updo, and then we’re on our way to the senior center.

  The parking lot is packed. It takes us almost fifteen minutes to find a parking spot and walk to the large building. Once there, we have to wait in line to purchase the bingo cards.

  “How does this work, exactly?” I ask while we’re waiting.

  “You can buy as many cards as you want. They’re five bucks each. All the money goes into the pot. They have five winners and whoever gets a bingo splits the pot of money. Well, most of it. They cover expenses first, then the winners get the rest.”

  There are at least twenty people in line. I stand on my toes and crane my neck to see through the door where the game will be played. The tables are mostly full, and it’s not a small space. The whole damn town is here.

  “That must be a lot of money.”

  “It sure is, and I plan to win it.”

  We reach the front of the line and she buys seven cards.

  “That’s thirty-five dollars,” I tell her.

  “I know.”

  “On a bingo game.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t mess around.”

  I order one card—I can’t even afford that, really—and then follow Tabby into the giant room where the game is held.

  It looks like a school cafeteria. There are linoleum floors, long tables, and hard plastic chairs full of bodies, most of which seem to be over the age of seventy.

  “I don’t think we’ll be able to find a spot to sit together,” Tabby says, standing on her toes and looking around, fanning her face with her array of bingo cards. “Oh, there’s Jared!” She grabs my arm and drags me with her.

  “Tabby, I don’t think—” I try and stop her, tell her that I don’t think Jared wants to see me, but she’s not listening.

  He’s sitting next to Mrs. Olsen and Miss Viola. I’ve never seen Miss Viola awake. Her eyes look teeny-tiny underneath her thick glasses. There’s an empty seat next to Jared at the very end of the table, and Tabby pushes me into it.

  “Wait. Where are you going?” I ask, but it’s too late. She shoves something in my hands and then she’s waving at me over her shoulder as she hustles in the opposite direction.

  I’m going to kill her.

  Might be a bad idea in a giant room full of people while I’m sitting next to a cop.

  Instead, I look at what she handed me. “What is this?” I hold up the container Tabby gave me before she bolted.

  “It’s a dauber,” Jared says.

  “A what?”

  “You use it to mark the corresponding square when they call your number.” He holds up his own container, similar to my own except mine has a blue cap and his is red.

  “Oh.”

  He’s wearing jeans and a dark blue, long sleeved Henley. The sleeves are pushed up, exposing his muscular forearms, and the blue of his shirt brings out his eyes.

  I focus my gaze on my bingo card. He has three bingo cards in front of him. Miss Viola has one and Mrs. Olsen has two.

  “How are you?” Jared asks.

  “Fine.”

  What riveting conversationalists we are.

  “I don’t think you had a chance to meet Miss Viola,” he says, introducing me to his neighbor.

  “Hello.”

  “This is Ruby Simpson,” he tells her.

  “Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand gently. It’s frail and thin in my hand, like I’m holding an origami hummingbird.

  “What was your name again, dear?” she asks when she sits back in her wheelchair.

  “Ruby,” Jared says louder, leaning toward her.

  “Booby?”

  “No. Ruby,” he says, even louder. His neck flushes red.

  I laugh and it effectively subdues my nerves.

  In my peripheral vision, Jared’s shoulders shake as he tries to hold it in.

  “She can call me Booby if she wants to.”

  “I’ll let her know,” he says. He smiles and his eyes crinkle, which makes my smile falter and I look down at my card again.

  “What?” Miss Viola asks.

  “Nothing, Miss Viola,” he yells.

  “She’s as deaf as a post,” Mrs. Olsen says on the other side of Miss Viola. “Yelling won’t help you, Deputy.”

  “Did you call me a ghost?” Miss Viola asks.

  Mrs. Olsen shakes her head. “She won’t get one of those hearings aids because she thinks it makes her unattractive,” Mrs. Olsen tells us, yelling across both Miss Viola and Jared in my direction.

  My eyebrows lift. Who exactly is she trying to attract? She’s ninety if she’s a day. But there’s no time for further conversation because a man in a cowboy hat at the front of the room gets on the microphone and tells us it’s time to play bingo.

  There are a few announcements about other activities at the senior center, but the crowd gets restless quickly and the cowboy gets the ball rolling on the bingo numbers.

  He has an assistant, another elderly lady not quite as old as Miss Viola. She spins the clear plastic tube full of white balls, pulls the number, and hands it to him to read into the microphone.

  “B twenty-six!” the cowboy yells into the microphone.

  I uncap my dauber and glance over my numbers as they’re called out.

  With the one card, I don’t have much activity, but glancing around, I see that some people are as ambitious as Tabby, with rows of cards in front of them, dabbing and scanning in a hurry as the numbers are read off.

  “Do I have bingo?” Miss Viola asks Jared.

  “There haven’t been enough numbers called yet for a winner,” Mrs. Olsen tells her, waving a hand at her with a frown.

  More numbers are called and I find that watching the other players is much more entertaining than playing the game.

  “We haven’t seen you in a few days. Tabby was getting worried.”

  “That’s funny, she said you were getting worried.”

  There’s a snuffle and a snort and my attention is drawn to Miss Viola, whose purple-ish wig is now bobbing and sagging.

  She’s fallen asleep and she’s snoring.

  For such a little person who probably has little lungs as well, the wheezing sounds filling the air sure are loud.

  Jared and I share a smile before turning toward our cards.

  “I was worried.” He eyes me sideways.

  A smile forms on my face, and I can’t help but flush with pleasure at his words. But the contentment is short-lived. He
shouldn’t worry about me. And I shouldn’t be happy that he’s worried about me.

  A few minutes later there’s a whoop and a yell. “Bingo!”

  It’s Tabby, waving a card in the air and standing on her chair.

  Groans of discontent echo all around the giant room and the cowboy quickly calms them down.

  “Now everyone just wait a minute here while we check the numbers.”

  Tabby runs up to the front of the room, winning card in hand, and voices erupt all around while the cowboy and his assistant check her card against what was called.

  Then there’s some discussion at the front that I can’t hear, but Tabby doesn’t seem to like it. Her arms flail and her voice escalates. I can’t make out the exact words, but they sound rather inflammatory.

  They argue for a few more minutes, and then two gentleman—both likely in their seventies if the white hair is any indication—appear up front and escort Tabby out through a door near the front.

  She struggles against them a little bit and yells something about a conspiracy as she’s exiting, and if my lipreading is correct, there were quite a few four-letter words involved in her departure.

  The cowboy gets back on the mic and informs everyone the game will be continuing. He doesn’t say anything about Tabby or the results of her supposed bingo, but that doesn’t stop people from speculating.

  “She’s always been a cheater,” Mrs. Olsen grumbles.

  “They turned on the heater?” Miss Viola, who must have been awoken by all of the commotion, fans herself with one of her bingo cards. “That might explain why it’s so hot in here.”

  “Do you think they’ll let Tabby back in?” I ask Jared after a few minutes pass and she hasn’t reappeared.

  “Probably not.” He doesn’t seem concerned. A number is called and he daubs his own card and then checks Miss Viola’s. She’s nodding off in the chair next to him again, her purple wig bobbing on her head. “This isn’t the first time she’s been kicked out.”

  “She cheated before?”

  “I think so. She also got kicked out for accusing other people of cheating and ripping up their cards. She’s pretty competitive.”

  “I guess so. She’s also my ride home.”