“Well, all right, son.” She took a seat somewhat reluctantly.
“You, too, Dad.”
“It’s cold out here.” Frank was a stubborn old coot sometimes.
“You’re bundled up from the game,” Boone said. “You’ll be all right. And we’re not going inside.”
“Why not?” Frank sat and sighed.
Boone patted his father’s knee, just once. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Meanwhile, you must want to talk about that speech I gave.”
“We sure do.” His father glowered.
“Honey, we’re worried for you.” Becky Lee laced her fingers together.
“You need to stop. Won’t that be nice for you, Mom? To be able to relax about me? So far—you saw the reaction on the field—everything’s been positive.”
She sighed. “I’d like to think it will stay that way and that you can handle your own business.”
“Of course I can. Can I ask you both something? About my childhood?”
“Go right ahead.” She started rocking.
Frank was still sulking, his big arms folded over his chest.
“Why didn’t you read to me when I was little?”
There was a long silence Boone refused to break.
“I was always working,” his father said. “And your mother stayed busy with her volunteering. And cooking.”
“Someone read to me,” Boone said. “I can barely recall it, but I liked it. It was a guy. Somebody warm, somebody safe. I remember being happy. If it wasn’t you, Dad, was it Grandpa Faber?”
His father shook his head, met his mother’s eyes.
“It was Richard,” she said in a trembly voice.
“Damn,” Boone whispered.
Richard … the brother he thought he’d never known.
While he tried to process that, Frank took his wife’s hand.
“I can’t believe you remember, son.” Becky Lee smiled wistfully. “You were barely three when he died.”
“You’d have your thumb in your mouth.” Frank gave a short laugh and started rocking. “You’d sit in Richard’s lap while he read you Thomas the Tank Engine books.”
“I’m glad you have a memory of him to hold on to,” Becky Lee said.
“Me, too,” Boone said quietly. He and Richard had been brothers. Together. It was a special moment for him, and he could tell his parents enjoyed it, too, by the way they smiled at each other and kept rocking.
“Mom,” Boone said after a little bit, “is there anything else you want to tell me about those days? Because I can handle it. I promise.”
They both stopped rocking. Becky Lee sat there uncertainly. Frank’s lower lip jutted out.
Boone took the plunge. “I always thought you wanted to switch me with Richard—because you were so upset about my reading problem.”
“No,” his mother cried. “We never wanted to do that.”
“Of course not,” his father said.
To hear them say it out loud—well, it felt good. Really good. Yet he was sad, too. For the first time, thinking about what his sister had said on the phone, Boone felt what it truly must be like for his parents. Richard should have been in the empty rocking chair on the other side of Frank.
“I wish you could have had both your boys here today,” Boone said quietly.
His dad nodded. “We do, too.”
“Yes, indeed,” his mother murmured.
There was no competition between Boone and his late brother. There was only Richard’s absence—and their memories of him. Distant as those recollections were, they were important. They helped shape who the Braddocks were now.
They sat, looked out at the dark, slumbering mountains, some dotted with lights.
“I didn’t read to you, Boone,” said his mother into the silence, “because I have trouble with it myself.”
“Do you, Mom?” Boone asked casually, although it was a huge admission on her part.
He shared a look with his father. Frank’s gaze told him to tread carefully. Boone’s mild expression was an attempt to reassure his father that he would.
Becky Lee nodded. “I always have wondered if you got your reading problems from me.” She kept rocking.
But he sensed her tension. “I welcome anything you pass down to me, Mom. I love you. No one ever said life was a bed of roses. This is something we can both work on. Together, if you want.”
She stopped rocking. “You’re a good boy.” She smiled gently. “A good man.”
That meant a lot to Boone, to hear her say that. He stood, leaned down, and hugged her. “This whole reading thing … it’s okay.”
She clung to him for a minute.
His dad cleared his throat, a sure sign he was feeling emotional, too.
