She was beautiful. She dressed great. She clearly had money, if the designer handbags she so overtly carried and her fresh manicures that were undoubtedly not done by herself were anything to go by.
She was also one of those women who was up her own ass and wouldn’t know the sisterhood if it bit her in it.
And it did not bode well when she was next up at my register and it was the first time since I noticed her existence that she was looking me square in the face.
She knew Toby.
From what I understood of his past reputation in Matlock, she might even have slept with Toby.
And she’d heard about the fight.
“Hey,” she greeted chirpily.
Damn.
“Hello,” I replied, grabbing the first thing on the belt to scan it and not for the first time noticing the woman never bought ice cream, and right now the entirety of her groceries centered around an abundance of different varieties of fancy bottled or canned water.
“Probably a drag having to work on a Saturday night,” she noted after I scanned a bag of frozen edamame.
“Pays the bills,” I muttered, going for the bag of frozen spinach, thinking the last person on earth who needed to know it actually didn’t was this chick.
“Still a bummer,” she said.
I just jerked my head in what could be construed as an affirmative.
“You know, just to say . . .” she started.
I braced for it.
And she sure gave it to me.
“Small town, folks talk. So, when I saw you at a register, I thought about it, I really did,” I looked to her after I scanned a case of St. Croix (grapefruit), “and I decided after you had your thing yesterday, that we girls gotta have each other’s backs. So I picked your line.”
I could tell by the gleeful light in her eye she wasn’t looking out for anyone but herself. In this instance, doing it getting her daily quota of mean-girl jollies.
“And I should warn you about Take ’Em and Leave ’Em Toby,” she finished.
I focused on her a brief moment and then reached for the next case of St. Croix (mango).
But I made no reply.
My sister had been seeing, then living with, and was now engaged to Johnny Gamble, and I’d been hanging with them and both the Gamble Brothers for months.
People talked, others gossiped, and some of them got off on doing it with or around folks who were intimately involved in a certain mix.
And I saw a lot of the citizens of Matlock. I figured the entire town had gone through my line at the store at least once.
So I really wanted to prick her mean-girl bubble and inform her that she was not the first person to share about Take ’Em and Leave ’Em Toby.
Though most people said it with what they thought was teasing “Ah, those Gamble Brothers” fun (and most of that “Ah, those Gamble Brothers” was about how solid Johnny was, and what a good-natured, ne’er-do-well bad boy Toby was, and I had to admit it never failed to rile me), when it was still judgey and gossipy, even if they didn’t exactly (maybe) intend it to be mean-spirited.
Bottom line for me, I knew Toby dipped in and out of Matlock since he’d graduated high school.
But he wasn’t forty, married with children and playing around on his devoted wife.
He was a young, insanely handsome guy who some considered a player because he played.
I’d played too.
You did that if you were unattached and enjoyed getting yourself some.
It didn’t make you an asshole.
And one thing I knew, Tobias Gamble was no asshole (notwithstanding him getting in my face the day before, but that wasn’t about assholery—even I had to admit that was about worry).
But I really needed this job, so instead of saying any of the fifty words that rushed to my tongue begging to be let out, I just scanned the case and reached for one of the six huge bottles of smart water she’d put on my belt.
Mean Girl did not seem to mind that I didn’t take the bait.
She kept fishing.
“You aren’t the first one he’s got all wound up about him,” she shared. “And don’t take all that Gamble Guy goodness for granted, you know, like thinking he cares enough to get in a huge fight with you on the street about whatever. Tobias giveth, and then without a thought, Tobias taketh away.”
I was about to say something to her, like, “Did you know we have a new line of frozen yogurt?” (when we did not, but I wanted to make her go look) when I heard, “No, that’s just you, Jocelyn.”
This came from down my belt.
I looked there to see next in line was an attractive woman around Jocelyn’s (and my) age who I’d also checked out dozens of times in the last months, and she did buy ice cream, so I knew she was my people even if she hadn’t been nice to me (which she always was).
Jocelyn turned to the woman and the gleeful, I’mma-gonna-fuck-with-you mean girl morphed into the bitchy, I-don’t-have-time-for-your-shit-when-you’re-fucking-with-me-fucking-with-somebody mean girl took her place.
“You aren’t in this conversation, Lorraine,” she snapped.
“Neither is this poor woman who you decided to aim your venom at this Saturday night, during which, I’ll point out, you’re grocery shopping and not out on a date, so you’re in a crappy mood. Put the fangs away,” Lorraine retorted.
I scanned some zero-sugar granola that cost more than a car (exaggeration).
“What I do with my Saturday nights is none of your business,” Jocelyn hissed.
“And what’s going on with Toby Gamble and your checkout person is none of yours. Keep your trap shut, pay for your groceries and move along,” Lorraine bit back.
I scanned some pretzels and a bag of chips made of lentils that probably tasted like dung and totally forgot my feet hurt, my back kinda hurt too, and I did this since it took all my attention to press my lips together in an effort to fight smiling.
