by Tabatha Kiss
I nod. “Part of me wants to say yeah. It does.”
“And the other part?”
I chuckle. “The other part thinks you’re crazy.”
She laughs, then pauses. “I wonder...”
“Wonder what?” I ask.
“Is it... easier to blend in out there?” she asks. “There’s not a whole lot of crowd to get lost in out here.”
“Yeah, definitely,” I answer. “But...”
“But what?”
“Out there you get lost not because no one sees you but because no one cares about you,” I say.
Kimber nods slowly as she takes in my answer.
We move silently, turning with ease as we reach First Street.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Kimber asks, breaking the silence. “It might seem weird, but...”
“Yes,” I answer, exhaling hard. “Lucky’s carpet does match her drapes.”
Kimber cracks up, firing a bit a lightning through my toes. “Okay, that’s not what I was going to ask... but I kinda figured,” she adds with a shrug.
“Sure, go ahead,” I say. “I live for weird questions.”
She bites her lip. “Do you remember what you wrote in my yearbook senior year?”
I slow my stride. “Your yearbook?” I ask, innocently.
“Yeah. I was looking through it the other day and I saw an inscription with the initials N.S. and I couldn’t remember if it was you or not.”
“What did it say?”
Kimber pauses on the sidewalk. “I hope you get everything your heart desires,” she says.
My stomach flips at the memory. “Oh, wow...”
“Was it you?”
I scratch the back of my head, hesitating. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. That was me.”
She smiles. “You sound embarrassed.”
“No. Not embarrassed. I forgot that I wrote that. It was so long ago…”
“Did you write it in anyone else’s?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Why did you write it in mine?”
I tap the toes of my shoe along the concrete. “I... wanted you to be happy, I guess.”
Kimber looks up at me, the edge of her right eye just barely visible behind the veil of blonde between us. Her chest rises and falls with thick breaths but she doesn’t speak.
“Kimber, where the hell have you been?”
Our eye contact breaks as we turn toward the man practically shouting from her front porch.
Curtis VanHouten.
His sharp gaze juts at me and his expression quickly shifts to something much warmer and welcoming the moment he recognizes me.
“Nate Scott,” he says, smiling as he descends the porch steps. “Well, this is a surprise.”
Kimber clears her throat. “Nate was just walking me home,” she says.
“From where?” he asks.
“Lucky’s.”
His brow rises. “You went to the bar?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I was meeting up with Will and Jovie next door, so I asked Kimber if she’d like to come along and catch up with us while I’m in town. And she did.”
He nods once. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“Oh, Kimi and I go way back.” I nudge her arm. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Way back. High school. Junior high school.”
“Elementary,” I add. “Diapers, really.”
Curtis steps closer and drapes his arm over Kimber’s shoulders. “Well, that does sound fun. Maybe I’ll come along next time. I don’t know many of Kim’s friends.”
It’s subtle but Kimber goes stiff beneath his touch. She throws on a smile to not bring attention to it but it’s obvious to anyone with open eyes.
I feign a smile, too. “Sure. That’d be great.”
He stares at me, his fingers coming to a tight grip on her shoulder.
“Anyway,” I say, pointing behind me at the milk truck down the street. “I should get going. Feeling nice and sober now.”
“Drive safe,” Kimber says. “Thanks for the walk.”
“Anytime,” I say, studying her eyes for any hidden signals she might send me.
She gives me nothing. Maybe I just imagined that stiffness from before. Maybe — just maybe — Kimber VanHouten feels perfectly safe in her husband’s embrace. Maybe it’s just my own wishful thinking that she doesn’t.
“Goodnight,” I say.
Curtis waves at me as the two of them turn toward the house. “Goodnight, Nate,” he says.
I hop up into my truck and sit down in the driver’s seat, trying not to make it too obvious how hard I’m staring at them as I turn the ignition.
Curtis keeps his grip on her up the porch steps and she flashes a sweet smile as he holds the door open for her. I’m too far away to tell whether or not it’s real.
Who am I kidding? Of course, it’s real.
Look at her perfect life with her perfect house and her perfect husband. It’s perfect.
Oh, well. Can’t feel bad about losing something you never had a chance to have in the first place.
Still, it was a fun night. I made her laugh.
That was nice.
Nine
Kimber
Curtis’ touch leaves my body the moment the door closes behind us. I instantly miss the sound of crickets and the cool breeze on my face. The air is always so heavy in this house. So silent…
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out?”
I pause to hang my sweater on the coat rack in the hall and turn back toward Curtis. He stands with his back leaning against the front door. His hands in his pockets.
“It was a spur of the moment thing,” I answer. “Wasn’t even sure I’d go until I was out the door.”
He nods. I search his face for emotion but it’s completely still. Not warm or cold. Just... still.
“It was fun,” I say, swallowing. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”
He blinks twice. “You didn’t.”
