Small Town Girl

by Rice, Patricia

  “Can your computer at the café play music?” she asked Flint out of curiosity as well as interest in breaking the awkward silence. She began mixing another batch of pancakes before the first ones disappeared.

  “Probably, but I don’t have cable to download it.”

  Jo waited for Johnnie to explain about his program, but the kid sat in sullen silence.

  “You could get a satellite dish,” Mr. Clinton suggested in an apparent attempt to placate the angry cloud drifting about the room.

  “I have a radio if I want music.” Flint offered more pancakes to his sons, and when they were refused, dumped them on his plate with the last of the bacon.

  Jo caught the exchange of looks between the two boys. Kids wouldn’t be kids unless they were hiding something. She slid the platter on the table and reached for the coffee pot to freshen everyone’s cup. “Johnnie has a computer program that plays music.”

  “Stealing songs off the Internet is robbing the poor,” Flint said bluntly. “Ninety-nine percent of the musicians who get paid by record sales are struggling to stay alive.”

  “We know that,” Adam said with disgust. “We don’t steal music.”

  Jo slid in beside Flint, enjoying their proximity on the bench. Her hip rubbed his as she leaned over to help herself to some of the pancakes. His hand slid over her thigh when she settled back on the bench again.

  “Johnnie’s program makes music,” she said brightly, trying not to show the effect he had on her. “Maybe he could write a song for the MusicFest contest.”

  All eyes turned to Johnnie, who turned a nice shade of maroon.

  “We bought that computer so you could do your homework, young man,” Mrs. Clinton said with disapproval. “There is no future in music, as your father has proved.”

  Deciding this argument came under the Life’s Too Short category, Jo warbled the first lines of the soft drink commercial about the world being a better place if everyone could sing in harmony.

  Adam choked on the bacon he was inhaling. Johnnie stared in disbelief. And Flint removed his hand from her thigh to hide a grin behind his coffee cup. Watching her speculatively, Mr. Clinton reached for a pancake. Mama Clinton shut up.

  Letting Flint discuss the foreign territory of computers and software programs with his sons, Jo ate her breakfast in blissful peace.

  ***

  Tuesday evening, waiting at her mother’s for Amy and the kids to show up, Jo watched Marie wince and rub her back as she bent to sit in her ragged recliner.

  “Mom?” She held out her hand to help, not that her mother would accept it. The drive around the mountain on Saturday had been interminable, but her mother shouldn’t still be aching. She wasn’t taking her medicine again.

  “It’s just a twinge.” Marie shrugged her off.

  It had been more than a twinge, but her mother had never been one to complain. It might have been less distressing to watch if she had. Jo bit her lip, wondering what would happen when the insurance ran out and they couldn’t buy pain pills. She opened up a pill bottle and set it on the tray of food she’d prepared.

  “Those make me sleepy. I’ll take them before I go to bed,” Marie pushed them away.

  “Mama, we paid good money for these pills, and the directions say to take them twice a day with meals. Unless you’re planning on eating before you go to bed, you need to take one now.” Jo knew perfectly well her mother avoided taking medication so the pills didn’t get used up too quickly, but she couldn’t bear watching her suffer. Besides the ones for pain, there were pills for the hepatitis and pills for the cirrhosis and pills for a little bit of everything. She had no idea what happened if they weren’t taken regularly, but it scared her half to death thinking about it.

  Dragging the rolling invalid tray over her lap, Marie stuck a pill in her mashed potatoes, spooned it up, and swallowed. She glared at Jo and reached for her iced tea to wash it down. Her fingers were cigarette-stained, and even though she wasn’t supposed to smoke, her clothes reeked of tobacco. Jo didn’t have the heart to call her on it.

  “I’m not a child,” Marie informed her brusquely after she set down the glass.

  Jo didn’t remind her of the cost of the pills and the hospital if she didn’t take them all as ordered. Amy had to pay for both again this time. Evan would blow a gasket. Risking another expensive hospital visit sounded childish to her.

  “You ought to have your own children so you’re not mothering me,” Marie grumbled.

