“I can teach you, if you want.”
She smiled. “I’d like that.”
“What do you want to drink? Your usual wine?”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
“Be right back.”
I went to the bar and ordered a beer for me and a glass of white wine for Maddie. When I came back, some old dude was sitting in my seat. Even though he had to be at least sixty, I felt a pang of jealousy.
Maddie smiled when I approached. “Milo, this is Fretty—with two Ts, not Freddy with two Ds.”
I nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
Fretty held his hands up. He had the raspy voice of a guy who had smoked two packs a day for forty years. “I wasn’t trying to make time with your girl. Druker told me someone was looking to borrow a guitar. He said to find the prettiest girl in the room and give it to the lucky bastard by her side.”
I winked at Maddie. “I guess it wasn’t too hard to find me then.”
Fretty stood. “I got an old Rosewood Martin, if you’d like to take her for a spin.”
“Yeah. Incredible guitar. That would be great. Thanks.”
He held up one finger. “I have one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You let me play while you sing one of your songs.” He reached up and touched his throat. “Damaged my cords and can’t belt ’em out anymore. But I still love to get on stage.”
“Sure. Of course. I picked out three songs. But if you don’t know any of them, we can swap one out.”
The old man smiled. “Trust me. I’ll know ’em.”
Maddie and I listened to four performers, all of which were pretty damn good, before the host called my name—well, he called Milo Hooker anyway.
I met Fretty at the host station, and we decided he was going to join me for my first song. So I got up on stage and walked over to the piano to play while Fretty took a seat toward the back with his guitar, out of the limelight.
“Good evening, everyone.” I adjusted the microphone up a little. “My name is Milo. I’m going to play you a few songs. My buddy Fretty will be joining me for the first one. This song goes out to a very special Hooker in the audience tonight. It’s a song I’ve sung for years, but tonight it seems to have new meaning for me. I hope you all enjoy it.”
I stretched my fingers a few times before playing the first notes of Lenny Kravitz’s “I’ll Be Waiting.” It wasn’t really a song to get the crowd going, because most people weren’t too familiar with it. But that wasn’t what tonight was about. I finally felt like being on stage again, after four long years. To me, singing is an opportunity to say all the things most of us are too chicken shit to spout off in real life. Words are all puzzle pieces, and music clicks them into place to show the big picture. Pretty soon, I knew my time with Maddie would be coming to an end, and I wanted her to know how I was feeling. The lyrics started off explaining how a guy broke a woman’s heart and she needed some time. But the chorus was all about how he’d be waiting for her to be ready.
When I was done, I looked up from behind the piano for the first time and found Maddie smiling wide, but she also had tears streaming down her face. It made my heart so full. I pointed to my own smiling lips and traced imaginary tears down my cheeks. Her eyes widened when she caught on, and her smile grew bigger, if that were even possible.
If nothing else came out of what we’d started on this trip, I’d at least given her a souvenir to remember from New Orleans—the smile she’d longed to have from her favorite photo.
Chapter 13
* * *
Hazel
While Atlanta was supposed to be our next stop, the flashing lights of a carnival off the highway caught our attention somewhere in Alabama. And since our mantra was that we go wherever the wind takes us, it seemed the wind had a craving for funnel cakes.
And I did also.
Turns out the event was called the Applewood Fair. We’d already spent a few hours here, eating greasy food, playing games, and even enjoying a few of the rides. Milo and I acted like a couple of kids. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun. Well, yes, I could. Every moment spent with Milo was the last time I’d had fun.
I stuffed a piece of pink cotton candy into my mouth. “I think it’s funny that we don’t even know the name of the town we’re in. Is Applewood the town or just the name of the fair?”
“Maybe we should ask someone.” Milo tapped the shoulder of a woman in front of us. “Excuse me?”
She turned. “Yes?”
“What town is this?”
“You’re in Bumford, son.”
“Not Applewood?”
“No. Applewood is Rusty Applewood, the man who started this fair some fifty years ago.”
He nodded. “Got it. Thank you.”
“Did she say we’re in Bumfuck?” I joked as the woman walked away.
“Basically. Bumford.”
A little while later, the sun had gone down, and we’d pretty much had our fill of the carnival. I yawned. “It’s getting late. Want to just find a place to crash here in Bumford tonight?”
“I don’t mind driving, if you want to keep going toward Atlanta.”
I shrugged. “Eh, I kind of just want to stay, if you don’t mind?”
I was starting to fear the looming end of our adventure. If there was an opportunity to stall, I’d take it. Staying overnight here would mean an extra day in the end. It wasn’t about Bumford. It was about getting to spend time with Milo.
I wasn’t about to admit any of that, though, so I tried to come up with an alternate explanation. “This place reminds me of something out of a Hallmark movie. You know, the small town where the heroine always gets sent to by her corporate job to fix some problem or raise money. Then she falls in love with a Christmas tree farmer who drives a red truck, and she somehow ends up settling in the town at the end. This is that kind of place.”
“Yeah. Of course I know exactly what you’re talking about because I sit around watching Hallmark movies on the weekends.” He snorted before stopping a man next to us. “Excuse me. Do you know of any nice place to stay in town?”