I study his face for another moment. “Are you mad?” I ask. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to leave a note or—”
“No, quite the contrary. This...” He pushes off the door, his eyes finally showing some light. “It’s great.”
I exhale my breath. “I know,” I say, finding a smile. “I just did what Dr. Sumner told me to do. Step out of my comfort area, talk to a neighbor, and then... It was really great. I feel like—”
“You can talk to him for me.”
I pause. “What?”
“Nate,” he says, stepping forward. “You say you grew up together. How close are you?”
“... Why?”
Curtis cracks a devious grin, like a predator stumbling on his prey’s hiding place. “They won’t even let me in the door, doesn’t matter how much we offer them. I’m an outsider. But if you — the childhood friend, the loyal customer — give them a reason to think twice...” He pinches his chin. “This could work.”
My face falls. “You want me to try and talk Nate into selling his father’s farm?”
“Honestly, if I had known about your friendship, I would have told you to much sooner!”
I gawk at him, unable to speak. This is why he’s happy?
This is why my first night out since the accident is so great?
Because of how it could benefit him?
I turn around and walk out of the foyer.
Curtis follows behind me. “How about his mother?” he asks. “Do you know her?”
I reach the refrigerator and yank it open with my gloved hand. “I... I’m not sure. Not really.”
“I thought the old woman would fold as soon as her husband kicked the bucket but she’s as stubborn as he was,” he says with a scoff. “But everyone has a breaking point. Everyone has a price.”
My eyes land on the glass bottle in the refrigerator door.
Scott’s Dairy.
We’re always there for you.
&nb
sp; I grab the plastic bottle of water beside it and slam the door closed.
“Did he mention anything about it tonight?” he asks behind me. “What do you think would make them break? What does he want?”
I exhale hard, forcing all the air out of me as tears threaten my cheeks. “I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s got to be something.”
I walk away from him with my head down. “I’m actually really tired, Curtis. Can we talk about this some other time?”
“Yes, but—” Curtis rushes forward and slides in front of me. His places his hands on my shoulders and I glare at that childish grin stretched on his face. “This is great. We can work with this, darling. I think this is exactly what I needed.”
We? Darling?
Exactly what he needed?
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Goodnight, Curtis.”
I slip from his hands and turn the corner to head into my library. He lets me go and I listen to his feet shuffle through the house toward his study. I’m sure he’s in for a long night of plotting and scheming but I won’t be a part of it.
I close the door behind me and fall into the big chair by the window. I gaze through the window blinds beside me at the quiet street, feeling a pang of sadness that the milk truck isn’t there anymore. Not even sure what I’d do if it were still there. Nothing, probably. It’d just be nice to see it there.
I hope you get everything your heart desires.
Yeah, Nate. I did, too.
Ten
Nate
Sunday. Glorious Sunday.
The one morning of the week I was always safe from the alarm clock.
Unfortunately, my dumb, drunken ass forgot to turn it off.
It rattles on my bedside table. I raise my throbbing head and stare at it for ten whole seconds before I realize where I am.
Ugh…
I turn it off and sit up, cringing at the taste of my own morning breath. A light, morning breeze drifts in through my open window. I take a deep breath of it, filling my lungs and blowing it all the way out again.
Kimber’s smile flashes in my mind.
I’m definitely awake now.
I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and clean up my face. Might as well stay awake if this is going to be my schedule for another few weeks.
I throw on a shirt as I walk out into the kitchen, pausing as a soft sound twitches my ears. Something human, familiar, and a little heart-breaking.
I hear it again and ease toward the open front door to peek out onto the porch through the screen door.
My mother sits on the porch swing with a dark blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She brings the crushed tissue in her hand to her face and gently wipes her nose.
I half-turn to leave, thinking that I should give her space, but that far-off expression on her wet face tugs me right back.
“Hey, Mom,” I say.
She flinches and looks away from the door. “Hey, kid,” she says, forcing a pleasant tone. She sniffs and dabs her eyes, banishing evidence but it’s too late for that. “You’re up early.”
I push open the screen door and step out onto the porch. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says, reaching out to grab her coffee mug from the small end table beside the swing. “Just enjoying the sunrise.”
“Mind if I join you?” I ask.
She shrugs and I take the empty seat next to her on the swing. My hands twitch on my knees as I hop back and forth between patting her shoulder or just being still. We sit silently and look out across the fields in front of us.
“Fifteen hundred and sixty.”
I glance at her. “What?”
“I did the math,” she says, clearing her throat. “I figure... fifty-two weeks in a year, so there are fifty-two Sundays per year, give or take. Fifty-two multiplied by thirty years. That’s fifteen-hundred and sixty Sundays we sat on this porch. Watching the fog roll in. Listening to the rain. Smiling at the snow.”
My chest aches. “Mom...”
“It comes in waves,” she says, wiping her eyes again. “The old habits you’re used to are suddenly... gone.”
I raise my arm and lay it over her shoulders.
