by Jody Holford
She turned to face him even though he stood staring at the water. She put her hand on his forearm. It was solid, like him, and warm. Also like him. “What are you talking about?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned so they were face-to-face.
“Do you remember when we met? I was in the middle of a fist fight in sixth grade.”
“I remember you being in a fight. I remember getting in the middle of it. I don’t remember who or why.”
“It was Davey Morgan. He was a punk-ass bully who had been spouting off since I moved in with my dad. One day he sucker punched me, and I let him have it.”
“I hated that guy. Last I heard, he was living in a rundown shack selling homemade whiskey. Or drinking it,” she recollected with a frown.
“Probably both. I tossed him in jail a few times a couple years ago for drunk and disorderly. Haven’t seen him for a long time, but I wouldn’t doubt the stories. Anyway,” he shrugged, pulled his hands out of his pockets and taking her hand before he continued. “You rushed over just as I was about to kick him in the ribs. I was so mad I couldn’t see anything else. But I saw you. You came right up to me, grabbed my wrist, and turned me to face you. You put your hand on my chest.”
He placed it there now and her heart ricocheted in response. She stepped closer to him.
“How do you remember this?”
“Some things stay with you. Define you. Change something inside you. You leaned in really close and told me he wasn’t worth it. You kept your hand on my chest, just like this, looked me straight in the eye, and told me he wasn’t worth it but I was. That I was better than that. Better than him.”
“Looks like I was a pretty good judge of character even at twelve,” she smiled, drawn in by the memory, by him.
“Maybe. But it was the first time somebody had made me feel worth anything in so long. That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. You made me feel like I mattered.”
“You did. You do.”
“You told the principal that he’d called you a white-trash whore and I was defending your honor. I never even got suspended,” he reminded her. She smiled, not sure if she remembered authentically or because he was filling in the gaps for her.
“Huh. Looks like I was a quick thinker, too,” she laughed.
He put his hand on her arm and rubbed it up and down, sending shivers up her back despite the warmth of the evening. Linking his fingers with hers, he started walking back in the direction they had come.
“You were. But the point is, that moment made me step back and think about who I was and who I wanted to be.”
“That’s giving an awful lot of power to a twelve-year-old girl.”
“Maybe. But from that moment on, I knew two things: one, I didn’t want to be a dickhead like Davey.”
“And two?”
He stopped at his truck. She could still hear the water and promised herself that she’d come back to take pictures.
“And two, if I ever got the chance, I’d tell you how much that moment mattered to me. So I’m telling you now. And saying thank you, I guess.”
“You’re welcome. Though I think your thank you is misplaced.”
“See? No, it’s not. That’s part of why I’m telling you this.”
He pulled her past the passenger side door and released her hand to open the tailgate. Before she could stop him, he picked her up under the arms and lifted her to sit on the truck so he could stand between her legs.
“You’re worth it,” he said seriously, his hands resting on her thighs. They were mostly covered by her cargo shorts, but the gentle grip of his fingers still caused a nervous distraction in the pit of her stomach.
“What?”
“When I needed to hear it, you told me and you made sure I listened. You told me I mattered, and now I’m returning the favor and telling you right back that you matter. Not your name, or your job, or anything else. You.”
She wasn’t sure why she felt like crying. He was in her space, his eyes locked on hers. His words took away some of the ache that she hadn’t realized was residing just under her ribcage.
“I think you’re telling me wrong,” she whispered, trying to ignore Kate’s ever-present nagging voice that told her not to do this, not to go where she wanted to be. Not to mess something else up.
“What?”
She took his hand, brought it up to rest on her heart, and then covered his large hand with her small ones. His breathed hitched and his eyes widened. A tremor traveled up her spine and ended in her shoulders.
“Say it again.”
“For the love of God, Lucy. Are you trying to kill me?” he shook his head with a wry smile on his lips. She tightened her legs on his hips and waited. He leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath, warm like the air around them.