“Hey,” Boone said, “I told you we’re not going inside. I want to go down the mountain to the Rogerses’ house. A lot of people are there right now. It seems the place to be after what happened tonight at the library. Surely you heard about it. Maybe you saw the flames when you left the football field.”
“We did,” Frank said. “Word spread fast what had happened.”
“How tragic.” Becky Lee shook her head.
“Wanna come? It would mean a lot to me.”
They hesitated.
“Sure,” said Frank.
“All right,” added Becky Lee.
“I’ll be right back.” Boone went inside, grabbed the flowers he’d started keeping on his kitchen table to cheer himself up because they reminded him of Cissie, and wrapped a paper napkin around their stems.
They all got in his ugly truck.
At the end of the driveway, he stole a glance at his mom. “Do you really have a thing about the Rogers clan? Janelle likes to say you do.”
“No,” said his mother with a short laugh.
“That’s ridiculous.” Frank made a disparaging face.
“The thing is”—Boone steered the truck onto the road that led to his true love—“y’all donate to everything in Kettle Knob but the theater and the library, and each of those is run by a Rogers. It kind of backs up the old tale about there being a rift.”
“We donate to the theater,” said his father. “But we do it anonymously. We’re on their Gold Patrons list.”
“Whoa,” Boone said, surprised as he could be. “That’s terrific. But does Nana know?”
“I doubt it,” said Frank. “Our accountant makes sure no one does.”
“Why do you do it that way?” Boone was intrigued by his father’s admission.
“It has nothing to do with the Rogers clan.” His mother sighed. “It’s because the regional theater people in Asheville are always after us. We make a modest donation there. But a much larger one to our own little theater.”
“Why don’t you ever go to the productions?” Every time Boone asked them to go with him, his parents declined.
Frank tugged on his ear. “I can’t hear worth a toot in that place. We really need better acoustics.”
“It’s freezing in the winter and stuffy in the summer, the few times I’ve been in,” said Becky Lee. “And it’s too small. We need a new building.”
“Hello?” Boone grinned. “Who can make that happen?”
His father shrugged and sent him an uncharacteristically bashful smile. “I suppose we could.”
“Yeah, you could.” Boone’s tone was teasing. “It would be an in-your-face to the regional theater people, but they’ll get over it. Kettle Knob needs some aggressive backers in the cultural department. Maybe if we get that going, we’ll attract more businesses, like that German tire company. They’re still in the decision phase.”
“Always thinking like a mayor,” Becky Lee said, but she sounded pleased.
“Now how about the library?” Boone was sure he was pushing them too far. But why not? He had them trapped in his truck. Talking about Richard, and then Mom’s reading issues, had softened them. They loved one another. They were family. That much was clear.
And that was all th
ey needed.
His father blew out a breath. “We’ve shied away from the library. Not because a Rogers runs it.”
“No,” his mother said, “it’s because of you, Boone. And … and me.”
Poor Mom. Boone could hear it in her voice, how nervous she was to say that. It made him glad he’d spoken up on the football field, if only to give her courage.
“I hope you’ll change your mind,” he said. “Because I’m going to ask the librarian to marry me. I love her like crazy.”
“You do?” Becky Lee’s face lit up.
“So much that I’m ready to sell Grandpa Faber’s house and land if I have to and use the money to rebuild,” he said. “I’ll save that little parcel with the cabin. We can be two lovebirds living high up near the clouds with books we borrow from our brand-new big-ass Kettle Knob library.”
“Good Lord, don’t live in that cabin,” his father said. “We’ll build a new library if it comes to that.”
“Can we name it after Richard?” Becky Lee asked hopefully.
Boone grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I’m sure the town council will strongly consider that possibility.”
“Has your librarian even said yes yet?” Frank was teasing him now.
“No.” Boone laughed. “But I hope she will. We’ll find out in a minute. Either way, you two need to hand over your keys to my place. No more unannounced visits, either. Call.”
“All right.” Becky Lee actually giggled.
