by Tara Sivec
Since everything around here closes at five, I ran up to the diner before they closed and picked up dinner to go. Mrs. Sherwood put the food into the oven on a low setting to keep it warm until I was ready to leave, transferred it into insulated containers, and then packed everything up into a bag, along with a bottle of wine and some plastic cups. I took a chance and hoped Brooklyn still had a weakness for the cream cheese stuffed pancakes covered in strawberry sauce that she ordered every time she went to the diner in high school. Thankfully, her eyes lit up and I’m pretty sure I saw some drool dripping down her chin when I opened the container.
I know what you’re thinking. What kind of an idiot takes the woman of his dreams to sit in town, eating shitty diner food off their laps?
That idiot would be me. But I’m an evil mastermind idiot, so there’s that. She spent the last twelve years living it up in New York, hanging with celebrities, eating at fancy restaurants, drinking expensive champagne, surrounded by the hustle and bustle and noise of a big city. Sure, I could have driven her to the next town over and forked out a shit-ton of money at the French bistro that just opened a few months ago, but why in the hell would I do that? It would completely defeat the purpose of what I’m trying to do.
I want her to remember everything about White Timber that makes it the best place to live. I want her to enjoy the quiet, slow pace of living in a small town. I want her to fall in love with the idea of putting roots down here. I want her to fall in love with the idea of falling in love with me.
“God, I forgot how peaceful it is here,” Brooklyn states as we walk hand-in-hand down Main Street. “Every time I’ve been here since I got to town, I’ve been in a hurry and never took the time to appreciate it. I’m so used to horns honking, people shouting, music blaring, and trying not to die getting run over by a taxi when you cross the street.”
I almost want to rub my hands together like a villain, and whisper, “Excellent, excellent. My plan is working.”
Tugging on Brooklyn’s hand, I bring it around behind me and make her hold onto my waist, and then drape my arm over her shoulders, pulling her tightly against my side as we continue walking. As soon as I start to feel really fucking good about myself, I hear someone call our names.
We pause on the sidewalk in front of the barbershop, and I watch Shannon, the owner of the diner, rush across the street to us.
“Hey, you two! How was dinner? Were the pancakes just as good as you remembered them, Brooklyn?”
Brooklyn rubs her hand over her stomach and smiles at her.
“Too good. I think I gained five pounds eating them.”
“You definitely hoovered those things into your mouth pretty fast. Hopefully those five pounds go to your ass and not your thighs,” I tell her with a smirk.
Since her arm is still wrapped around my waist, she takes the opportunity to pinch my side as hard as she can, until my eyes start to water from the pain.
“Don’t mind him, Shannon. He’s still a little gassy from that cheeseburger and fries, and it put him in a bad mood. I almost thought he might shit his pants there for a minute.”
The two women share a laugh at my expense, and I tug on a strand of Brooklyn’s hair on her shoulder, right by my hand.
“You two are just the cutest. Have a good rest of the night,” Shannon tells us.
Before she walks away, she leans in close to me, pushes up on her toes, and whispers in my ear.
“My money’s on tonight in the pool, but it has to be after eleven, so don’t rush home just yet. I’ve got my eye on a new industrial stove for the diner. Don’t let me down.”
With that, she pats me on the arm and crosses back over to the other side of the street.
Brooklyn, of course, laughs since Shannon wasn’t all that quiet with her whispering, and we continue walking down the street, back toward the gazebo where I left our stuff on one of the steps.
Removing my arm from her shoulders, I grab her hand and start pulling her across the street to one of the other main reasons I wanted to bring her into town tonight.
“Come on, I want to show you something.”
“Is it something in your pants? Because Shannon will probably slit your throat if she doesn’t get that oven,” Brooklyn replies with a snort.
I shake my head at her and keep pulling her along until I get to my destination, stopping us right in front of it.
“Remember this place?” I ask, staring up at the building in front of us, with the windows boarded up.
“Wasn’t this where they printed the White Timber Times?” she asks, looking up for the sign that used to hang over the front window that fell off a year ago during a really bad thunderstorm.
“Yep. Ed Franklin finally retired, and no one wanted to take it over. It’s been shut down for about two years now.”
“Are you kidding me? There’s no White Timber Times in everyone’s mailboxes on Sunday morning anymore? How in the world does anyone know when the bake sales are, or why Edna Cranston was fighting with Pearl Simmons in front of the hair salon?” she asks with mock horror, pressing her hand against her chest.
The White Timber Times was part newspaper, part gossip column. Anything and everything that happened in this town was printed in that paper. News about upcoming events, school functions, scores from all the school sporting events, special sales certain businesses were running, weather forecasts, progress updates on all the crops on the various farms, neighbor disputes, and whose husband had one too many beers at the VFW and passed out in a corn field with his pants around his ankles, were all included in the weekly newspaper.
“I know. It’s a travesty. People are just walking around aimlessly, having no idea when they should bake cookies for the church bake sale. Someone really needs to do something about it before the town implodes,” I joke.