“You matter, Lucy Aarons. You’re worth something. Worth so much.”
She tried to bite the inside of her cheek to stymie the tears, but she knew it didn’t quite work when she felt one slipping. His cupped her jaw with his free hand and began to close the small space between them.
“So are you,” she whispered.
As he kissed her, as she let herself tumble into the seduction and sweetness of his mouth on hers and ignored the voice telling her she was right and he was wrong. That he deserved better. For just this moment, she wanted what he said to be true. She pulled him closer and let herself believe it, for now.
Chapter Five
Most of the week was uneventful, which meant that by Friday, Alex was tired of flipping through the pile of paperwork that never seemed to get smaller on his desk. Though it was a fairly decent distraction from thinking about Lucy. Which he had done nonstop since she had returned home a week ago. He could hear Dolores’s music playing from the front desk outside his office. If she played another Britney Spears song, he was pretty sure his mood was going to turn “Toxic.”
Dolores Edgemont was fifty-something going on fifteen. She’d been divorced twice and liked airing her dirty laundry the way other people liked getting massages. Personally, he could do without either. He didn’t want to hear about her last husband’s lack of performance any more than he wanted a stranger’s hands on him. He pushed back from his desk and went to the Keurig coffee maker that his dad had given him last Christmas.
“Don’t be a cliché. Don’t drink shit coffee because it’s available,” his dad had grumbled around his smoker’s cough. They’d sat on opposite couches after sharing way too much Chinese food, as was their Christmas tradition.
“And make sure to have it on hand when you drop by?” Alex had answered with an easy smile, earning a nod of agreement and a hearty laugh from Chuck Whitman.
Once he’d gotten through the anger of his mom leaving and over the angst that sucked the soul of every teenager, he and his dad had gotten along pretty well. His dad was straight-up strict with him, but he was also fair. Chuck dropped in at least once a week to make sure his son was actually ‘pulling his weight,’ and possibly to flirt with Dolores a little.
Alex pulled up the ancient blinds in his ten-by-twenty office, letting the sun shine on the dimly painted walls. Drumming on the windowsill while the aroma of chocolate-glazed-donut coffee infused the room—he didn’t give a damn about clichés—he watched his sleepy town wake up. At twelve, he had thought Angel’s Lake was the most boring place on earth; it didn’t even have a 7-11 or an arcade back then. He liked the routine and predictability of it just fine now.
Across the street from the sheriff’s office was the long, U-shaped property that housed most of the town’s main businesses. Nick, of Adam’s Apples, the town grocer, was just opening up his store. The bakery and post office wouldn’t open until later in the morning. There was also a barber, a mini mart and two vacant stores. Compared to years ago, the town was booming
“You okay sheriff?” Dolores asked, surprising him out of his thoughts. He looked over to see her helping herself to his coffee. Wearing a pair of skin-tight pa
nts of unidentifiable material, she had her hair teased extra high today. She took a slow sip of his drink.
“Help yourself.”
“I’ll put another one in. You know I can’t resist this one, so serves you right for making it. You look like you’ve been up all night but not for a good reason,” she laughed, winking at him. With long blond hair and a syrupy sweet voice, she was attractive from a distance. If you didn’t get too close, you couldn’t see how leathery and worn her skin had become from spending too much time in a tanning bed. From where he was standing, it was harder to see the piles of makeup she put on to cover the fact that she was aging and didn’t want to. Still, nothing in the world could hide her huge heart.
“I’m fine, Dee. Just waiting for everyone to open their doors and see that everything was status quo last night.” The town’s teens had been remarkably quiet all week. Maybe his old man was right and the small vandalism wave had been the kids reveling in the freedom of summer that was fast approaching.
She selected a new packet of coffee for the machine and slipped it in with a fresh cup underneath. “Rumor has it you were dining with Ms. Lucy Aarons the other night. Doesn’t sound so status quo to me,” she prodded, leaning a hip on his desk.