  Accustomed to her mother’s demand that her daughters marry and produce grandchildren, Jo laughed. “I can just see me at the PTA meeting wearing sequins and heels. Nope, I’ll just have to boss you around instead.”

  “Joella, whether you believe it or not, I’m a grown woman and don’t need your nagging. It looks like Amy isn’t coming, so why don’t you go home and let me rest in peace? You’re pacing like a caged cat tonight.”

  Jo couldn’t help pacing. She hadn’t seen Flint since Saturday, after she’d taken Amy’s SUV to the hospital to pick up her mother. Under the watchful eyes of his family, she hadn’t dared kiss him good-by.

  On Sunday, Flint had someone pick up his truck at the café and take it around the mountain to him, but he’d stayed home with his sons. The road was still blocked, and he hadn’t come back to work even after the boys left. Here it was Tuesday, and the only time he’d called had been at the café to talk about the bank deposit and ordering supplies.

  So much for harboring fantasies of romance. She’d known better, after all. Sex was just sex, even if it had been mind-blowing.

  Instead of dwelling on the hurt caused by Flint’s silence, she’d spent these last days dreaming about his claim that she had real talent. He’d heard her sing. He hadn’t laughed or brushed her dream aside. True, they’d ended up in bed, but that had been her decision and not because of any promise Flint had made.

  Elise had called yesterday. Despite Jo’s lack of confidence, the lawyer had declared she had all the evidence she needed, and she would be sending the lawsuit papers for Jo’s signature by the end of the week. The thought of suing Flint stuck like a bone in her craw, but the hope that she might be recognized as a real songwriter was finally taking root. She’d like to pick Flint’s brains and find out more about her new career, but if he wouldn’t talk to her, she would drive up to the Knoxville library. She could learn this on her own.

  She just hated thinking of Flint selling the café to pay his lawyers. Maybe that was what he was doing right now. Maybe that was why he wasn’t talking to her. She’d put him in a pretty bad position, after all.

  “I’m hoping Amy will know when the road will be cleared.” Preferring to think about the practical and not the impossible, Jo stopped at the window, but Amy’s SUV wasn’t in sight. “Business is way off. I’m hardly making pocket change.”

  “I’m sure Amy could get you a job at the mill if the café closes,” Marie said, switching on the television with the remote.

  Jo didn’t want to work at the mill, running a loom in a dreary barn of a room where she couldn’t see outside. Besides, the mill wasn’t hiring.

  She didn’t know what she wanted. She opened the front door on a muggy June evening and watched in relief as a whirlwind of dust approached up the gravel road.

  “Here they are,” she called over her shoulder.

  Her restlessness wasn’t entirely about herself. She’d seen Amy only briefly since she’d brought their mother home. It was almost as if her sister were avoiding her. She strolled down the drive while Amy parked the car and got out to unfasten the kids.

  “Hey, munchkin.” Jo lifted Louisa when the two-year-old tumbled out of her car seat. “Josh, if you get any bigger, you’ll have to carry your sister.”

  Amy climbed back into the car and looked as if she was about to drive off without saying hello. Jo told the kids where to find the brownies, then opening the passenger door, leaned inside. Key in the ignition, Amy waited without speaking.

  “Wha
t’s wrong?” Jo demanded.

  “Nothing. Not a thing. I’m just late.”

  “Your eyes are red and your mascara is smeared and you’re a lousy liar. Besides, you’re already late. Come in and have tea and spit it out. I can take it.”

  “I can’t.” Amy stared out the windshield. “Not now. Not yet. Let me go.”

  “Is it the mill?” Jo asked in alarm. “Is Evan closing the mill?”

  Amy looked shocked. “Have you heard something?”

  “Rumors have been flying since Christmas. If it’s not the mill, what is it?”

  “Just give me some time to work this out. I’m late. Let me go.”

  As Jo reluctantly closed the door, Amy shot her a look of gratitude. “Thanks, Jo. You’re a brick.”

  Stepping back from the drive, Jo felt like a brick. Thick and heavy and a useless lump of clay. She hated being useless. Or helpless.

