by Lexy Timms
“It says in your resume you have experience with Excel. We frequently use pivot tables. Have you used them before?”
What the hell was a pivot table?
“Um, a couple of times. Though the more I use something, the better I become at it.”
“That is typically how people work, Miss Danforth.”
Well she didn’t have to be a bitch about it.
So I exaggerated my ability with spreadsheets? That didn’t mean I couldn’t learn about them. The requirements for some of these jobs in this pathetic town were astounding. They wanted to pay me twenty thousand dollars a damn year, yet wanted me to be an expert in all things? Were they serious? What about training someone? What ever happened to training someone to do a damn job? Why did they always want experts for a temporary position?
But still, the woman at the temp agency looked unimpressed with my experience in, well, pretty much anything. I wasn’t being hired for a job through the temp agency. I wanted to be hired to work for them. They had to take pity on me, right? They had do. None of the jobs they were hiring for fit me at all. Not the ones requiring skills or work experience or anything. But I needed something. I needed any job that came my way so I could put some money away and get the hell back out of this damn town.
“Well, thank you for your time, Miss Danforth. We’ll be sure to contact you once we’ve made our decision.”
But I knew what their decision was.
A big fat ‘no.’
“Thank you so much for your time,” I said with a smile.
A big, fake, plastered-on smile.
As I walked out of the building, I slung my purse over my shoulder. How the hell had I ended up in this place again? Stillsville offered me nothing. There was absolutely nothing for a budding woman like myself. Oh, yes. I remembered. My fucking boyfriend was the reason I was in this pathetic town. I’d followed him here thinking we’d spend the rest of our days in this quiet, quaint little place.
Then he expected me to foot all the bills while he strummed his electric guitar and ‘booked gigs’.
Fucking pathetic.
“Asshole,” I said to myself.
I found myself walking up the sidewalk towards the small apartment I shared with Andy. There had been no promise of keeping my resume on file. No suggestion of another interview. Nothing. And the ‘apartment’ we lived in? It was really a duplex, and honestly it wasn’t even that. It was a ranch-style home clumsily divided by a pathetic wall into two measly apartments. It hardly met the definition of ‘duplex’.
But it was all Andy and I could afford on the money from his occasional ‘gigs’ and whatever I could bring in doing odd jobs.
Walking by the dilapidated businesses with windows busted out by bullshit kids wielding rocks and baseballs I was annoyed. No one in this damn place had a care in the world for the things around them. They used and abused, drained the sources, then bitched when the well dried up. Well, if they took care of their stuff, it wouldn’t fucking dry up. And even though I hated our current living situation, it was still a roof over our heads, and things could always be worse in a place like Stillsville. We could’ve been homeless, or living in one of those abandoned structures like some people were.
Things could always be worse, Michelle.
It was a mantra I chanted to myself every morning. Things could be worse. I did have a roof over my head. I did have food to eat. I did wake up next to a man that told me he loved me at least. That was something. And he was playing gigs and did bring money in sometimes. But for the past month, he hadn’t played anywhere. Hadn’t done anything. And after Mr. Anton’s death, I had no money coming in either.
Hence my humiliating visit to the temp agency.
Shaking my head, I tried to clear it of all my negative thoughts. If there was anything I believed in, it was the power of the human mind. It had the strength to change perceptions and morph surroundings. It had the ability to change emotional states and lift the wool from eyes. I needed to keep my inner thoughts positive and focused on the good I had in my life instead of the bad.
What I also needed was to find another damn job.
And soon.
Frequently, I found myself wishing Mr. Anton was still alive. He’d been kind, and decent, and had paid me a living wage to keep his house clean and keep his yard mowed. And I tried to keep up his house like it was my own. I trimmed the trees and added flowers that I kept watered. I pulled weeds from his gardens in the backyard. They didn’t grow anything. Not since he went to live in the nursing home. But I still grew some vegetables every now and again, just to make him smile.
He was sweet to me, and it ached that he was gone.
I just missed him. I missed that thick Russian accent and his kind smile. I missed those beady eyes that were intimidating to most, but comforting to me. I missed his pep talks and his speeches. He sure did know how to throw a lesson at someone. There were times when he’d even let me stay at his big house on the hill when after Andy had kicked me out during our fights.
Just last month, he let me stay for a week and a half.
I walked up our front steps and heard Andy wailing away on his electric guitar. In fact, most people heard it, all the way from the damn street. The wrong chords and the riffs that made no sense. It was painful to listen to sometimes. Closing my eyes, I stood at the front door, debating on whether or not to go in. Even though Anton had passed, I knew that his front door would be open and I could crash on that bed he always let me sleep on. I could finish off the food in his kitchen and then keep it nice and clean until someone came to settle his estate.
Who was settling his estate?
Did he have family?
I looked over at our neighbor, Cecily, and she waved a courteous hand in my direction. She mouthed a particularly fond ‘good luck’ to me, knowing her voice would never be heard over the shriek of Andy’s guitar. I reached out and threw the door open, my ears assaulted by the wailing nonsense coming from our side of the house.
