by J. L. Berg
My eyes went to the seat of the girl he’d been hanging out with lately, the one he’d been practically attached to in the hallways, wondering if she was the reason for his absence. But, she was sitting back in her chair, looking bored.
Where is that boy?
I LOOKED FOR Sam after class, but he was a ghost in the hallways as well.
I did find him after school at the bookshop, but from the flushed tone of his cheeks, I was guessing he had just beaten me there.
I didn’t get the opportunity to ask him where he’d been, not that he would have told me if I’d asked. He was busy speaking with Diana, the kind old lady who worked mornings in the store. I couldn’t hear what their conversation was about, but in the end, Diana rested her hand on Sam’s shoulder before walking away.
The whole ordeal left me slightly unsettled for the rest of the evening. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d missed something important. But, unfortunately, I’d blown my chance to be friends with Sam.
Now, all I could do was hopefully make amends and give him the best information I could for his report.
That was why I needed Addy’s help.
After a long day of school and work, I ventured into her salon, somewhere I usually avoided. The day of the dance was one of my first visits into the garage turned beauty parlor. I knew the hours she kept; she’d made certain of it, going over her schedule with me when I first arrived. It was why I steered clear of the house during the afternoon hours.
So, why was I so scared of the place now?
Pushing the door to the garage open, I was hit with the lingering scent of flowery shampoo and hairspray. It wasn’t a pungent smell, just not one you’d expect when stepping into a garage.
But this wasn’t any ordinary garage.
In typical Addy fashion, she hadn’t just set up a small corner with a salon chair and called it a day. No, she’d outfitted the entire space, making it feel like you’d just walked into some fancy place in Manhattan or Beverly Hills.
Looking around at the secondhand leather furniture and faux fur rug, I amended my previous thought.
Okay, maybe not that fancy. But it was definitely impressive, and she’d done it all by herself. It was no wonder she was the most popular beautician in the town, including the shop on Main.
Speaking of my overachieving aunt, I found her sweeping up a day’s worth of hair near her chair, softly humming to herself. I instantly recognized the song, as it was one we’d heard on the radio on the way to school that morning.
It made me smile.
“I don’t see you in here much, so it must be important,” she said without bothering to look up.
“What?”
“Whatever you’re going to ask me must be important. Otherwise, you would have just waited until I came in for dinner.”
“Oh, right,” I said, walking up to the counter where she displayed several types of products. I idly fiddled with a bottle of shampoo while I gathered my thoughts. “I have this project at school,” I started.
“Ah, yes, Landers’s project.”
“How—”
“It’s a small town, remember?” she reminded me. “And I cut about half of the town’s hair. The people who sit in this chair love to talk, especially about their kids.”
I nodded. “Right.”
“So, what do you need?” she asked, not letting me off the hook so easily.
“Help,” I answered with a sigh. “I need to know more about us, about our family.”
She finished sweeping and put the broom away. Then, she walked up next to me. Leaning against the counter, she folded her arms across her chest. Today, she was dressed down in a simple pair of green leggings and a floral top. It would probably be considered a little crazy for most people, but on her, it worked.
“You might not like everything you hear,” she warned.
I nodded. “I know.”
“It might hurt a little,” she pressed.
I didn’t respond as I focused on a long red string that had come loose from my left glove. Part of me didn’t want to know anything more about the past, about my mother or the life she’d had before me. I knew there were reasons she was the way she was. I mean, didn’t every villain have a backstory?
But I wasn’t sure I wanted to know my mom’s story.
Would I feel differently about her? Would it humanize her and make me somehow dismiss everything she’d done?
Everything she hadn’t done…
It was easy to sit here, in my safe new world and forget the past, to pretend like nothing had existed before Addy picked me up at that deserted little bus station.
But the past had happened.
And, if I ever wanted to make it up to Sam, I needed to take this step.
“I want to know,” I finally answered.
Maybe, just maybe, I’d learn something about myself along the way.
I’D NEVER BEEN to the bookshop during the weekend. It was odd, walking up to the old storefront, knowing I wasn’t there for work.
I felt a little out of place.
Especially when I realized how busy it was.
Stepping inside, I looked around and found people — actual, real live people!
What the heck?
“Can I help you?” the woman at the counter asked.
“I’m Willow. I work in the afternoons during the week,” I explained.
I knew we had another employee, besides Diana, who helped during the weekend hours, but I’d never met her. She was younger, maybe early twenties, and cute — in a bookish sort of way. Her large black-rimmed glasses only brought out the natural caramel color of her eyes and highlighted the freckles along her cheeks.
“Oh, right! Sorry. I’m Sophie, Sam’s sister. He told me you’d be coming in.”
Sam has a sister?
I guessed I really didn’t know anything about him.
“Do you know where he is?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t misread his cryptic text.
“In the back, as usual.” She smiled.
“Right. Thanks,” I replied, turning toward the shelves.
