“Take care of what you have and it’ll be there to take care of you long after everybody else is buying the brightest and newest thing,” he’d say to me.
Briefly, I wondered who he left the car to. I didn’t mind who he willed it to. I had enough money to get one if I wanted and Jemma already had her own. Though the last time I saw it, the thing wouldn’t run if it’d rained that day.
She could probably use it more than I could.
Keys jingling in my hand, I took the stairs that wound their way up the back to the second floor. When he closed the bookstore it had nearly broken my heart.
Dad had put everything he had into that little place. Every day after school I’d help out at the register or organize the books while Jemma would climb the shelves and play with the boxes in the back room.
I stood before the door to Dad’s apartment, ready for the assault on my nose. He wasn’t big on cleaning his place, which I always found at odds because each thing he owned was always well cared for.
My therapist would say he didn’t value himself and part of me wondered if his wife leaving him with two little girls had anything to do with it.
It never felt right to ask him after he gave up so much of his life to care for us and give us a great childhood.
Which brought my thoughts back to Thomas and how different he looked. He was one of my best friends growing up, it was hard to separate my childhood happiness from him. He was such a large part of it.
Sometimes I daydreamed about the life I’d have if I hadn’t left. If he hadn’t spread those nasty rumors about me. I liked to think that I would’ve reopened the bookstore, and maybe Thomas would help me run it.
I shook my head to dispel the thought and opened the door.
The first thing that hit me was the lack of old food or rotting pizza. In fact, the place was nearly spotless. Somebody had cleaned, and it definitely wasn’t Dad. I flicked the light switches on as I walked from room to room, amazed at what I was seeing.
What I began to notice was there was a very selective cleaning. The areas you’d expect were cleaned. Strangely enough, a picture of Dad with me and Jemma was cleaned off, but not the others on the mantelpiece. I spotted one of Thomas and Dad on a fishing trip, also cleaned.
Damn, when did he get so ripped?
Thomas hadn’t ever been skinny really, but he was always lean. His parents never had much money so his clothes were always a few sizes too big which may have been why I remember him smaller than he was.
I lingered on his grinning stubbled face and the large fish - I had no idea what type - he was holding with Dad. Were they friends? I thought all of Dad’s old buddies had left, was he that lonely that he looked to Thomas?
Feeling like the worst daughter in the world for letting him feel that way, I put the frame back and wandered to the front room sinking into his leather armchair. It creaked with the old familiar sound and I let out a long sigh into the quiet.
Suddenly I didn’t want to be alone. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wondered how I ever thought I could do this.
Dad had been my rock, unchanging and unyielding. It was wrong that he was gone. He was a constant, like the sun or the stars above. Having him gone felt like something vital had been plucked from the world.
At that moment if Thomas came through the door I probably would have forgiven him immediately just to have his company.
No, I told myself. I’m not that desperate. I am owed an explanation, no matter how hot he’s gotten over the years. He betrayed me and I deserve an apology if not an explanation. Not that he would. Thomas was always one to avoid an uncomfortable situation than face it head-on.
That was probably why I hadn’t noticed his change in physique. He had been avoiding me whenever I came into town. It all made sense now. If he was talking to Dad then he’d know when I was coming to visit.
Despite what I told myself, the last thoughts I had as I curled up on Dad’s oversized leather armchair was of Thomas and his large arms encircling me like he used to, twirling me around with a big boyish grin on his face. But I couldn’t let it happen.
4
Thomas
I had to get out of there. It was worth feeling like a coward to get away from Claire and her accusing, confused eyes. I leaned against the brick wall behind Franklin’s old grocery store and stood there steaming mad with myself.
She looked better than you remembered.
That was undeniable. I thought it was some old lady or some lost out-of-towner, it’s not like we got tourists anymore up here.
It was hard not to run back to her. I know things had gotten messed up between us somehow, but we could work it out, right? It was years ago, she probably forgot all about it.
Did you see how she looked at you? I thought to myself. I picked up my mangled bike and carried it down the alley towards the back of the bakery.
She barely recognized you, man. You recognized her immediately and even when she stared right at your face she barely seemed to know who you were.
That was a good point. Claire probably didn’t even remember what happened between us. Hell, she clearly didn’t remember me. So what was I so afraid of?
Because she’ll leave again, like she did before. Nobody ever stays.
I started up the stairs to my apartment when I heard the rattling of keys. I froze, heart jackhammering in my chest. Of course she’d be up there. That’s the whole reason she came back to this godforsaken town. It had never crossed my mind that we might bump into each other again.
The shops were part of the same large building, which meant our apartments were side-by-side. I could go up the steps right now and see her dark tumble of curls and those bright green eyes. Six years later and they still made my heart forget to beat.
Instead, I waited until I heard her father’s door shut and then I crept up like a mouse and ever-so-carefully set the bike down by the door and unlocked my apartment. The bike wasn’t going anywhere, and anybody idiotic enough to steal it wouldn’t find it worth much. The only value it had was sentimental.