The stench of beer was thick in the air.
Stepping inside, my eardrums were already throbbing. And there Andy sat, shirtless on our couch and surrounded by empty beer cans.
I rolled my eyes and shut the door, wondering how I could smooth things over. Because he looked pissed.
What the hell did he have to be pissed off about? He didn’t work. Or cook. Or clean. Or do laundry. Or grocery shop. Or do anything except sit on his ass.
“Hey there, Andy.”
But instead of acknowledging me, he continued to riff away on his guitar.
Like I wasn’t even there.
Passing him without a second thought, I made my way into the bedroom. I needed to change out of my job search clothes. I slipped my shirt over my head and went to wiggle out of my pants, when suddenly a pair of hands came down onto my hips. Lips hit my shoulder and the smell of stale beer was putrid and thick. I felt Andy’s greasy hair on my skin and it made me grimace, causing me to pull away from him.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m not in the mood,” I said.
“I figured we’d celebrate your new job,” he said, as he came at me with his lips again.
I put my hand in his face and pushed him away.
“I said ‘no,’ and besides, they didn’t offer me the job.”
Andy rolled his eyes as I reached for my robe.
“How the hell did you blow it this time?” he asked.
Wrapping my robe around me, I scoffed.
“Me? I blew it? At least I’m out there taking interviews and trying to find a job. You haven’t had a gig in almost a month. And you’re not even out there trying to find any.”
“This isn’t about me and my gigs. People hire me all the damn time, but I have to stay behind and take care of your ass instead.”
“You know how you can take care of my ass? Do the gigs, Andy.”
“This isn’t about me. This is about you being unemployable. What the hell have you been doing all your lif
e? You talk about how you’re all independent and on your own, but all you’ve done is drain me of my money.”
“Exactly what money was that?” I asked. “The three hundred bucks you occasionally get for playing in bars? Even though most of the time you take free drinks as payment. I’m the one that has kept us supported. It’s me that’s kept us fed. I’ve kept this roof over our heads while you lay around drunk all day riffing away on your stupid guitar.”
“Stupid? Let’s talk about stupid. Someone with a college degree that can’t even get a job. That’s stupid. You had to take that pathetic job with some old man because your stupid community college degree is worthless.”
“Well, remember what I said, Andy. Once I find that job, I’m going to go after every certification I can get, and then I’ll be leaving your sorry ass in the dust.”
“Good. It’s not like I’m banging that ass anyway,” he said.
“You’ll never touch me again so long as I can help it,” I said. “So, since we’ve talked about my job search, you want to tell me about yours now?”
Andy eyed me and I thought for sure he was going to hit me. He loomed over me, straightened out his drunken posture and tried to buck up to me. But I was ready for him. Reaching my hand out for the baseball bat in the corner, I was ready to use it. His eyes flickered down to my grip before a grin crossed his cheeks, then the hazy alcoholic returned.
“Bitch,” he said.
“Deadbeat.”
He snapped back around to me and I held my ground with the baseball bat at my side.
He rummaged around for a shirt and pulled it over his head before grabbing his leather jacket. The next sound I heard was the slamming of our front door. I stood there as water began to drip on top of my head and I held back tears. I looked up, noticing the leak and the stains it left on our ceiling. I grabbed a change cup off the windowsill and dumped out the pennies, then placed it on the floor so the water wouldn’t ruin the carpet.
As if that nasty carpet was somehow precious.
I fought back tears as I leaned against the wall. Why the hell had I agreed to move to this hellhole in the first place? Oh, that was right. Because my fucking boyfriend asked me to. Because he told me he loved me, and painted a picture of this quaint little country life. Because that same degree he just thrown up in my face was supposed be useful here.
My two-year medical transcriptionist degree, guaranteeing me a job anywhere.
Even useful in fucking Stillsville, Illinois.
What an idiot I had been.
I slid down the wall and curled my knees up to my chest. Andy had been charming once. A wonderful musician I couldn’t stop listening to. I went to his performances and he dedicated songs to me before we had mind-blowing sex in the bathrooms of the bars he played in. I loved him. There was a point in time where I loved him more than anything. Where I would’ve given up everything for him. And I had, the minute he asked me to move in with him. I had, when he told me he’d found us the perfect starter place. I had, when I’d packed up all my shit and came to live with him in this godforsaken town that was crumbling around us.
Mr. Anton was the only thing that made it bearable.
And now I didn’t even have him.
What the hell was I going to do now?
Chapter 3
Grayson
The memories were too much. I needed to get out of that house. I’d spent the entire morning with the estate lawyer, who had lined out the old man’s will and assets. Honestly, I was blown away at what there was to find. As a kid, I thought Anton was wealthy as shit, but didn’t understand the type of wealth the man had. Even by my standards today, the man was wealthy. Millions upon millions in bank accounts, and even millions more in assets strewn around the entire damn world. Anton could have gone anywhere. Literally. He could have traveled anywhere, and retired anywhere! Anywhere!
Why the hell did he choose fucking Stillsville, Illinois?
