Hometown Troublemaker

by Brighton Walsh

  “Ready, Gran?” Rory asked.

  Gran huffed, clutching her purse in her lap, her seat belt already buckled. “I’ve been ready since you yanked me outta my rocker and demanded we go to lunch.” She sniffed, tipping up her nose. “I’m missin’ my stories for this, so you better make it worth my while. You’re just damn lucky my cheap bastard of a son finally signed up for a DVR.”

  Rory snorted. Gran was never one for mincing words, even when—especially when—it came to her son. “So sorry to pull you away from The Young and the Restless, but you can get all caught up on Victor’s latest scheme soon enough. Besides, wouldn’t you rather spend some quality time with your granddaughter?”

  Gran hummed, shooting Rory a look out of the corner of her eye as Rory traversed the side streets toward their favorite lunch spot. “We have lunch once a week with the rest of the girls, and that’s it. You’ve never once changed that schedule, so don’t think I don’t know there’s some ulterior motive goin’ on here.”

  Rory’s smile slipped from her face as she pulled into a parking space in front of the café in the Square. While, true, she had grabbed Gran so she wouldn’t be lying to Nash about keeping her distance, that wasn’t the only reason. Ever since Rory was little, her gran was the one person she could talk to about anything. And she hadn’t taken advantage of that nearly as much as she should’ve in the past several years. And the truth was, she could really use it. Especially now.

  “Gran,” Rory said, reaching out and resting her fingers on the silky-soft skin of her grandma’s forearm. “I don’t want you to—”

  Gran cackled, her eyes alight with mischief. “Damn, Rory, you folded fast as a cheap lawn chair.” She patted Rory’s cheek a little harder than necessary. “You know I’m happy to get outta that house whenever I can. And I love spendin’ time with my granddaughters…even you,” she said with a wink.

  “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “Maybe not, but it sure was funny.”

  Rory tried to hold back a smile, but one slipped over her face anyhow. “Yeah, you’re a real comedian. Come on, now. Let’s get in there before the croissants are all gone for the day.”

  She stepped out of the car and waited for Gran in front of the café. Gran hooked her purse in her elbow, stepped onto the sidewalk, and…walked right past Rory.

  “Gran,” Rory called, glancing back at the café door before hustling after her grandmother, who was already halfway down the block. “Don’t tell me your sight’s goin’ bad. The café’s back there.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the quaint place the girls all went for lunch every week.

  “I’m well aware of that, sugar. But the café doesn’t serve Bloody Marys.” With a grin tossed in Rory’s direction, Gran hefted open the door to The Willow Tree and stepped inside without another word.

  Their lunch had lasted hours thanks to the Bloody Marys Gran had ordered for them both. Finn had only winked at his soon-to-be grandmother-in-law before depositing two on their table. After one sip of the cocktail, Rory had known exactly what the wink had been for. Double the vodka.

  Considering Rory’s big alcoholic splurge came in the form of maybe a few glasses of wine each week, she’d nearly toppled off the chair by the time she’d gotten to the bottom of her drink. And while the burger and fries weren’t quite as refined as the chicken salad sandwich on a flaky, buttery croissant she’d planned to indulge in, she couldn’t deny the food was delicious.

  “Gran, can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask, and I’ll even give you my opinion for free.”

  Rory smiled. “Do you think I can build a business from my designs? A real business—one that can support the girls and me.”

  Gran hummed, her unwavering gaze focused on Rory. “Do you remember how much you loved ballet?”

  “What’s that have to do with my question?”

  “Just answer it, little missy.”

  Rory huffed out a laugh. Didn’t matter that she was in her thirties—she’d forever be a little missy to her grandmother. “Course I do.”

  In third grade, Rory had fallen head over heels in love with ballet. Posters had covered her walls, and ballet shoes had decorated her bedroom. Music boxes and figurines…even bedding. She’d been enamored.

  She’d taken lessons all year leading up to a recital. She’d been so proud of her hard work—had loved every second of it. And she hadn’t been able to wait to share what she’d done with her family.