Back in my apartment I leaned against the door and laid my head against it harder than I needed to. This was a game I played before. I knew the rules.
All I had to do was avoid Claire for a few days.
But I knew it’d be harder this time. Maybe even impossible. The only reason I knew Claire was coming back to town was because Richard wouldn’t stop talking about her.
It gave me plenty of time to prepare. But his death was unexpected. Who could I talk to with him gone? Jim, Alex? They were friends, but they weren’t the sort of friends you bared your soul to. Richard had a way about him, he didn’t judge and he was an excellent listener.
Richard hadn’t judged me when I explained what happened between Claire and me, but he also didn’t offer an explanation.
All he said was, “That’s her story to tell, just remember that none of us ever fully has the whole story and the truth is often not what we think it is.”
That was another thing Richard was good at, being cryptic as fuck.
What could you expect from a bookstore owner? He was the one who introduced me to the world-expanding nature of books.
We never had much money growing up, I was lucky we had enough food. There definitely wasn’t anything for video games or movies. So it was through Richard’s kindness that I came to love books so much.
Because of him I experienced the expansive worlds of Tolkien, and Jordan, the feeling of fear from King, and - though I would never admit it to anybody else - the power of love in all its many forms from Rice. Some of my favorite books I still reread were from Agatha Christie.
My phone buzzed and I pulled it out, thumb hovering over the screen. Beth, again. Now, what does she want? I swiped ignore and tossed the phone onto the countertop as I made my way through the kitchen to get a bite to eat.
Popping some pizza into the oven to reheat I glanced back at my buzzing phone. Beth was relentless. The last few weeks she’d bee
n pestering me about coming to work for her. She was a budding real estate agent, but she didn’t need to work. Her family was loaded. The Mercedes she drove had been a gift for her when she graduated high school.
The three of us used to be good friends, but since high school and everything that happened between Claire and me, everything fell apart. And I guess I didn’t feel much need to fill that gaping hole Claire left behind with somebody like Beth.
Sam was different, but I hadn’t seen her in weeks. I knew she’d blow back into town eventually, she was always coming and going. Without Richard, I missed the only other close friend I’d managed to make in the last eight years.
I didn’t have many choices in such a small town, so I chose to be alone until Richard took pity on me, or Sam popped back into town.
I still hung out with Jim and Alex from time to time, and even Ryan when he made his way back down this way from Maine. But it just wasn’t the same as having a steady, reliable friend that you could call on at any time.
There was no replacing Claire though.
Sometimes I used to wonder whether she thought of me as a brother. I always felt we had a bond closer than that. She knew things about me - embarrassing things - that I never told another living soul. And I knew things about her that I’d take to my grave.
Which is why the way things ended came as such a surprise. I shoved hard at the thoughts. I couldn’t go down that road again.
When the phone buzzed for the fifth time I turned it off and set it down on the stack of past-due letters and chewed angrily on my slice of pizza. I had thought of expanding the bakery into also making pizzas, calzones and other traditional pizza joint goods.
The idea had merit, and I knew for damn sure I made a good pizza. The issue was the location. And of course the money.
Sunrise Valley was on its last legs. Richard had closed his bookstore, A Novel Place, some years ago. I loved the stupid pun of a name and when I told Richard it inspired me to name my bakery an equally dumb name, he actually got a little choked up.
Granted, A Game of Scones was far less witty than his, but I thought it was cute. It didn’t hurt that I made awesome scones either, most of my sales were bread and scones.
Not too much demand for high-quality pastries in a small town the size of Sunrises Valley.
As far as things went, the shop was doing well relatively speaking. Unfortunately, banks don’t speak in terms of relativity. They have a payment plan, and if you don’t make it they take whatever assets you have. It didn’t matter that the population of the town was circling the drain or that most businesses were already pulling up stakes.
I was tempted to take Beth up on her offer. Especially on the nights I wondered how I was going to make that month’s payment. I had no idea what job she had in mind for me but she seemed serious about the offer. I knew basic accounting, just enough to run the bakery properly.
Real estate was a foreign beast to me, and her ulterior motives weren’t terribly hard to pick up on. Unfortunately, I wasn’t interested. It would have been nice if I was.
She was pretty, but there was something about her that rubbed me the wrong way. It was almost like all her words were coated in extra heaps of sugar to disguise how truly bitter they were.
I couldn’t find direct fault with anything she did or said, but there always seemed to be a backhanded compliment tucked away in her words. Maybe I was just a dick. That was probably it. There was something wrong with me.
I cleaned up my plate and got dressed for my evening run. I carefully peeked out into the hallway over at Richard’s apartment. It was still closed. Good.
Quiet as could be I stepped out of the apartment, locked up and took the stairs two at a time, suddenly afraid Claire would come out and see me. I put my earbuds in, turned up my favorite playlist and let the music drown out my thoughts.
So what if I was running a little faster than normal. The exercise helped clear my head and the music blasting in my ears made me forget all about Claire being back, Beth’s not-so-subtle advances, and my own life that was shackled to this dying town.
