“Can I have some ketchup packets?” She smiled at the Dolly Parton with a bad hair job.
“Bottle right in front of you, hon.” Edna jutted a hip out and filled the coffee cups like a sloth.
Kelly sighed at Edna’s dismissal. No shit there’s a ketchup bottle on the table. I’m not blind. “Haven’t you ever heard of anaerobic fermentation? If this condiment container hasn’t been in an adequate refrigerated environment, the organic compounds of the tomato puree will ferment in the absence of oxygen in the bottle. I don’t particularly wish to suffer the side effects of food poisoning, such as nausea, vomiting—”
“Alright, alright. I’ll get you some damn packets, Miss Smarty Pants.” Edna trudged off.
“Don’t you think the hotel is getting tired of Eddie barking in your room?” Randy wiped at his mouth. “And what about Alan?”
“You done with your burger?” Clay licked his lips.
Kelly opened and closed her mouth as she stalled for an answer. To Clay’s, she slid her plate over. To Randy’s she hesitated.
“I still want the fries,” she told Clay.
With the impromptu decision to explore the tiny tourist town of Churchston, Kelly had met the goals of checking out the shops, admiring the water, and exercising her dog so he wouldn’t whine the rest of the way to Myrtle Beach. But on her walk, she had accidentally gained employment.
On a lazy stroll she had passed an older man hurrying down Main, walking with a limp and juggling a dozen or so boxes. In the essence of being a Good Samaritan and possessing a deep sympathy for people in pain, she had righted the boxes and taken a couple as she walked with him.
Lonely old men were her weakness. She had never been able to escape the clutch of heartache at the thought of Dad, lonely and sad in his old age.
And Norbert. He’d been another lonely old man passing away by himself until Kelly found his estranged daughter.
Not my fault. I can’t save everyone. Not my fault.
Alan, as the man had introduced himself, was the owner of the bowling alley which housed the single pizza joint in town. He seemed too flustered to accept her help in the delivery for his goods, so Kelly convinced him she might as well carry some of the boxes since she had been walking anyway.
The next day she had found him again, fumbling along with his deliveries. He had been too proud to welcome her offer of help, and Kelly assumed he would be humiliated to accept charity, so she developed a habit to meet him on Main as a friendly companion to walk with while he made deliveries. After a couple weeks, though, he asked her to carry more boxes. And maybe, would she mind coming back to the alley and run out a few more? How about tomorrow, he had said. How about you come back Monday at ten?
“He told me someone was going to be coming back to town soon. Someone who tended bar for him a couple years ago.” Kelly grinned at the arrival of fresh ketchup.
“Probably Jaycee,” Clay said.
“Maybe. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Clay nodded and stuffed his mouth with the last of her burger. “She was spending time for, uh, possession and dealing. Heard she was supposed to be coming back to town.”
“Sounds like a stellar individual,” Kelly said.
“So you’re only sticking around to help out Alan and then you’re gone?” Randy sipped his water.
Kelly almost smiled at him. So neat, so proper. Such the momma’s boy. With a perfect haircut and good manners, he was about the nicest man she had ever met. The exact opposite of Clay’s sloppier, leering, and womanizing self.
As Randy was Clay’s old high school buddy, she had met the pleasant man after she became acquainted with Clay at the hotel, having seen him coming and going from multiple women’s rooms on various nights. She befriended Clay once she started making routine deliveries to the garage where he worked.
“Maybe, maybe not,” she said. “It’s not like I live here.”
“Well, what if you did?” Randy said.
“Here? Churchston?” Kelly took her check from Edna. She had been paying for her hotel room with the money Alan slipped her under the table and with some minor dips into her savings.
Clay slung his arm around her shoulders. “Why not?”
The thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
Churchston. Home? She doubted it. It wouldn’t have surprised her one bit if she grew tired and impatient with small-town life. Kelly didn’t know what Churchston could have for her that she wouldn’t find anywhere else in the world. But it was a start. A new beginning. Turning a leaf. All that crap.
“Here?” She wrinkled her nose at the thought.
“Yeah, why not?” Clay said again.
She had enjoyed her walks through the small 3,000-population town. Authentic woodwork scenic signs advertised Lake Moultron. Quaint buildings dotted the road across the linear public beach area. The diner, barbershop, little shops, Clay’s garage, Alan’s bowling alley, little odds and ends of small businesses to support the tourism which ran the small town. Trees and vines decorated the land from the lake bank. It was a polar change from the busier, bustier Atlanta.
Tapping her finger to the table, she weighed the possibilities. From the little she had learned from Randy and Clay, people left the small town to escape the slow pace. They didn’t immigrate to it. But for Kelly, the anonymity of being a new face in town had its appeal. She was no longer defined by the labels of an ex-wife, or a nurse, or a baby sister. In Churchston, Kelly was, well, Kelly.
“I don’t think walking food around will pay for a place.” It was at least a practical reason not to move to the middle of nowhere.
“Burns is looking for help.” Clay picked at his teeth. At her blank look he elaborated. “Kayak hut on the beach across from the garage. He always needs help in the summer.”
Kelly studied Randy, sensing an ulterior motive as his small talk and genteel conversions had never bordered on persuasion before. Probably had a rotten house he wanted to load off on her. “What, you’ve got a listing you need off your hands? How bad is this place?”
He reddened. “Hey, it’s not so bad.” He exchanged sheepish glances with Clay. “It’s not like I’m in a rush to get it off my hands, or anything… It’s not to own. A spacious apartment to rent. Right next to Clay. It’s, it’s well, a little place where you could stay if you’re planning on sticking around. You know?”