“You’ve always been nosy. Careful, Lorraine, you’re gonna put that nose somewhere it isn’t welcome one day and get it bitten off,” Jocelyn warned.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Lorraine replied airily. “What I know is, being how you are meant Toby Gamble scraped you off. Everyone in Matlock knows he’s got the patience of a gnat with women who aren’t worth it. Now others who don’t act like trash by treating people like trash,” Lorraine’s eyes slid to me before going back to Jocelyn, “well, they seem to be in it for the long haul.”
Hmm . . .
This might explain why this Jocelyn chick was always such a bitch to me.
“Not sure that haul is gonna be that long, he’s shouting at her on the street,” Jocelyn returned.
“He ever care enough in the nanosecond you two were together to fight with you about anything?” Lorraine drawled.
It was too hard.
I couldn’t fight it.
I made an abbreviated snort sound.
Jocelyn turned her head and glared at me.
“That’ll be eighty-nine, twenty-four,” I informed her.
She bent her head to dig out her wallet, which also had some designer logo stamped obtrusively all over it, pulled it out, unsnapped it, and as she was shoving her credit card in the machine she said cattily, “Nice smock.”
Lame.
“Do you have a Matlock Mart card?” I asked. “You might have some savings. I believe the St. Croix is on sale if you have a Matlock Mart card.”
“I don’t need to pay for my St. Croix on sale,” she retorted.
Well, that was just stupid.
I finished her up, tore off the register tape, folded it carefully and offered it to her saying cheerfully, “Enjoy your evening and thank you for shopping at the Mart.”
She snatched the receipt from me, put her hands to the cart my bagger had filled with her stuff, looked into the distance like I didn’t exist (nor my bagger) and strutted off.
I turned to Lorraine.
“Don’t mind her,” Lorraine said the s
econd I caught her gaze. “She’s even nasty to her grandma, and her grandma runs the local orphanage.”
I felt my eyes get big. “Really?”
Lorraine started laughing. “No. Her grandmother is as mean as a snake. So is her mother. It runs in the family.”
“Right,” I muttered, not surprised, taking the divider off the belt and shoving it down the side.
“I’m Lora, by the way,” she introduced herself. “Jocelyn only calls me Lorraine because she knows I hate it. Though it was my grandmother’s name, and I loved her. Just not real hip on her name seeing as it makes me sound like I’m a waitress at a truck stop in Texas.”
I scanned but looked at her with a smile on my face. “Nice to meet you. And FYI, I think Lorraine is an awesome name. Old-fashioned cool. I’m Addie.”
“Yeah,” she started quietly. “I can imagine you know that everyone in town knows who you are and why. But I’ll just say, it cannot be described how sorry I am why we know.”
My smile faded, and I turned my attention back to scanning.
“I’m sorry, Addie. I was just trying to be real. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Being real is good,” I murmured, scanning a double loaf package of frozen garlic bread (totally my people). “And my son was kidnapped. It happened. He’s safe with his family now, so it isn’t a big deal.”
It was totally a big deal and we both knew it.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Yep.
We both knew it.
I kept scanning.
“She dated him for like, a hot minute,” Lora told me.
“I was guessing that,” I replied, still scanning.
“And she’s jealous like crazy of you because she wished Toby Gamble would fight in the street with her,” she continued.
“It wasn’t as fun as it sounds,” I muttered. And it absolutely was not. “And she’s off the mark. He’s my sister’s fiancé’s brother. We’re just family,” I carried on.
“Hun, I’m sorry. I’m single. Allow me to live vicariously through you.”
With her saying this, I looked at her after scanning some yogurt.
“And I’ll tell you what,” she declared. “I’ve had about five thousand Toby-Gamble-yelling-at-me-in-the-street fantasies since I heard that went down, and I cannot say which part I focus more on with each one. His behind. Or his beard.”
I couldn’t see his ass during our fight or I probably would have been right there with her.
“And here’s a genuine warning from a girl takin’ her girl’s back,” she continued. “About every female in Matlock has had the same, married or not, from ages of about eight to eighty. So if your line is clogged with women having a go at you, it’s just because we all wish we were you.”
I felt my lips quirk and shared, “Honestly, it really wasn’t that fun.”
She leaned across the check-writing desk toward me. “Is he hot when he’s angry?”
Hot?
Nope.
Scorching.
Totally.
Of course, at the time, I didn’t think that (well, part of the time I did but most of the time I didn’t think at all, which turned out to be a disaster).
But in the five thousand times I replayed it in my head since it happened, I so totally did.
I gave her a look that shared this without words.
She returned a dreamy look before she smiled.
I smiled back.
Then she got serious.
“I’m sure it won’t surprise you that the chain has been passed along verbatim of what anyone heard you two say. And you are losing weight, you know. I see you like, once every two weeks or something, and I noticed.”
I went back to scanning. “I just got shot of a deadbeat husband. Once I get things together, it’ll get better.”
“I wish I could say I had a breakup and lost twenty pounds. My last breakup, it was the other way around plus ten.”
I glanced at her out of the sides of my eyes and gave her a small grin.