I’m not really joking though. Brooklyn wrote for a magazine. One of the biggest magazines in the world. Sure, this isn’t anywhere near the scale of that, but it’s something. It’s something I know she would love, if she just thought about it for a little while. I know if I want to really convince her that she could be happy here, she needs something more in her life than me and my kids. She needs a purpose, she needs to make her own money and be independent, and she needs to do something that will keep her busy and make her happy.
We stand here quietly staring at the empty building in front of us, and it’s killing me not to say something, but I don’t want to push her.
“Hey, Mr. Hastings. Hey, Miss Manning.”
I drop my arm from around Brooklyn’s shoulders and we both turn around to find a teenage girl standing on the edge of the street. I can see from the confused look on Brooklyn’s face that she has no idea who this girl is, so I help her out.
“Katie Johnson,” I whisper in her ear.
When it still doesn’t register, Katie speaks up.
“My dad is Rodney Johnson. You used to babysit me.”
“Holy fucking shit!” Brooklyn shouts, quickly clamping her mouth closed and glancing around to make sure she didn’t just give one of the old ladies a heart attack who might be out for an evening walk. “You’re not a baby! I mean, of course you aren’t a baby, but holy shit. Now I feel really old. No offense, but you were a rotten baby. But you’re like, seriously pretty now, so I kind of have to forgive you for giving me nightmares for most of my life.”
Katie laughs and blushes at the same time.
“Katie’s in the National Honor Society. She’s guaranteed to be the valedictorian of White Timber High, and she already plans on going to Harvard Medical School,” I tell Brooklyn.
“Damn, girl. Good for you,” she praises.
Sticking my hands in the front pockets of my jeans, I stand next to Brooklyn and listen to her chat with Katie for a few minutes about Rodney, and her plans for the future.
Fucking hell, she’s beautiful. And sweet, when she isn’t being a smartass. Dammit. She’s even sweet then. I’m screwed.
As they wind d
own their conversation, Brooklyn slides her hand through the crook of my arm to hold onto me, almost like it’s a natural reflex and she’s not even aware she’s doing it. I can’t wipe the goddamn smile off my face. That is, until we start to walk away, and Katie reaches out and taps my arm to stop me.
She glances at Brooklyn nervously then crooks her finger at me.
When I lean my head down toward her, she lifts up and whispers in my ear.
“Okay, this is kind of awkward, but whatever. I used my allowance to bet on tomorrow night in the pool. Don’t tell my dad. But I really, really need a new wardrobe for senior year. Some new dresses, and new shoes, and new purses that don’t come from the general store or Walmart. So….” she trails off.
I hear Brooklyn try and stifle a laugh next to me, and I just give Katie a smile. Turning away from the girl, I walk away as fast as I can, with Brooklyn having to almost jog to keep up with me as she holds tightly to my arm.
“I did that, you know,” she informs me with a smile, as we step onto the grass of the square.
“Convinced an underage girl to bet on our sex life?” I ask in shock.
“No!” she laughs, the sound making my heart swell in my fucking chest. “Katie is brilliant. She’s going to Harvard Medical School. Not to brag or anything, but I practically raised that kid when she was little.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
“You babysat her once a week for a few years.”
“Three years, Clint. Three. Three of the worst years of my life. She’s where she is today because of me,” she states with a lift of her chin as we sit down on the steps of the gazebo next to our things.
“I’m not exactly sure you should be patting yourself on the back, fancy pants. I highly doubt you had anything to do with her brilliance.”
“Um, hello? I cared for her during her most formative years. She is brilliant, all because I didn’t shake her when she was a baby.”
Jesus, this woman kills me, in the best possible way.
“Even though you hated it, that was a good thing you did back then. Rodney had it pretty tough there for a while.”
“I’m glad he got remarried after I left, and Katie adores her stepmother,” Brooklyn adds, mentioning what she and Katie talked about a few minutes ago.
“Tough break, losing her mom so young.”
Brooklyn sighs, pulling her legs up onto the step below us, wrapping her arms around her knees.
“We’re gonna go there now, are we?” she asks softly.
“It’s kind of a big thing, you telling everyone you still had a relationship with your mom all these years,” I say gently.
“It’s also kind of a big thing Grace and Mia’s mom isn’t around. Care to talk about that?” she asks in annoyance.
“You first,” I challenge.
She rolls her eyes and lets out another big sigh.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me? Or even Ember?”
She shrugs, squeezing her arms tighter around her legs. Reaching over, I rest my hand against her back, rubbing soft circles around the center of her spine.
“I didn’t tell Ember, because I was embarrassed. And I didn’t tell you, because you probably would have used it against me, like you did a few weeks ago,” she replies.
“World’s biggest jerk, remember? If I could take back all of that shit I said, I would do it in a minute. I hate that you carried that around with you for so long.”
She shrugs again, and I turn my body to face her, reaching over with my free hand to tilt her chin up so she’ll look me in the eyes.
“You know, it’s weird. For so long, I felt like such a loser. What was so bad about me that she left and never came back? Was I that hard to love? That easy to leave?”
I open my mouth to argue with her, tell her she’s so easy to love it’s almost scary, and so hard to leave it makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it, but she quickly shakes her head.