“Oh, and, Willow?” she called out, stopping me in my tracks. “It was nice to finally meet you.”
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to her meaning, but I nodded nonetheless.
“You, too,” I said, not wanting to be rude. I didn’t want to explain that I hadn’t known she existed until today. That’s kind of harsh.
And I was all done with being Bitchy Willow.
Or, at least, I was trying to be.
Today would be my first test.
Making my way past the shelves, I did my usual thing and trailed my fingertips along the spines. Figuring I wasn’t doing any damage with my gloves, I’d made it a habit whenever I passed through. Sometimes, I would slow down, pull one from its place, and read the back. I’d either neatly return it to its spot, or I would set it aside and make myself a note to purchase it when payday rolled around.
Today, there would be no stopping however.
I had a feeling I was—
“You’re late, Mittens,” Sam’s booming voice said the second I pushed through the door that led to the small stockroom.
I glanced up at the clock. It was two minutes past three. I resisted the need to roll my eyes.
I’d never met someone who was so obsessed with time.
“I met your sister on the way in. Seems she knows all about me,” I said, dropping my backpack on the floor beside a shipment of books that had just come in. I peeked at the side to see what title it was, hoping it was the one I had been waiting for.
Sadly, it wasn’t.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sam watching me, his dark brown hair falling in front of his face, as he tapped his pencil on a yellow notepad.
“I mentioned you would be here.” He shrugged.
“Oh,” I found myself saying, slightly dejected. “She just made it—”
“Look, are we going to start on this or what? I don�
�t have all day.”
Ouch.
“Right. Of course.” I nodded, diving into my bag for my binder and the notes I’d taken the night before.
Just seeing the black composition book that held the words I’d written during my talk with Addy made my heart hurt a little. She was right. It hadn’t been easy to hear about the life my mom had had before I was born.
Had it changed me?
I still wasn’t sure. I guessed the verdict was still out on that.
Both opting for the floor rather than the rickety old chair, I chose a spot across from him. Attempting to make myself as comfortable as possible, I leaned my backpack against the wall, using it as a sort of pillow, but it only worked so well on the old wooden floors.
“So, how do we do this? One at a time? Or do we just kind of talk?” I said, rambling. The idea of sharing with him the information that I, myself, was still trying to deal with was making me edgy and nervous.
“Why don’t I start, and you can just join in whenever?”
“Sure,” I agreed.
“Okay, um…” He surveyed his notes.
I noticed it was a different notepad than the one I’d seen him with when I entered. This one was similar to mine, a black-and-white composition book. The yellow notepad he’d had was nowhere to be seen.
“So, my mother and father are both originally from Virginia. My dad was born in 1969, and I think my mom was born in 1978.”
“You think?” I blurted out, instantly regretting it the moment his eyes met mine.
“She wasn’t around to ask,” he answered coldly before suddenly going quiet.
I guessed it was my turn.
“My mom, Evelyn Fairchild, was born in 1976. I don’t have a birthdate for my father, or his name,” I said before adding, “He wasn’t around to ask.”
A moment of silence settled between us. I could feel the palpable tension I’d brought with me into the room somehow abate, as if we’d finally come to terms with each other.
Having something in common calmed the storm brewing between us.
“Did you always live in DC? Is that where your family is from?” he asked, his questions now a bit more casual.
“Yes — well, I mean, no.”
He smiled slightly. “Well, which one is it, Mittens?”
I winced a little. Still Mittens.
“I grew up in DC, but my mom, she grew up in Charlottesville, Virginia.”
“That’s a long way from DC,” he said.
We both knew he wasn’t speaking about distance.
“My aunt said the Fairchild family was well known in Charlottesville. Our family roots could date back to days when Jefferson was still around.”
“I’m sensing a but,” he said.
“Doesn’t every good story have one?”
“They sure do,” he agreed.
“I guess my family was also wealthy — something I just learned from my aunt,” I told him.
“I always thought there was a touch of class behind all those weird clothes Addy wears,” he responded.
It was odd to hear him speak about Addy like he knew her. But then again, I guessed he did. He’d grown up here, so I was sure their paths had crossed a time or two.
“Well, unfortunately for Addy, it didn’t last long. My grandfather had quite the gambling problem and lost most of it.”
I remembered her voice as it trembled slightly while she recalled her childhood.
“IT WAS PETTY card games to start,” she said. “Daddy always seemed to have a lot of time on his hands when we were little. My grandfather was still alive back then, and I don’t think he trusted Dad to take over the family business. Or, at least, that’s what I overheard,” she explained, her eyes seeming to drift off, as if she were fading back into the memory itself.
“Our mom and dad fought a lot. I guess gambling was a type of escape for him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at it — cards, that is. I think that was when he moved on to horses.
“I remember him taking us to a race. I thought it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. Mother got us dressed up — something we were used to, coming from the family we were born into, but it was exciting nonetheless. Watching those beautiful creatures fly across the racetrack, it was breathtaking. But the moment didn’t last,” she said, her voice fading.