  She hadn’t felt useless Friday night. With Flint, she’d felt whole, as if he was the missing piece that rang her previously silent chimes. Making music with Flint was almost as good as making love with him.

  But he was making it clear it wasn’t likely to happen again.

  She understood. She really did. His mother was a dragon. His kids were difficult. She wasn’t sweet little Sally. And she was suing him.

  Life was shit sometimes.

  ***

  “I cinched it,” Dave declared triumphantly, striding into the café with a folded newspaper under his arm on Thursday morning. “Randy’s album is out in August and he’s agreed to come to the MusicFest as a headliner.”

  “Am I supposed to cheer?” Jo asked, pouring coffee for a customer. It was nearly ten, so the café had almost cleared out.

  “No, you’re supposed to ask the Buzzards to play backup for him.” Dave took a stool at the counter. “He’ll be in next week with the music.”

  “He’s too cheap to hire his own backup?”

  “It’s a charity event, Jo. Ease up, all right?” Disgruntled, he shook out his newspaper. “Flint still hasn’t found his way around the mountain?”

  “He calls to see how things are going, but he hasn’t come in.” She’d suggested he could stay at her place to avoid the long commute, but he’d declined. Peggy had been helping out through lunch hours. “Did you tell Randy that Flint was down here?” she asked, struck by a sudden thought.

  “Nope. Any reason I should?” Absorbed in his newspaper, Dave wasn’t paying attention.

  “No, none at all.” Not any of her business, either. But a wicked imp in the back of her mind giggled. Maybe she wouldn’t have to cut Randy down to size. Flint was likely to do it for her. That would almost be as much fun.

  The bell she’d installed over the door yesterday tinkled.

  “Road won’t be open until next week,” a familiar masculine voice rumbled.

  With her heart leaping foolishly, Jo set down the coffee pot to admire the man framed in the doorway. Wearing scuffed cowboy boots, black Wranglers, and a black T-shirt that emphasized bronzed muscular arms, Flint only needed a guitar slung over his shoulder to look as if he’d just stepped off the stage.

  Beneath the wayward lock of hair adorning his high brow, he shot a silver-bullet glance straight at her leaping heart—then up to the bell tinkling over his head as he let the door close. “What the hell is that?”

  “Early warning system,” Hoss called from his place at the counter. “Jo got ticked when the Yancy kid stole a donut while she was in the restroom.”

  “How did you know it was the Yancy kid?” Striding in with the confidence of a man who owned the world, Flint nonchalantly threw a wrapped package in Jo’s direction as he crossed the floor toward his office.

  “He stole the chocolate donut with sprinkles I was saving for my break,” Jo said with the outrage of the innocent as she examined the package wrapping.

  “You tracked him down from the smell of chocolate?” Flint crossed his arms and rested his shoulder against the wall while he waited for her to open his surprise.

  All those male pheromones blew her circuits. The package gave her a shield to hide behind while she tamped down raging desire and let the discussion swirl over her head.

  “Nah. She ran out the back and caught him in the alley. Grabbed him by the ear and duck walked him back inside to wash dishes. Heard him wailing as if he was being murdered,” Dave claimed. “Jo don’t take no nonsense from kids. They learn to respect her for it. Eventually.”

  “He got a decent lunch out of it.” Recovering from the shock of her weak-minded reaction to Flint’s arrival, Jo tore the paper from his package with a grand gesture designed for the audience watching her every move. She just had to look down instead of at Flint so she didn’t get ideas of falling into his arms.

  As the paper fell aside, her eyes widened. Gold and silver sequined stars sparkled against a midnight-blue background inside folds of tissue. She shook out the soft blue cloth to reveal a bib apron with Joella, Star of Stardust Café embroidered in gold lettering over her heart. Sequins and glitter formed a crystalline high-heeled shoe across the front.

  It was the most gorgeous, incredible apron she’d ever seen. “Star?” she asked. Her voice cracked, so she finally looked at Flint, probably with foolish stars in her eyes.

  He stared back without expression in front of their audience. Still, the intensity of his gaze burned a hole straight into her heart. “I didn’t think queen worked. Try it on.”