  Except, the night of the recital, her daddy had never shown up. Momma had made excuses for him, but he’d made his stance on the subject quite clear—ballet was too froufrou, and it wasn’t worth his time to attend something as silly as a recital.

  As a little girl, that had crushed her. That her daddy—the man she’d looked up to more than anyone—didn’t consider something she loved to be worthy was a huge blow to her self-esteem. And all she’d wanted, for as long as she could remember, was recognition from him.

  “Watchin’ your face right now is like relivin’ it all over again,” Gran said, an angry thread to her voice.

  “Relivin’ what?”

  “Your first—and only—recital. When my jackass son didn’t deem his little girl’s love to be worth his time.” She shook her head, lips pursed. “I tore him up one side and down the other that night, but it didn’t matter. Don’t ask me how he grew up to be so ornery and bullheaded.”

  Rory snorted, because that was Gran through and through. The big difference between them was that Gran didn’t use those characteristics to hurt others and tear them down.

  “It was no big deal,” Rory said, repeating the same thing she’d told herself a hundred times. “I was only nine anyhow. Lots of hobbies still to come.”

  Gran hummed, her eyes narrowed and assessing. “Back to design…what’re you so afraid of?”

  Rory huffed, shifting in her seat. Feeling like she was under the world’s largest microscope. “What’s with all the questions, Gran?”

  Gran didn’t dignify that with a response, instead just sitting primly in her chair, hands folded on top of the table, staring straight at Rory.

  She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes, thankful she still had enough of a buzz to let the words flow freely. “Daddy’s always said designin’ could never be a legitimate career.”

  “Your daddy’s said a lot of dumb-ass nonsense in his sixty years, and you, of all people, should know better than to listen to a single word of it.”

  Rory’s shoulders sagged, because she knew Gran was right. But that didn’t make putting it into action any easier.

  “You listen to me now, Aurora Jane,” Gran said, her tone brooking no argument. “You do whatever the hell you wanna do. Whatever makes you happy. You. Not your momma or your daddy. Not your sisters or your daughters. Not even me. You’ve spent your whole life attemptin’ to please other people. First your daddy and then that no-good—and thankfully now ex—husband of yours. When are you gonna start pleasin’ yourself?” She reached over, placing her hand on top of Rory’s and giving it a squeeze. “Don’t let this be ballet all over again.”

  And with those final words, Gran turned away, flagged down Finn for the check, and paid before Rory could even reach for her purse. After settling the bill, they strolled back to Rory’s car—the greasy burger and fries finally soaking up the excess alcohol enough to sober her up so she could drive. All the while, she kept turning Gran’s words over and over in her mind.

  All these years, Rory had convinced herself she’d quit ballet because she didn’t love it quite as much as she’d thought. That’d it’d been one hundred percent her decision with no other input. But that wasn’t the truth. She’d quit because her daddy didn’t regard it as worthy. She hadn’t majored in what she’d wanted to in college for the same reason. She’d allowed Sean to corral her in the proper direction, practically lining up hobbies for her that he deemed appropriate. Did she even really like half of them?

  With
a long exhale, she unlocked her car and slid into the driver’s seat. Those were a whole lot of questions for today, and she didn’t have the energy to tackle a single one right now.

  “This was fun, but thanks to the detour from our usual spot, I’m runnin’ late to get the girls,” Rory said without any heat in her tone as she backed out of the parking space.

  “I think you mean thanks to Finn’s fine Bloody Marys. That boy certainly knows how to make ’em, doesn’t he?”

  Rory couldn’t argue with that. “They definitely pack a punch.”

  “Only ’cause I taught him how to make ’em properly. One of the best days of my life was when that boy showed up to give your daddy a run for his money. Honestly, only a bunch of fuddy-duddies would think alcohol consumption would turn nice folk into hooligans. Idiots, all of ’em—your daddy included.” She shot Rory a look loaded with meaning, no doubt referencing their lunch discussion. “At least now I don’t have to drive thirty miles just to get some pep in my step.” Gran did a little shimmy in her seat.