“Soon, things from the house started disappearing. Mom would ask if anyone knew where the silver candlesticks had gone, and at first, she just chalked it up to something simply being misplaced. But, after a while, it became clear; Daddy had been pawning things to pay off his gambling debts.”
I could see her pain. Even after all these years, it was still so ever present on her face. If I were a stronger person, I would have reached out for her and held her hand as she spoke.
Instead, I just waited for her to continue.
“Evie and I knew it was bad when we had to leave our childhood home — a place that had been in the family for decades. Things got a little better when our grandfather died. We were around twelve at the time.
“Mother believed taking over the family business would finally give him the drive and devotion he needed, but it only gave him stress and more reasons to seek out relief. By the time we reached high school, the business our family had run for generations was bankrupt. My father was the laughingstock of the county.”
“So, you’re not the secret heiress to a multimillion-dollar fortune?” Sam smirked.
“Sadly, no,” I replied, glad for the levity he brought to the conversation. Remembering the sadness in my aunt’s voice was sobering.
“I guess we’ll just have to keep you around then,” he sighed, amusement painting his features.
I was glad to see a bit of the old Sam returning as we warmed back up to each other. I knew the fence between us was far from mended. I’d hurt him more times than I could count, but maybe… just maybe, he was giving me a second chance.
Or a third?
Maybe it was a fourth?
He had more patience than I did. Either way, I hoped I wouldn’t let him down this time.
“ARE YOU TELLING me that you never text?” Sam asked, disbelief spread wide across his handsome face.
“Nope,” I answered.
“Never?”
I shook my head, before amending my answer. “Well, sometimes to Allison.”
“What about social media? Instagram? Snapchat?” he pressed.
I looked at him, clueless.
“Oh, come on. You at least have to be on Facebook. Even my dad has a Facebook account.”
“Sorry,” I answered.
He laughed before taking a sip from the frozen coffee he’d bought from the café across the street as we settled in for another long afternoon of work.
We’d decided that, since we were both stuck in the store during the weekdays anyway, we might as well use some of that time on our project and not waste our weekends. The store was usually pretty quiet unless there was a new comic book coming out or news got out about some steamy romance novel women just had to have, so our plan seemed to work.
Honestly, I was just glad he was talking to me again.
The awkward silence at work had started to get to me, and it was me who usually relished in it.
“And here I thought, I was the one who was born in a barn.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just because I was born in the city doesn’t mean I have to be tech-savvy. I like not being attached to a phone all the time, like the rest of you. You’ve seriously checked that stupid thing twenty-five times since we got here.”
“Have not,” he retorted.
“Have too. And I know you weren’t born in a barn. Although the local hospital isn’t much different.” I laughed.
He joined in, adding, “Laugh all you want, but at least there is a local hospital. My grandfather was born at home because his parents knew they wouldn’t make it to the hospital that was two hours away.”
“That’s scary,” I replied. “And can I add
, it’s really weird that you know that?”
He shrugged. “I know all sorts of stuff about my dad’s side of the family. We’ve been here for generations.”
“Here, as in here?” I asked, meaning the town.
“Yes, the Shepherds founded Sugar Tree.”
“And you decided to name it Sugar Tree?”
He grinned, taking another sip of his coffee. “I honestly don’t know why my great-great-great—”
“I get it.” I laughed.
“Grandpappy Samuel Joseph Shepherd chose that name for the town. I could find out for you if you like.”
I should have said yes. It would have been an excellent addition to my report. Who knew I’d landed the gold mine for partners — the freaking ancestor to the town’s founder?
But my mind was already focused on something else.
“Wait, there’s another Samuel? How many of you are there?” I asked.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” He leaned forward, his eyes turning an intense shade of green that made my heart race. “There is only one of me.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I just sat there, awkwardly staring at him.
His grin turned lopsided. “But there might be a few other Sams in our family tree.”
“How many?” I finally managed to say.
“About a dozen.”
“A dozen?” I blurted out, completely shocked.
He shrugged, a bit of brown hair falling in his eyes. I watched him brush it back, wishing it were my fingers touching his dark brown locks.
Wait, what?
“It’s a Shepherd tradition.”
“It’s weird,” I said, trying to move on from the odd hair thoughts running through my head.
“Oh, and the name Willow isn’t?” he countered.
“My mother picked it out. It’s a stupid name,” I replied, my arms instantly twisting around my chest.
He must have noticed my change in tone because his lessened as well, matching mine. “I like it. I mean, it’s a little hippie-sounding and makes me think about trees, but it’s pretty.”
There was that word again. Pretty.
“My mom loves TV. It was maybe the one thing we did together — if together was even a word for it. It was the one thing she allowed me to do with her, I guess. She watched everything from soap operas to cheesy cartoons. It was her way to escape from… well, anyway. When she was pregnant with me, she was on a big Buffy kick.”