The man laughed. “Wyatt Manor.”
Why did he laugh?
“That’s a hotel?” Milo asked.
“A bed and breakfast.” He pointed. “You’ll see it about a mile down the road on the right.” He smiled. But the look on his face seemed like he might have been kidding us.
After the guy walked away, I asked, “Why did he give us that look with the recommendation? Was that my imagination?”
Milo shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Hmm…
He gestured with his head toward the parking lot. “Wanna check it out?”
“Yeah. Sure. Always up for an adventure.”
After only a few minutes, we arrived at our destination. We parked right in front of the property. There were no other cars in sight, so I wondered if we would be the only guests. It looked like a typical bed and breakfast from the outside—a yellow house surrounded by a series of large oak trees. A porch wrapped around the entire thing, and mounted to it was a sign that read Wyatt Manor.
We approached the front door, and Milo knocked.
An old man answered. “May I help you?” He looked to be in his nineties.
“Yes,” Milo said. “We were told this is the place to stay in town. We were wondering if you had two rooms for the night.”
The man’s mouth hung open. “Who told you that?”
Milo pointed over his shoulder. “A…man at the carnival down the road?”
“Wow.” The old guy’s mouth curved into a huge smile. “Wish I could thank him. I haven’t had a guest here in months. This is far from the most popular place in town.” He stepped aside to make room for us to enter. “But come in. Please. My home is your home.”
Milo and I exchanged suspicious looks before we stepped inside. I really wished we could have turned around and gone to a normal hotel, but I fel
t bad leaving now. The man seemed so happy to have us.
The interior of the house was dated, with dark wood paneling and furniture upholstered in mismatched floral patterns. There were clocks everywhere—cuckoo clocks, grandfather clocks—and also a plethora of figurines on shelves.
But perhaps most notable were the dead, stuffed animals hanging throughout the place. A deer, a fox…and one particularly scary-looking raccoon.
Milo’s breath grazed my ear as he whispered, “Is this a dead-animal museum or a bed and breakfast? Say the word, and we can beat this joint.”
“So, two rooms will be one-hundred eighty even,” the man said.
Milo looked at me, and I shrugged, giving him the okay to pay for the rooms.
He reached into his pocket. “Do you take credit cards?”
“Sorry, no. Cash only.” He grinned. “I’m Wyatt, by the way.”
Milo opened his wallet and emptied it.
After the man took the cash, he asked, “What brings you two to Bumford?”
“Just passing through town on our way to Atlanta. We saw the fair off the highway and had to stop,” I said.
“My wife used to work the ticket booth there years ago. She’s been gone now five years.”
I frowned. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. She’s still with me.” He walked over to one of the clocks. “See this time, one o’clock?”
I stopped in front of it. “Yes?”
He wandered over to another clock. “See this time? What does it say?”
“One o’clock as well.”
He moved to the clock next to it. “What about this one?”
“One.”
“My wife passed away at one o’clock on the dot. And wouldn’t you know, every single one of these clocks, at some point in time, stopped at one o’clock and never moved again.”
Wow. If he was telling the truth, that was certainly amazing.
“A lot of people, including my kids, think that’s a bunch of malarkey. But I know the truth. I know it’s my Bernadine. I just know it is.”
Milo looked at me, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. Then he turned to Wyatt. “I might have been doubtful myself if it weren’t for something that happened to me recently. But I definitely think your wife is still with you.”
Chills raced through me.
Wyatt led us through the house for a little tour.
As we entered a second living area, I jumped at the sight of more dead animals. These weren’t hung on the wall. They were standing on tables. What the hell? It quickly became apparent that Wyatt’s taxidermy hobby wasn’t limited to just preserving animals. Apparently, it involved some theatrics, too. These animals were…dressed in clothing and posed.
What on Earth?
“What is all this?” I asked.
“Well, first of all, I want you to know that no animals were harmed. These guys all died accidentally or naturally. Same goes for my boys hanging up in the other room.”
He walked over to three stuffed gray mice lined up on a table. They were wearing suits, ties, and sunglasses.
“Want to take a guess what this is called?”
“Three Blind Mice?” Milo answered.
Wyatt smiled. “Very good.”
“They look more like rats,” I whispered to Milo.
“What about this one?” Wyatt pointed to three stuffed cats. “The clue is on the ground.” On the floor, there were several pairs of mittens by their feet.
Milo cleared his throat. “Uh, the three little kittens who lost their mittens—or whatever that one is called.”
Wyatt snapped his fingers. “You got it!”
“Who knew you were an expert in nursery rhymes, Milo?” I laughed.
Wyatt went over to a single stuffed owl. “What about this guy?”
Neither of us knew the answer to that.
“A wise old owl,” Wyatt finally said.
“What got you into this interesting hobby?” I asked.
“Well, since the Mrs. died, I have a lot of time on my hands. I always collected taxidermied animals, but I got the idea to create these scenes one day out of the blue. Started laughing to myself in the kitchen when it came to mind—even startled the cuckoo clocks. Now it’s my favorite hobby.”