  “Do that often, did you?” Rory asked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Gran shot Rory a smile that promised to be hiding a thousand secrets. “As for my great-granddaughters, I’m sure they’re just fine. And that ex-asshole of yours can stand to wait around awhile.”

  Rory laughed, then covered it with a cough. Heaven knew her grandmother didn’t need any encouragement in being impolite. Gran had never liked Sean…from the first time Rory had brought him home. She’d sat in her rocker, looking on with narrowed eyes, studying him. What had she seen that Rory had missed?

  Part of her wished she knew…maybe even wished she’d answered differently the day Sean had proposed. When he’d dropped down to one knee and smiled up at her with such confidence, promising a future exactly like she’d always dreamed. All the while she’d stood there, wondering if this was really it. If this was what she wanted for the rest of her life. If he was what she wanted.

  It didn’t take long to arrive in Rory’s old neighborhood. Huge trees lined the picturesque street. The lawns were manicured impeccably, seasonal flowers punctuating each front step or porch. Children’s laughter greeted her even through the closed windows of her car, and an ache settled in her gut. She’d had the ideal life, living here. Successful husband, two lovely children, a beautiful, well-kept house…and a bone-deep loneliness she’d never revealed to a soul.

  She hated coming back here and being reminded of it all. It wasn’t the house or the neighborhood so much as it was the fact that after everything, after all she’d put into this life—the blood, sweat, and tears; the time and effort she’d showered on the house solely to take her mind off her absentee husband; the committees and volunteering and dressing just so—all that perfection had been for nothing.

  Rory nearly passed her old house thanks to the moving truck currently residing in the driveway. A pit formed in her stomach as she braked, then reversed in the street to park along the curb. Sarah Beth’s car was parked next to the moving truck, taking up Rory’s old place in the driveway. She stared up at the house, at the moving truck, at this picture-perfect life she no longer had. A picture-perfect life her former best friend was, apparently, ready to step right into.

  “You go ’head and stay in here. I’ll fetch the girls,” Gran said, reaching for the door handle.

  Before Rory could take a second to consider, she gripped Gran’s forearm. “No.” The word came out harsher than she’d intended, and she cleared her throat, softening her tone. “You had three Bloody Marys, and the last thing you need is to trip over that crack in the sidewalk, fall, and break a hip. Momma’d kill me if I broke you when we were just supposed to go out for lunch.”

  Gran stared at her, a knowing look on her face, and dipped her head in a small nod. While Rory appreciated Gran’s attempt to shield her from this, she needed to be a big girl and face it head on. This was her life, whether she liked it or not. And the asshole she’d once called her husband would be part of it forever because of the two beautiful girls they shared. She wasn’t about to set a precedent of avoidance so soon—and certainly not when he was the one in the wrong.

  She stepped out of her car, the older model so out of place in her former neighborhood full of the newest and best everything, and smoothed a hand first over her hair then down her sundress. Impeccably dressed, as always. Old habits died hard.

  Her heels clicked on the pavement as she strode up the front path, her head held high. To anyone watching, there was no doubt she looked the part. Though, inside… Inside, she was splintering.

  Splintering over the fact that this was supposed to be her house, her family, her life. She’d worked so fucking hard to make this the perfect home for a husband who hadn’t spared her a moment of his time. She’d put everything she had into that, thinking, hoping, that maybe if she did, he’d be happy.

  Trouble was, she’d spent all that time worrying about his happiness and never once thought about her own, just like Gran had said.

  She rang the doorbell, the answering chime the exact one she’d painstakingly picked out years ago. The door flew open, and out spilled the girls—Ella first, followed by a grinning Ava.

  “Momma! You’ll never believe the news!” Ava said, bouncing on her toes, her body practically vibrating with happiness.

  Rory pulled them both in for a hug, pressing kisses to the tops of their heads. “I can’t wait to hear all about it. Why don’t y’all go get in the car? Gran’s waitin’. I need to speak to your daddy for a moment.”