  All this time he’d been gone, had he been thinking of her like she thought of him? Is that what his gift meant?

  Her hands shook as she unfastened the ugly apron she’d washed out every night for a year. She let it fall to the floor, then pulled the new one on over her head, and tied the strings in back. The hem was well above her knee, and the cut was far more flattering than the old one. She wanted to cry with an inexplicable welling of happiness.

  The nearly-empty room broke out in applause.

  “Hear, hear,” Dave hollered. “Let’s have a song from our star!”

  “I’m not a star,” she muttered. “It probably ought to be a pumpkin instead of a glass slipper.” She touched the shoe lovingly, then brushed a wayward tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m just a waitress.”

  “Our star waitress,” Hoss corrected.

  She didn’t know how to do brazen when she was all shook up. She wasn’t certain what Flint meant by his gift, except that she wasn’t fired. She glanced his way again.

  He nodded his approval. “Looks better than the feather in Myrtle’s hat.”

  Jo fought back a smile. “I think Myrtle scored last weekend.”

  Flint flashed a knowing grin—and entered his office.

  Throwing things might be an appropriate response to his disappearing act, but not to his thoughtful gesture. She didn’t know how to behave. She wasn’t certain anyone had ever given her something as tailor-made for her as the apron. It recognized her as special. It spelled out in words that she could understand that Flint didn’t take her for granted as everyone else did.

  Did it also mean he wasn’t selling the café?

  She gulped back a lump in her throat and passed doughnuts all around. She wasn’t a star. But maybe, for a while, she could be Flint’s star.

  If he would let her.

  ***

  Jo flipped over the CLOSED sign at three while Flint took a phone call in his office. He’d helped serve lunch as if nothing had happened this past weekend. She could understand that. She hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with it considering they’d both turned fumble-fingered every time they got near each other. On her part, she knew it was because she wanted to touch and didn’t dare. She kind of thought he had the same problem.

  She wondered if she was supposed to take tomorrow off so he could take Saturday to be with his kids, or if his parents were still speaking to him. She wondered where he meant to spend the night. She wondered a thousand things that she had no right to ask.

  She’d known
going to bed with the boss would make life awkward—especially if he wasn’t interested in following through.

  She’d just finished sweeping and was carefully folding up her wonderful new apron when the door opened and Amy flew in. Jo hadn’t wanted to lock up until Flint was done with his phone call and had taken the deposit out.

  “Is the lawyer here? I couldn’t get the kids to settle down and Sally wanted to talk and then the car wouldn’t start…”

  The lightbulb over Amy’s head shattered. With a sigh, Jo caught her sister’s arm and steered her toward a back booth where the bulb was already shot. “Sit. We don’t stock Valium, and I’m not about to give you caffeine. What’s wrong?”

  Amy’s normally neat, professionally highlighted hair was tousled as if she hadn’t combed it since morning. Her eyes looked haunted. Her lips trembled as she looked away and clasped her hands on the table. “He’s leaving me.”

  “What?” Jo collapsed on the bench across the table. “Evan? How? Why?”

  Amy rubbed the back of her hand against a teardrop threatening to descend. “I don’t know. I asked Flint to call that fancy lawyer he found for you. I can’t use anyone around here. They all practically bow to Evan.”

  “You hired a lawyer?” Flabbergasted, Jo sat back and tried to take it in. Amy, the sensible, brainy one of the family, had hired a lawyer against her handsome husband? The one who ran the mill? Which was to say, Evan ran the town, since the mill owned almost everything around here except the few acres the town sat on.

  “You should see this.” Amy pulled a rumpled sheet of letterhead out of her purse and shook it at Jo. “Just look! It’s awful. I can’t believe he’d do this to me.”

  Flint emerged from his office as Jo scanned the letter. “That was Elise on the phone. Traffic is heavy coming down the mountain, but she’ll be here shortly.” He took one look at the two of them and returned to the counter to fix coffee.

  Jo read the letter again. “This is horrible. ‘Secure your assets.’ What the hell does that mean? ‘Close all credit accounts.’ Did he do that?” She looked at her sister in horror. “Has he closed your checking account?”