Boone hadn’t heard her do that in a long time. He looked back at his dad in the rearview mirror. He wore a contented expression, which made Boone happy.
Now for the hard thing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Grandma burned the library down, Grandma burned the library down!” Stephen and Sam Huffman yelled in unison as they ran into the Rogerses’ kitchen.
Cissie looked up from the big pot of cocoa she was stirring—Nana’s recipe—and stared at Laurie.
Laurie put a hand on her hip. “Boys! That’s not nice!”
“But it’s true.” Sam puffed up with pride.
“Ask her,” said Stephen. “We went to the police station. Chief Scotty gave us Tootsie Pops.”
Mrs. Donovan appeared, carrying a giant platter of chocolate chip cookies and smelling like alcohol. “Yes, well…” She put the platter on the counter and sighed. “The boys are right. I did burn the place down.”
She looked between Cissie and Laurie.
“Well, shit, Mother,” said Laurie. “We’re not talking about burning a pot of oatmeal. We’re talking an old, important building filled with books and precious Kettle Knob documents.”
“I know.” Mrs. Donovan blinked hard. “Cissie, please forgive me. I was so scared, I went home and hid and made cookies. But then I realized I had to come clean, even if it means everyone hates me.” She swallowed hard. “Boys, go outside to the fire pit.”
They grabbed cookies and ran out of the room. Two big tears rolled down Mrs. Donovan’s cheeks. “They should have gone to the game with you, Laurie. They saw me running around like a chicken with my head cut off with all that smoke and fire.”
Laurie hugged her. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll take the two tornados with me. But I’m glad I didn’t this time. That British professor asked me out.”
“He did?” Mrs. Donovan seemed to forget all about the fire.
It was obvious to Cissie that Laurie’s mother needed a distraction, at least for a few minutes.
Cissie found herself compartmentalizing, too, as she listened to the romantic tale her best friend told about how Max had taken her aside at the fire and asked her out. And it turned out he was a real English earl!
“I only found out because he answered a phone call on his cell,” Laurie said. “He calls it a mobile, Mama.” She giggled. “He said, ‘This is Lord Marbury.’ And after he hung up, he told me his full name is Dr. Maxwell Plimpton, the eighth Lord Marbury. He has a castle in Yorkshire. With a moat.”
“Oh, my heavens,” Mrs. Donovan said, her hand to her cheek.
Cissie didn’t even know that about Max! He’d kept it a secret. But then the cocoa started to bubble over, and she remembered she needed to find her phone. Surely, Scotty would have called her with this latest development on the fire.
She found the phone on the table—it was on silent. And yes, Chief Scotty had called, about a million times. The last message said, Driving Ginger up there. Gave her a couple shots emergency whiskey to calm her down. Save me some of Starla’s pie!!!!
“Okay, enough of me and romance for now,” Laurie told her mother. “Tell us how the fire happened.”
Cissie cut a huge slab of Starla’s pie, hid it in corner for Scotty, and went back to the stove.
Mrs. Donovan sat at the table. “I borrowed the Hattleburys’ library key Cissie gave to them for safekeeping to do some archive research for the family genealogy project, and I found a small document detailing my family’s role in the King’s Mountain takedown. Our ancestor Yorick Steverson joined Silas Braddock’s ragtag unit that whooped British ass—or so I thought. But according to a Rogers account, Yorick deserted on the way down. He fell in love with a girl in a small village who’d given them water. So he never joined them.” She paused. “I’m so embarrassed on our family’s behalf.”
“Mom.” Laurie tapped her foot. “Get to the point.”
Mrs. Donovan sighed. “So I thought I’d burn up that one little paper. I put it in the trash can in the archives room and added just a few pages from my notebook to make sure the flame really got going. I was sure it was done, so I threw another piece of notebook paper over it so no one would see it when I left. I watched and watched, and nothing happened, except that the lights flickered on and off, several times, as you know they often do.”
Cissie paused in her stirring.
“Yes, yes?” prompted Laurie.