Most of his assets had been willed to charities. Organizations and things he held dear. Which didn’t shock me at all. Anton and I didn’t talk much after my football injury, but he knew how well I’d done for myself. I threw myself into the vineyard not too long after retiring from the NFL, and that took most of my time. And the more time I spent going over his will and walking the town, the guiltier I felt for not keeping in contact like I should have. The guilt was overwhelming, and with that guilt came memories.
Memories I wanted to drown at the local watering hole.
It was the only bar in town, and I had frequented it as a teenager. They had a reputation for serving underage kids and I’d always found a way to take out my frustrations on the bar patrons. It would be interesting to see who owned and was running the bar now. It would get my mind off the massive blow Anton’s wealth had on my mind, as well as the note I was carrying in my back pocket. The lawyer had it for me, an envelope addressed to me in handwriting I found familiar. Anton had written me a note before he passed, and I didn’t have the heart to open it.
Not without a cold beer in my hand.
I sat down in the bar and ordered myself a drink. The waitress brought me the bottled beer before setting it down on a napkin that looked as if it had already been used. No pride in the town whatsoever for anything they did. I crunched up my nose and slid the napkin away before I downed the beer. I took the note out of my pocket and turned it around in my fingers. A note. From Anton.
When was the last time I’d talked with the man?
Guilt consumed me as I opened it up. The note was short and sweet. One page, maybe. In handwriting that threw me into the past. I shook my head and bit down on the inside of my cheek. I should have called the man more often. Should’ve kept up with him more. Hell, at least I could have hired someone to check up on him.
Then I remembered his will.
He had plenty enough money to do that himself.
That estate meeting left more questions than answers, and maybe those answers were in his note.
Grayson,
I want to start by saying I’m proud of you.
I couldn’t go past that first line. I read it over and over until my stomach felt sick. Proud. The one word I’d wanted to hear from my father for years as he beat me with his closed fist.
Anton was proud of me.
I cleared my throat and kept reading.
Grayson,
I want to start by saying I’m proud of you. I always knew you were a special boy, even if we didn’t always see eye to eye on some things. You were always sneaky, fusing my want for your college days and your own want to play football. Watching you get that scholarship was one of the proudest moments of my life.
But Grayson, I’m not sure if the boy has turned into the man just yet. And I know you’re probably rolling your eyes and preparing a pointless argument, but keep reading. Stay with me for a second. You need to stop isolating yourself in that vineyard of yours. I know your success hasn’t been easy to come by, but you have to stop burying yourself in your work. Stop using work as an excuse to not get close to people. Take stock of your life and the people you want in it. Because in the end, you can’t take that money with you. You can’t take that vineyard with you. Those grapes won’t hold your hand at the end of your life and your memories won’t be reflected in that mansion of yours.
Stop hiding away, Grayson. Step out into the light and become the man you were born to be.
Anton.
I didn’t like how those words made me feel. I looked up and watched the waitress replace my empty beer with another, and I was thankful for it. I was ready to drown those words out of my mind and keep on trucking. I wasn’t isolated. I got out plenty. The problem with wealth, however, is that I never knew who was getting close to me for my money and who was getting close to me because of, well, me.
Surely Anton understood that. Which was why he’d hid his millions away in the first place.
I chugged back my second beer. I needed to relax. To get my mind off this agonizing
trip. My heart hurt. My soul hurt. My mind kept spinning. I needed to get out of this town. It was making me think too much about my past. My success was in the future. Not back here. I needed to wrap this shit up and keep pressing on. Just like I’d always done with my life.
Then, a familiar face walked into the bar.
“Gray? Is that you?”
Holy shit. It was Andy Prentice.
That asshole had been my closest comrade in high school. We’d gotten into more than our fair share of trouble, what with drinking at this same bar and running the streets at night after football games. Pulling the best ‘April Fool’ pranks on anyone that crossed our paths. He looked a hell of a lot different, though.
His hair was longer. Not the buzz cut I remembered from high school. Dark blonde and wavy. All the way down to his fucking shoulders. He still had that dangerous brown stare, though. That stare had shocked more than his fair share of teachers into their place. I stood and clapped his back, grinning at all of the great memories bombarding my mind.
“What the hell are you doing in this shithole?” Andy asked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said.
“Ah, the oil fields in North Dakota were good to me for a while. But they started laying people off, so I gravitated back towards my roots a few months ago.”
“Sounds like a shitty thing to do,” I said. “Why come back here?”
“I don’t know. It’s familiar. Home. It’s shitty, but its home. Why the hell are you back here?”
He held up his hand and the waitress soon appeared at our side with a beer he chugged back in seconds. Then he handed it off to her and she went to get him another one. It was the motion of someone who was here often. And who frequented a bar more than someone ought to.
I narrowed my eyes at my old friend and watched him prop his feet up on the table.
“I’m here settling Anton’s estate,” I said.
“Yeah, I heard about that old man passing away. Sucks. He still got that massive house on the hill up there?”
“He does,” I said.
“Nice house. I always thought that old man was hiding a secret from everyone. No one makes that kind of money in this town. Not the kind of money he had.”