“I know, I know. It was stupid to think like that, but how could I not? The weird thing is, I don’t feel like that anymore. I think about her, and all I can say is, it’s her loss. She has to live with that decision for the rest of her life, not me.”
Leaning over, I kiss the top of her head and pull her against my side.
“I have you to thank for that, by the way.”
When I look down at her in confusion, she rests her head on my shoulder.
“Well, your girls at least. When I look at them, I don’t see losers who are unlovable and easy to leave. I see amazing little human beings who someone would have to be completely batshit crazy to walk away from. If I can feel that way when I look at them, I need to feel the same way when I look in the mirror.”
I can barely swallow past the lump in my throat, so I quickly clear it and think about something that doesn’t make me so emotional, and just makes me feel numb.
“Her name was Melissa. I met her freshman year of college. She was a computer science major, just like me, and I thought we had a whole hell of a lot in common. We started dating, and before I knew it, I was a father before my junior year,” I tell her.
“Can I start calling you teen mom now?” she asks, her body shaking with laughter.
Leave it to Brooklyn to find a way to lighten my mood during this conversation.
“Sure thing, Cookie Brookie.”
She elbows me in the gut, and I keep going with this shit-show story.
“Melissa was a born and bred Californian. Her parents hated me when I moved her to Montana after we graduated. She seemed excited at first, but that quickly changed. By the time Grace was four, we weren’t even sleeping in the same room, and she was barely speaking to me,” I explain, shaking my head at just how stupid I was back then.
“So, you never got married?” she asks softly.
“Hell no. I think I knew before Grace was even born that we shouldn’t be together, but I didn’t want to quit. I didn’t want to do that to Grace. I probably should have tried a whole hell of a lot harder to make things work, but Melissa just didn’t give a shit, so neither did I. And of course, during one night of too many drinks at the Maple Inn to celebrate my dad’s birthday when they were in town visiting, where we fought for two hours about her not wanting to go before she finally gave in, I thought having another kid would fix everything, because that always works,” I say sarcastically. “And that’s how I got Mia.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the quiet sounds of nature all around us, before I suck it up and finish this crap.
“She never made an effort to get to know anyone in town, and she would leave for days, sometimes weeks at a time, never letting me know where the hell she was,” I mutter. “I found out after snooping through her phone that she made some friends over in Billings. Friends who liked to party, friends who liked their cocaine, and friends who didn’t have two kids at home they should be taking care of.”
“Jesus,” Brooklyn mutters.
“Yeah. She finally left and went back to California a week after Mia turned three. Haven’t heard from her since. I used to send her texts and pictures of the girls to keep her updated after I got over my initial anger, but she never replied. Eventually, I got a message that said my texts were undeliverable, so I’m guessing she changed her number. The shitty thing is, I found out she married some clothing designer, and they now have a son.”
Brooklyn lets out an irritated huff, lifting her head from my shoulder to look at me.
“That bitch. Give me her full name and social security number. I’ll hunt her down and beat the shit out of her.”
All I can do is chuckle. I don’t know how it’s possible for this woman to make me feel so light after talking about such heavy shit.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s trying to be the knight in shining armor now.”
“Whatever.” Brooklyn shrugs. “I’ve never been in a chick fight, and I’ve always wanted to. Getting punched in the face by a scorned wife doesn’t count. I didn’t see that
shit coming. I’m better prepared now.”
Pushing myself up from the steps, I hold my hand out for Brooklyn and pull her up next to me as I grab the bag of containers and the empty bottle of wine.
“Ready for the rest of our date now?” I ask.
“You mean wining and dining me on the town square isn’t all you had planned?”
“Nope.”
Her face lights up with excitement, but then her smile quickly falls and a look of worry takes over her features.
“What’s wrong?” I ask in a panic, wondering if it’s just now hitting her all the fucked up shit that happened with Melissa, and maybe this is too much for her to handle.
Maybe she thinks I have too much baggage.
Maybe she still hates this town and is counting down the minutes until she can leave.
Maybe I completely overshot this and screwed everything up.
“I’m really conflicted right now,” she whispers, making my heart drop right down into my stomach. “If you give me the business tonight, Shannon wins. If we wait until tomorrow, Katie wins. Industrial stove, or new wardrobe? Industrial stove, or new wardrobe? Gaaah, this is too much pressure!”
Once the shock wears off at what just came out of her mouth, I throw my head back and laugh harder than I have in years.
“This isn’t funny, Clint! I mean, think of all the yummy things Shannon could put on her menu. But… oh my God, I could take Katie shopping! I could introduce her to Nordstrom’s, and Louboutin’s, and Kate Spade, and Donna Karan, and… fuck. I think I just had an orgasm.” She sighs.
Turning away from her, I walk as fast as I can toward the truck, dragging her along behind me.
“Slow down! What the hell?” Brooklyn asks, laughing as I start to jog.
“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you have an orgasm without me,” I inform her.
“Wooohooo! Looks like the industrial stove is in the lead!” she cheers as we get to where I parked, and I fumble trying to pull my keys out of my pocket. “We should stop and tell Shannon the good news.”
“Stop talking and get in the truck.”