  That was the understatement of the century. She was going to chew him up and spit him out. She shouldn’t have expected decency when it came to him, but she’d had the misplaced notion that he’d at least have the common courtesy to warn her if he planned to move someone in to her old home.

  “Hey, Rory.” Sarah Beth stood on the other side of the screen door in ratty cutoffs and a tank top, her hair in complete disarray, looking like she belonged at a frat party, not in the best neighborhood in Havenbrook. And wasn’t that just irony at its finest? That Rory, with her tasteful makeup, smooth chignon, and perfectly pressed sundress was the outsider now.

  Rory straightened her shoulders, a muscle ticking in her jaw. She nodded stiffly to her former best friend. “Sarah Beth. If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Sean, please.”

  “I’m afraid he’s not here right now. He’s at my old place, helpin’ my brothers with a few things.”

  Fantastic. So that bitch had been alone with her daughters for who knew how long. Of course, Rory wasn’t able to stop that kind of thing—their daughters were best friends, after all, and had been since diapers—but she’d minimized it as best she could.

  But now? Now, that was all shot to hell.

  “Course he is. It was only his time with his daughters. Don’t know why I assumed he’d want to spend it with them.” Rory kept her tone pleasant as if she were commenting on the weather they were having and not challenging Sean’s interest in their girls.

  “He does,” Sarah Beth insisted. “It’s just, well…” She gestured to the moving truck in the driveway then shrugged. “My lease is up today, so there wasn’t any way around it.”

  Rory gave her a tight smile, all the while attempting to burn a hole in Sarah Beth’s forehead solely powered by her rage. “Yes, he’s just so busy. What with making partner and bangin’ anything that walks.”

  Sarah Beth’s mouth dropped open in shock—something Rory was feeling a little of herself. But to hell with it. In for a penny, in for a pound. She was tired of tiptoeing around and not saying exactly what she thought. She’d done it all her life, had strived for pure perfection in her manners, her actions, her dress, and where had it gotten her?

  So instead of apologizing and taking back her words, she just stood in the silence that crackled between them, not willing to be the first to break.

  “I never meant for this to happen, you know,” Sarah Beth finally said. “I never wanted things to e
nd up like this between us.”

  Rory barked out a humorless laugh. “Oh, so he just accidentally fell into your vagina?” she asked with false confusion. “That’s such a weight off my shoulders. Bless your heart, thanks so much for lettin’ me know!”

  “Rory, c’mon now, don’t be like that. You’re my best friend, and I’m just sick about everything that happened.”

  The sad thing was, she appeared to be genuine. And that, right there, was where Rory had gone wrong. Sarah Beth didn’t see anything faulty with her actions, which meant Rory’s standards had bit her in the ass once again. It was her own damn fault that she’d assumed her closest friend would treat her exactly as Rory would’ve treated Sarah Beth. With respect and love and loyalty. But that was her ax to grind. She needed to lower her expectations because she was tired of getting burned.

  “Yes, well, you probably should’ve thought about that before you opened your legs for my husband.” Rory shot Sarah Beth a sardonic smile and exuded as much fake enthusiasm as she could muster. “But I do so wish you both the best of luck. You certainly deserve each other.”

  It took every ounce of control Rory possessed to turn on her heels, stroll down the front walk—stepping over the pile of mail Edna had tossed there, bless her—and slip into her car as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As if she’d just dropped off Girl Scout cookies instead of learning her best friend for the past thirty-plus years was now shacking up with her ex-husband only two months after their divorce was final.

  The girls were chatting away excitedly in the car, Ava going on and on about how cool it was that she got to share a room with her best friend. And isn’t that so great, Momma? Rory slipped on her mask, smile firmly in place as she listened to her girls titter on about the changes at their daddy’s place, when all they managed to do at her house was complain about how it was so far away from all their friends, how they didn’t have a trampoline or a pool or a basketball hoop, and that it was so much hotter, smaller, older than Daddy’s house.