“I’m guessing rumor’s name is Cal since it was his diner we went to. It was just dinner, and that’s all I’ll say about that. Don’t you have something to do besides bug me and steal my coffee?” he asked, going to the machine to make sure he actually got this cup.
“Sure do, sugar. But nothing as fun as watching you blush when I bring up Lucy’s name,” she replied as the phone rang. “Oh, you’re actually saved by the bell!”
He shook his head and hoped the day would stay slow, even if it meant putting up with Dolores’s nosey ways and shitty taste in music.
If she hadn’t left the house when she did, Lucy would have been subjected to one of her mother’s surveys. She smiled remembering her timing of heading out the door as Kate had stumbled down the stairs, still in her Mickey Mouse pajamas.
“Well, I need one of you girls to answer the questions so I can see if it’s a valid survey,” Julie had complained as Lucy grabbed her camera and purse, claiming she had something important to do.
“Kate’s here. I’m sure she would be a better test subject. Besides, I had a date this week, so it seems like she should do it,” Lucy had said, with an evil grin aimed at her sister.
“Huh? What should I do?” Kate had yawned loudly on her way to the coffee.
“How do you please yourself? I’m writing a new book, How to Make Yourself Happy: In Every Way. It’s about—”
“See you guys later! Love you,” Lucy had called while Kate belatedly realized what was happening.
Now, walking down the road that led to the main street of town, she could feel the sun warming her back. It had been uncomfortably warm in Africa, and she welcomed the more tolerable weather.
“Well, hey there, Lucy,” Mr. Kramer called from where he was putting out fresh produce in front of Adam’s Apples. She wandered over, adjusting the thick strap on her camera bag.
“How are you, Mr. Kramer?”
“You’re close to thirty now, Lucy. I think you can call me Nick,” he laughed, polishing up a Granny Smith on his long apron and handing it to her.
“Ouch. Thanks for the reminder. How are you?” she asked again, taking the apple and a large bite. He’d always given her and her friends apples on their way home from school, looking just as he did now, as if he’d come into the world as a gray-haired, smiley-faced old man.
“I’m very good. My Fiona is getting tired of the grocery store. Keeps talking about visiting foreign places, but I don’t want to go to Arizona and play golf,” he complained, his soft cap of hair moving along with his exaggerated golfing gestures.
“I don’t think Arizona counts as foreign. Don’t you have a houseful of grandkids yet?” Lucy laughed, the perfect blend of sweet and sour on her tongue.
“Ginny’s a few months along with her first. She’ll be happy to see you, I reckon. You kids are taking longer and longer to settle down. I don’t understand the hold up,” he groused, pulling bags out from underneath the fruit stand. A couple of cars meandered past them as other shops switched their signs to open and merchants called out hellos.
“I’m not quite sure what to say about that, but I’d love to see Ginny. Tell her I’ll come by. She’s on the outskirts of town, right?” Lucy asked, stepping back a little. This conversation didn’t seem any safer than the one in her parents’ kitchen.
“Sure is. They bought a big old house on Westwood that they’re restoring. It’s going to be something, for sure.”
“It definitely is,” Alex’s voice agreed from behind her. She felt heat creep up her cheeks and knew that when she turned, her face would be flushed. “Hey,” she said as casually as possible given the not-so-casual somersaults taking place in her chest.
“Lucy,” he nodded, a quiet smile making him look like he knew something she didn’t.
“Morning, Sheriff. You want an apple?” Nick asked, wiping his hands on his almost white apron. The little apple decal over his chest was peeling off slightly. “No thanks, Nick. Where you headed, Luce?” he asked, that same smile in place.
“For a walk. I had an idea to raise some funds for Kate’s project and wanted to get started. I should go. Thanks for the apple, Mr. Kramer. Tell Ginny I’ll come by and say hi.”