“I managed to keep it together through the first days waking up alone and the funeral arrangements. Even the service itself but it…” She exhales hard. “It was the goddamn Sunday mornings that did it.”
I rub her arm, pulling her closer. “It’s okay, Mom. You’re doing great.”
She lets out a weak sob but quickly reels it in. “It means a lot,” she says, briefly glancing at me. “Having you here.”
“I’m happy to help out,” I say. “You know that.”
“Not just to me. To them, too.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you know Clover folk, honey,” she mutters with a smirk. “Change isn’t part of their vocabulary.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re right about that.”
“The morning the news broke about your dad, I got nine calls in an hour. You still delivering tomorrow morning?” She scoffs. “Ended up setting it off the hook for a day or two.”
I shake my head. “Dicks.”
She laughs. “Yeah. Dicks.”
I pat her back. “I’ll stick around for as long as you need me, Mom.”
Her eyes nearly spill over again but she swallows it down. “Thank you, Nate. I’d appreciate that.”
“You hungry?” I ask. “I could whip up some scrambled eggs and… well, scrambled eggs.”
“Sure,” she says, standing up with her mug. “Or I can do it and you can go take a shower. You smell like a damn carny.”
I shrug. “I had a good night.”
She hums judgmentally and walks inside.
Third Street. Seven deliveries on Third Street... I think.
Two bottles for you. One bottle and a dozen eggs for them. Another two bottles here...
I glance at my order form and nod with satisfaction that I got it right. Ahh, he can be taught.
As I lean into the cooler to grab the fresh bottles to fill my crate, a police siren cries out once behind me. I look through the back window to find a police car pulling up behind my truck. It stops and Sheriff Thompson steps out in his glorious, tan-colored hat and bushy, black mustache.
I stack the bottles into my crate and push open the back door as he walks up.
“Nathaniel Scott,” he says.
I pinch the brim on my hat and tilt forward. “Hey, Sheriff.”
He does the same, bowing to me as he slides his hat off, revealing an even balder scalp than I remember.
“I heard you were back in town,” he says.
“Yeah, well...” I nudge the door closed behind me. “Someone’s gotta deliver the milk, you know?”
He nods. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, son.”
I sigh at my shoes, flashing back to a few very awkward meetings in his office concerning some rumors. “Here we go...”
“I just want to make sure you remember what kind of place this town is,” he says. “You’ve been gone a while and you might have forgotten the rules.”
“Such as...?”
“Now, I’m only going to tell you this once.” He takes a few steps forward, his hard eyes sliding from my face to my milk crate. “For the sake of me, this town, and your own damn self-respect, never — and I mean never — sing karaoke at Lucky’s bar ever again.”
I snort. “Oh. That.”
“You and Myers butchered a classic song for no good reason.”
“Hey.” I hold up my hands. “Blame Jovie. She was our sober buddy.”
He chuckles. “When Jovie Ross is the voice of reason, I know I’m in for some overtime.”
I laugh. “Sheriff, I’m just here to fill in until my mother can find a permanent replacement. Then, I’ll be out of your hair.” I glance up at his shiny scalp. “Figuratively speaking, of course. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I know. I�
��m just giving you shit, son.” He flashes a wink and puts his hat back on. “I’ll let you get back to work. You take care. Give your mother my best.”
“Will do. Thanks, Sheriff.”
He opens his car door. “Oh, and Nate...”
“Yeah?” I ask as I pick up my crate.
“Keep your pecker in your pants,” he says.
I nod. “And there it is.”
He drives off, his face permanently displaying a wide, childish grin.
I sigh and finish up the deliveries along Third Street. My memory isn’t as great about Second Street’s orders but I sure have no trouble remembering First’s.
I blow through the rest of them quickly and snatch two more bottles before heading up the sidewalk toward the VanHouten house.
The back door is closed. I smile at the empty stoop. Kimber must have forgotten to put out her bottles again.
I knock once, craning my neck to try and see through the thick curtains in the way. There’s no answer, so I cautiously try the knob. It turns easily, unlocked.
I take a slow step into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind me. “Kimber?” I say. Still no answer.
There’s a canvas sitting on the easel in the corner. Another landscape in the works. I step farther in to get a closer look at it. A sunset with deep oranges and tepid blues. Rolling hills and bushy trees.
Kimber appears from the hallway and pauses, obviously startled by my sudden presence. “Nate...” she says, breathing out.
“Sorry,” I say. “Just came to drop these off...” I set the glass bottles on the kitchen table.
“Thanks,” she says, her head turned down. Hair falling along the important bits.
I gesture to the painting. “This one’s nice, too.”
She nods. “It’s okay.”
“Do you have more?”
“Uh, yeah. A few dozen, maybe.”
“Really?” I look down the hall, spotting nothing but blank, white walls. “Got any hanging up somewhere? I’d love to see them.”
“Oh...” She paces to the refrigerator. “No, Curtis doesn’t like them, so I just keep them out in the garage.”