“And then I picked up the boys in the children’s area and left,” Ginger said. “Next thing I hear, not an hour later, the library’s burned down. There must have been a stray ember in the trash can that a draft whipped up. That archive room is chilly. The window doesn’t go quite all the way down. I thought a room like that was supposed to be held to a certain temperature and humidity.”
“Maybe so,” said Laurie, “but who cares now? You burned everything up!”
“Laurie,” Cissie said. “She might not have. It could have been the wiring. Those lights flickering.… That wasn’t safe, and it had been happening a long time.”
The older woman hung her head. “You’re just saying that to be nice, Cissie.”
“No.” Cissie put down her cocoa spoon. “I’m not. And guess what? It doesn’t really matter. The library is gone, and we’ll probably never know what happened. Okay, maybe Scotty’s team will find out eventually, but we need to focus on what comes next.”
Mrs. Donovan looked up at her, her eyes hopeful. Laurie’s expression lightened, too.
Cissie had had a little while now to get herself together, and she’d already started planning. “We’ll recover from this,” she told them. “I know it. We already have a website Pay Pal button for donations. We’ll tell the world that our library burned down, and maybe we’ll raise enough money to build another one.”
“Or we can still go in together, Campbell and Kettle Knob,” Janelle said from the kitchen door. “I’ve already figured it out. The strip mall lease isn’t available anymore. But I made some calls, and we can get the old barbecue joint by the Exxon. With a few coats of paint, it’ll do fine.”
Cissie was shocked to see Campbell’s mayor standing there with Edwina, who had her notebook out. “Edwina,” Cissie said firmly, “you’d better not write about anything you hear at my house tonight. This is Kettle Knob letting off steam. It stays between us.”
Then she turned to Janelle. Nothing could surprise her after what had happened to the library. And the truth was, long ago, little Janelle the Girl Scout used to be a sweetheart. “That’s so nice of yo
u. We’ll think about it.”
Janelle lifted a shoulder. “I won the spelling bee in fifth grade because you messed up on mileage, and that gave me a lot of confidence. Plus, you congratulated me when I got my trophy.”
“Can you spell mileage now?” Edwina said.
“Of course,” said Cissie. “M-i-l-a-g-e.”
“Wrong.” Edwina chuckled.
“Spell vacuum,” Cissie shot back.
Edwina got serious. “V-a-c-c-u-u-m.”
“Wrong.” Cissie smiled. “But I still love you, Edwina. In a journalistic way. You write really well.”
“What was the point of that exchange?” asked Mrs. Donovan.
“Nothing.” Cissie winked at Janelle. “Just strong women challenging each other.”
Edwina tried to slink out of the room.
“Get back here,” Cissie ordered her. “Sit down.” She got out a bottle of wine and poured a bunch into paper cups. The ladies passed them around.
“I have something to confess,” Laurie said.
“Off the record,” Cissie reminded Edwina.
“I heard you.” Edwina rolled her eyes.
“What is it?” Mrs. Donovan had recovered a little bit of her usual high color.
Laurie looked nervously at Cissie. “When your house was in the process of getting repaired, I took a video of it for the insurance people—remember you asked me to?”
Cissie nodded. “My phone doesn’t zoom in on video. Yours does.”
“Exactly. So I was bringing the clip up to Boone’s house to show you … and you were out in the shed, um, kissing, and”—she swallowed hard—“I just happened to catch it on my cell. I thought it was sweet and romantic.”
“Laurie.” Cissie couldn’t believe it.
“And then the TV show was here,” Laurie gabbled, “and I wanted you two to get together. The whole nation would have been rooting for you. I had no idea they’d have that other video of Boone and Ella.…”
Cissie let her forehead fall on the table.
“I know.” Laurie rubbed her back. “I am so sorry. I was trying to be a matchmaker.”
Cissie sat up. “As mayor, I hereby declare you’re banned from being a sexy elf on Santa’s float in the Christmas parade this year.”
Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Page 31