“I will. See you soon, dear. Good to have you home.”
Alex nodded to Nick, who made his way inside, and then fell in step beside Lucy as she wandered past the now-open shops. They walked in easy silence, waving here and there to people she knew and didn’t know. Everyone seemed to know Alex, which she supposed made sense. She busied herself by pulling her camera out of the case and attaching the lens. She could smell his cologne every now and again when a slight breeze shuffled past them. She inhaled through her nose louder than she’d intended.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” he asked, looking down at her as they moved to the edge of the town U. “Uh,” she stammered, not sure how to answer.
“It’s the bread. They make it fresh every morning. It’s one of my favorite smells.”
With his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders relaxed, he looked more like he was headed out for a hike than he did like he was surveying his town, keeping a watch over everything.
“The bread? Yup. Smells good. Delicious, actually,” she smiled up at him from behind the viewfinder. “Don’t start that again,” he groaned, putting his hand up to block the lens.
“Aw, come on, Sheriff. You’re very photogenic.”
“As are you, but I seem to remember you don’t like being on the other side of the lens, either.”
They turned up Maple Street, which branched off in two directions: toward Angel’s Lake Elementary and to the hills that held some of the best hiking trails in Minnesota. They veered toward the trails.
“I’m a much better photographer than I am a subject.”
She turned the camera toward the easy foot trails that were lined with a rainbow of wildflowers.
“I’d say you could be either, given that you look like a model,” he mumbled, picking up a handful of rocks from the path. “Don’t you have a job to do?” she scoffed, adjusting the zoom lens.
“I’m doing it. I’m making sure you stay safe.”
“I see. Well, as long as I’m not keeping you from anything important.”
“I don’t tend to wander where I don’t want to be, Luce.”
She snapped a close -up of a black-eyed Susan while he paused beside her, in her space. They moved along the trail, farther from the town center toward the quiet and the still.
“Do you like being the sheriff?”
She kept snapping, letting the routine of it and the continuous clicking sound soothe her, knowing she’d likely have to delete most of the pictures when she got home.
“I do. It’s not a big town, but it’
s busy enough, and I feel like being sheriff lets me give back to a town that has given so much to me,” he said thoughtfully. He seemed to say most things thoughtfully, which she figured made him good at his job.
She snapped his profile, the quiet serenity of him, and knew that she wouldn’t be deleting that particular picture. “You act like this town saved you from something,” she murmured, lowering the camera.
“It did. When my mom ditched me, I hated everything. I hated her, my dad, this town … myself. But to be honest, I’d started hating most of those things before I got here,” he looked at her like he wanted her approval to go on. She settled herself back onto a large boulder surrounded by thick trees and kept her camera on her lap. She could smell the perfume of the flowers dancing with his cologne.
“We lived in Chicago, me and my mom. My dad left and moved back here when they divorced,” Alex continued, tossing the rocks he’d picked up into the stream down below them. “He had his parents here and a job if he ever wanted it. He phoned, kept in touch. But it didn’t matter. I was ten and pissed off that he’d left. She went from one guy to another, looking for someone to take care of us. I gave up trying to prove to her that we didn’t need anyone and started doing shit to make her mad. Getting in trouble at school, tagging buildings. Anything to keep her too busy to find another asshole that she thought would take care of her. Of us.”
His shoulders didn’t relax even after he’d thrown the last of the pebbles. She took a picture of the stream, wanting to hear the rest. He moved forward and she fell in step beside him.
“Did it work?”
He laughed without humor and looked over at her. His eyes were dim with what looked like regret. It surprised her how badly she wanted to make them bright again.
“A little too well. She packed us up and said she couldn’t do it anymore. ‘It’ meaning taking care of me. She dropped me off at Chuck’s without telling him and didn’t look back for ten years. She needed some money about five years ago, so she got in touch. I accidently hung up on her,” he chuckled. The sound made something tighten deep in her own belly.