“And don’t stop making those cards at Macy’s,” she advised, and that got all my attention as this possibly answered the question about why my cards sold so well at Macy’s, as well as the question about how Toby knew about them. “They’re sweet. I love them. My last two birthdays I had to get cards for, I got yours and they were a hit. And a girlfriend of mine has had a rough go of it lately, health wise, and I got her one and it totally brightened her day.” She leaned across the check desk again. “Though she thought I handmade it myself, and I will admit, I didn’t disabuse her of that notion.”
That had me laughing. “Be my guest and take the credit if it brightens a friend’s day.”
She leaned back with a smile. “Thanks, hun.”
I looked to my register and told her, “That’ll be one hundred and seven, thirty-two.”
“You know the best part of that,” she declared, pulling out her credit card and shoving it in the reader. “I got twice as much stuff as Jocelyn, and all of it I want to eat, and my bill is practically the same.”
“Unhealthy food, healthy budget,” I remarked.
“Thank God that’s the way,” she replied.
She could say that. She didn’t have a kid now mostly on solid food whose mother wanted what went in him to be healthy.
She pulled her card out when the machine was beeping and looked again at me to take her receipt. “You ever wanna go to Home, have a glass of wine or something, that’d be fun. I have a posse in town and I reckon you’d fit right in. My last name is Merriman. Look me up on Facebook. Friend me, send a message, and we’ll set that up.”
It’d take a while for me to have the cash or the time to go have drinks with the girls at the local watering hole, if that ever happened at all.
But I didn’t share that.
I said, “That’d be fun. Thanks for asking. Maybe after the holidays. I’ll get on Facebook later and find you.”
“Awesome. Take care, Addie.”
“You too, Lora. And thanks for the entertainment.”
“Be warned, I’m a public servant that way. Ta, darlin’.”
“’Bye, Lora.”
She motored off with a “Thank you” to my bagger and I turned to the next person in line.
Fortunately, any indication someone knew about Toby and my fight began and ended with Jocelyn and Lora, so the rest of my shift went without incident. I was able to clock out, get home and let Iz off the hook of hanging with my son without any further drama.
I parked beside Izzy’s Nissan and hauled my tired self inside.
“Hey,” I called with Dapper Dan nosing my legs as I took off my coat and hat in the entryway.
“Hey,” Izzy called back from the family room.
I stowed my stuff, gave my dog a rubdown and then he and I moved to the living room.
Izzy was on the couch with what appeared to be a Christmas explosion around her.
She was doing cards.
I didn’t do Christmas cards.
This, I told myself before my recent life change, was about being environmentally conscious, when really it was about being lazy.
Now, I kind of wished I could send cards, especially those year-in-the-life photo ones because Brooks was all kinds of photogenic, but I couldn’t afford to.
Before, everyone who didn’t get a card from me probably knew I was being lazy.
Now, they probably knew I couldn’t afford them.
Damned if you don’t, damned if you don’t.
“Make a dent in it?” I asked, easing down into the white, slipcovered loveseat by where Iz was camped out on the couch.
One thing I knew about my choice of décor, I would never choose white for furniture.
But damn if Izzy’s stuff wasn’t comfy.
“Almost done,” she answered.
“Sorry I don’t have TV,” I murmured.
“Dapper Dan and I enjoyed a little quiet.”
I looked to the ceiling then to my
sister. “He down?”
“Yeah, all good.”
“Thanks, Iz,” I muttered, putting toes to the heel of one of my not-so-white-anymore Keds and pushing it off.
Ah . . .
Nice.
“Doll, do we need to talk?” Izzy asked softly.
In the process of taking off my other shoe, I looked to her and saw the expression on her face.
Well, I guessed that meant I wasn’t going to get through the rest of the night without having a chat with someone about the Toby Incident.
“Iz—” I began, shoving off my other shoe.
“If it’s not my business, it’s not my business,” she said. “Johnny called Toby today about it, and Toby told him it was private. It’s just that it kinda wasn’t private in a fairly public way.”
I honed in on one part of that.
“Johnny called Toby about it?”
“Big brother stuff,” she muttered.
I bet Tobe loved that.
He never said anything, but I’d been noticing, especially lately, that some of Johnny’s Big Bro Know-It-All Attitude was rubbing Toby the wrong way.
Johnny was good people and just cared about his brother.
But I was half in love with Toby, so maybe someone else might disagree, but I thought it was a bit much.
Onward from this, it was cool Toby said our incident was private. It meant a lot that he didn’t share my business.
Of course, I’d made it screamingly clear how I’d feel if he did.
It was still nice he didn’t.
But Eliza was Eliza.
She was my big sister.
And she wasn’t about razzing and being a know-it-all.
She was about love and support and nurture and beauty.
Like Mom.
Just like Mom.
Which was why she started, “Addie, just to say, if you ever need—”
I looked her right in the eye and declared, “I’m gonna need to talk to Johnny about deferring the loan for a few months.”
She stared at me with open surprise, and even I didn’t know where that came from.
Though, I did.
Flipping out about Toby’s assertion that if he was fucking me, he’d get a say in my life, I had not fully processed all the other stuff he’d said.
But it seemed in that microsecond, that happened.
“He won’t mind,” Izzy told me. “He’d forgive it totally if you’d let him.”
The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil Series Book 2) Page 9