This place definitely has its fair share of cuckoos.
He clapped his hands together. “Well, let me get y’all set up in your rooms.”
We followed Wyatt upstairs. As weird as this house was, he took good care of it. A nice oriental runner lined the stairs leading to the second floor. I hoped he had some help cleaning this place. At his age, it couldn’t be easy to vacuum these stairs.
He opened the doors to two adjacent bedrooms. Each had heavy floral wallpaper and a four-post bed. Other than the differences in color themes, they looked identical.
“You know, it’s a shame you don’t get more business,” I said. “These rooms are really nice.”
“From your mouth to their ears, darlin’.” He walked to the top of the stairs. “I’ll let you two be. How about you come downstairs for some stew in ten minutes?”
After the old man left, Milo and I faced each other in the second bedroom.
“Oh my God.” I whispered. “We definitely walked into The Twilight Zone.”
“More like Animal Farm, maybe?” He snorted, and I couldn’t help cracking up. “Do you have a preference on a room?”
I shook my head. “They both look exactly the same. I’ll take this one.”
“Are you sure you want to stay here?”
I sighed. “It’s a mix of sweet and creepy. But harmless.”
Milo looked around. “This stop is definitely one for our memory book. You think I can bum one of the dead animals off him for a souvenir?”
“Please don’t. I’ll have nightmares about it attacking me in the car.”
Milo pointed to me. “You should’ve seen your face down there when he was showing us the animals.”
“You were looking at my face in the midst of all that?”
“Yeah. I look at your face a lot,” he muttered. “Habit, I guess.”
My cheeks heated. Milo looked so handsome right now. It had definitely been a few days since he touched a razor. The more rugged and dirty he looked, the more I loved it. My attraction to him was at an all-time high. Too bad we were getting closer and closer to parting ways. That meant with each passing day, it was more dangerous to do anything about these feelings right now.
Still, as he lingered before me, I got the sudden urge to kiss him. I’d had many urges like this, but never as strong as this one. Maybe it was because the bedroom was cozy and welcoming. It made me want to let loose all of my inhibitions, push Milo down onto the bed, and curl into him while I tasted his luscious lips.
That wouldn’t be happening, but it was a nice thought.
Milo reached out and cupped my cheek. Had he been reading my mind? Crazier things had happened on this trip. The feel of his warm, calloused hand against my face felt amazing. I closed my eyes to relish it.
And then…
“Yoohoo!” the old man’s voice startled us. He peeked in. “Dinner’s ready.”
My heart pounded, and Milo’s hand returned safely to his side. I was both pissed and relieved that Wyatt had interrupted our moment. I would never know where it could have led.
We followed Wyatt downstairs and sat at the dining room table. He served us bowls of piping hot beef stew and poured us some root beer. That was an odd combination, but the root beer brought back nostalgia from my childhood. I used to make floats with vanilla ice cream.
I took a spoonful of the stew into my mouth. “This is delicious.”
“It was Bernadine’s recipe. Never cooked for myself when she was alive. But I’ve been working my way through her recipe cards.”
As weird as he may have been in some ways—okay, in many ways—Wyatt was quite sentimental and sweet.
“I can only hope whomever I choose to spend the rest of my
life with remembers me as fondly when I’m gone as you remember your love, Wyatt.”
He looked between Milo and me. “So, you’re already writing off this guy you’re with?”
I looked at Milo. I was just about to tell Wyatt the usual lie, that Milo and I were brother and sister, but Milo interrupted me.
“Unfortunately, I’m not the lucky guy who gets to have her heart. We’re just friends. But even if my intentions were different, she’s mending a broken heart right now. Only a fool would mess with that.”
Wyatt seemed to ponder that. “Well, sometimes there’s no way to mend a broken heart by yourself. But you can give it to someone else. Then it heals slowly, because that person helps you forget about the damage.” He winked.
Milo and I exchanged a quick look.
Wyatt waved his hand. “Well, I suppose I should’ve guessed you two weren’t romantic, given that you asked for two rooms. But I wasn’t gonna pry. Bernadine used to like to sleep in her own room after we did the deed. Said my fartin’ kept her up all night. I thought maybe y’all had your reasons, too.”
We had a good laugh at that.
I smiled at Milo. “We may not be together romantically. But I feel really lucky to have his friendship and to be here with him right now.”
Before Milo had a chance to respond, Wyatt got up from his seat. Our attention turned to him as he walked over to a set of apothecary drawers.
He opened one before taking out something encased in glass. “See this lock of hair?”
I tilted my head. “Yeah?”
“It belonged to Shirley Temple. She was before your time. Ever hear of her, though?”
I remembered my grandmother talking about her. It came up once when I asked why non-alcoholic drinks were called Shirley Temples.
“Oh. Yeah. Cute little actress, right?” I said. “But why do you have her hair?”
“I had a crush on her when I was a boy. My father took me to a meet and greet two states away. And well, when she leaned in, I snipped off a piece of her hair.”
What? I knew this man was crazy—in a good way. But this news might have taken the cake.
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Wow. That’s…cool?”
My Favorite Souvenir Page 12