I kept to the back streets, away from the center of town. I didn’t need to be reminded of the closed shops and vacancies. I fell into the familiar Zen state of pacing my stride, the rise and fall of each breath.
Some people meditated, I liked to run.
On my way back, I finally gathered up enough courage to confront Claire. I needed to know why she suddenly left without so much as a goodbye. Why she never answered my calls, texts, emails, or letters. I never found out what I did wrong beyond Beth saying she wanted nothing to do with me or Sunrise Valley anymore.
Music still pumping in my ears I took the steps up to Richard’s apartment at a run. And that’s where I lost my nerve. I paced in front of her father’s door a dozen times back and forth thinking of what I could say to her.
Shouldn’t I be mad too? She left me after all.
You never even confessed your feelings. You had no right to be upset that she left you except as a friend. And people leave all the time to go on to better things.
Claire certainly had.
I kept up with her through Richard. She graduated NYU magna cum laude, got into the prestigious Columbia business school and shortly after landed a high-paying gig right out of college and was promoted twice in the past two years.
Meanwhile, I stayed in this dying town, lost most of my friends to distance, college, and starting families. I started a bakery, but already three years in I was floundering.
I could barely keep my head above water.
Eventually, I went down the small hall that connected our apartments, took a shower and went to bed. She’d still be there tomorrow. I could try then.
But the next morning came and I still didn’t have the courage to confront her. Instead, I stayed in the back of the shop baking until eight when the shop opened. I wedged the swinging door that connected the kitchen from the shop ajar so I could hear anybody coming in.
There was so little daily custom that I could spend most of my time in the kitchen and only needed to rush back when I heard the bell to the shop ding.
Another slow day, I thought to myself. I shouldn’t have been baking, but it helped relax me. And if the bread didn’t sell I could always donate it.
Around lunchtime, I went to lock the door and flip the sign to the “Be back later” side when I noticed Claire climb into Beth’s black Mercedes. I knew they’d been friends in high school, we all had, but I didn’t think she kept in touch.
In fact, more than a few people held a bit of a grudge against Claire for not only leaving town but going on to bigger and better things. I never got it personally. People leave their hometown all the time. It wasn’t like she came back and flaunted her money or her prestigious career.
With a shrug, I jiggled the handle to make sure the door was firmly latched. I was just in time to watch Beth’s car pull a U-turn and zip by. When I went to the back my phone was buzzing itself merrily along the stainless steel countertop.
“Hello?” I answered the unfamiliar number.
“Is this Thomas? Thomas Weller?” asked a woman.
“It is, who is this?”
“Oh good! It’s Jemma Walker, I don’t know if you remember me but we used to go to the same high school. You were friends with my sister, Claire.” As if I needed a reminder. “Do you have a second?”
“I’m actually on lunch break right now, so yeah I’ve got plenty of time.”
“Awesome, so I’ve got a huge favor to ask and before you say no I just want you to hear me out first…”
5
Claire
It was strange waking up in Dad’s place without him there to make eggs and bacon. No witty puns or dad jokes to make me cringe to disguise my secret love of his terrible humor.
I checked my phone over a breakfast of packet oatmeal I found in the cupboard. I think it was supposed to be brown sugar and cinnamon, but I really couldn’t tell by the taste. I
’d need to get to the store if I was going to stay and settle things.
The meeting with Dad’s lawyer was tomorrow morning at eight sharp, Jemma should be arriving tonight though it’d be just like her to be late for the reading of Dad’s will. I loved her to death, but she could be so scatterbrained.
Work emails were answered, appointments rescheduled or shuffled to other consultancy teams. And at the bottom of the list of things awaiting my attention, a text from Jemma explaining that her car broke down and she’ll be a couple days late.
Maybe she should take Dad’s car.
Immediately I texted her back, asking if she wanted me to come pick her up, or send a car for her. I know it sounded like I was flaunting my money but I really didn’t want to face the reading alone. I set my phone to alert me if I got a text back, I didn’t want to miss it.
“Okay,” I said to the empty apartment that still had that leather and bourbon smell of Dad. I breathed it in a moment, letting the sadness wash over me. “I can do this. First thing’s first, I need groceries and boxes. Lots of boxes.”
This was what I was good at. Organization, task delegation - which is probably why Jemma was going to be late - and planning things out so they were done in a timely and organized fashion.
It was my job to streamline everything from mom and pop eateries who didn’t know they could buy in bulk to multi-billion dollar companies that were wasting money on inefficient managers and poor production practices.
I was in my element and for once I wasn’t thinking about Thomas at all. Nope, not one bit.
Something that should have taken just over two hours instead took close to five. It was appalling how many shops were closed. The hardware store didn’t have boxes and I had to drive nearly an hour out of my way to get them. By the time I came back and got the rest of everything, it was nearly lunchtime.
I had spotted a bakery that smelled divine on my way out down Main Street but didn’t have the chance to stop yet. I pulled up to an empty parking spot down the street near a shiny black Mercedes, which stuck out like a sore thumb even more than my Suburban did.
Kneading You Page 3