She didn’t know. She bet the dump Randy had in mind was pathetic. She predicted her well-meaning family would freak if she called home to say she moved to an itty bitty town where everyone warned of the gators. She estimated that delivering food and manning a kayak hut would bore her as they were more fit as chores for a teenager than an almost thirty-year-old adult. She gambled having Clay for a true neighbor might be a bit too much to tolerate.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” she said.
Clay patted her shoulder, then stood up. “You’re staying?”
“Really? You want to look at it?” Randy couldn’t hide the relief on his face. “No pressure, Miss Newland.”
“For God’s sake Randy, you’re two days older than me. It’s just Kelly already. I’ll check it out tomorrow morning.”
Randy slid out from his seat and scribbled directions on a napkin. They left her to finish her coffee and when she stood in line to pay at the register, the second thoughts clustered on her rash impulse.
Standing in line as an elderly couple argued the sales tax on a piece of pecan pie, she couldn’t stop the emotional questions from bombarding her, filling the lack of anything better to concentrate on.
Was I bad in bed?
She frowned and tried to recall the last time she had even seen John’s dick.
How long had he been seeing her?
Kelly sighed and squinted at the comb-over on the man in front of her. Length of time wasn’t important. Cheating was cheating.
Maybe I wasn’t good enough for him.
She hadn’t forgotten how Sasha had looked back at her in the bedro
om, confident, unruffled, and cool. Kelly’s jaw clenched for a second. It was almost as if the woman had been gloating.
Why did I even marry him?
In the absence of an answer, she grimaced, called herself every kind of an idiot. Sure, there had been doubts, second thoughts. Every woman going into marriage had to experience some uneasiness. But staying two years after… That had made her the moron.
Why wasn’t I there to save Norbert?
She kneaded her forehead with her fingers as her trivial woes suddenly changed to a heavier one. He’d been her patient. No matter what they said, the doctors, her charge nurse, the hospital’s legal team—they had explained over and over again: it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t been on duty. Her shift had ended. But Norbert had been her patient. And she hadn’t saved him.
So her new intern LPN Betsy was the one who technically administered the drug in the last few minutes of Kelly’s shift. The undeserved guilt would forever burden her.
I should have been there.
“Can you get the driver of the gray SUV?”
The roughly spoken description of her car broke her from remorse. She turned to see the man who had entered. He was tall and frighteningly huge. She tried to make out the details of his face under the navy cap and abundant facial hair. It wasn’t quite ZZ Top yet, but the long hair and shaggy beard likened him to a long-lost, unkempt warrior.
“That you?” The waitress gaped. “Why—” She clutched her hand to her chest. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“Gray SUV?” he repeated curtly, scanning the room.
“Why, now, when did you get back?” The waitress all but cooed.
“What difference does it make? I’m here now.” And he didn’t sound pleased about it.
Past the windows of the diner, blinking orange lights of a tow-truck flickered with a weary rhythm in the darkness of the muggy night.
“Well now, how are you doing, hon?”
“I’ll be doing better after the fucking SUV moves.”
Kelly slanted a brow at him and the waitress huffed at his attitude. Impatience, she could relate to, but really, he was a jerk. His attitude was quite a contrast to the ho-hum hospitality of the bumbling diners, the superficially kind locals of Churchston. And a bit more human.
“Why do you need the SUV moved?” Kelly held out her money and bill to the waitress. “You can keep the change for Edna.”
“What’s it to you?” His retort was the only pause in his survey of the diners.
“Well, seeing the ‘fucking SUV’ is mine, I’d say its parking spot is nothing to me, but it seems like it’s something to you.”
He grunted and nodded his head to the front door. “Can you move it?” Without a look at her, he moved to leave.
“I parked it there. I’m sure I can un-park it, too.”
She didn’t follow him out. She waited for him to exit and storm back in when he realized she wasn’t in tow.
“What the hell are you waiting for? It’s going to deluge any minute now.”
“I don’t melt.”
“Then can you move the fucking car or not?”
She nodded but didn’t budge except to cross her arms.
He brandished his hands out as if to say ‘anytime, cupcake.’
“What?”
“You going to move it or not?”
“If you ask me to.”
“I just did! Twice!” His bellowing had silenced the easy-going local chatter. All eyes were on them with the instinctive eager anticipation of a good fight.
“You asked me if I can move it. Try again without your head up your ass.”
Snickers rose in the diner.
He grit his teeth and stepped closer to her, his shaded face likely emitting tangible rays of hatred at her.
Someday she’d remember to watch her tongue. She couldn’t sass back at any man like she could her brothers. His face said murder. She didn’t know him to tell if it was honest. “Will you please move your car?”
The way he clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth had Kelly imagining he had a vise grip clamped onto his balls. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and strode past him out of the diner. She had no idea who he was, or what his problem was, but she wasn’t taking shit from anyone. Especially not some random local yokel.
“Not enough room to pull it out from the other side?” She went for her car, noticing an old clunker was parked head-to-head with hers. Thunder growled softly in the night and drizzle tapped at the bill of her hat.
“Rear-wheel drive,” he said and strode behind her.
“I can wait. No need for you to get wet,” an older man called out from the driver’s window of the immobile vehicle. Kelly recognized the elderly man from the ice cream stand on the public beach.
The tow-trucker sighed deeply at her side. “No. It’s okay. Sit tight,” he said.
She raised a brow. While his tone was still curt and direct, it was magically gentler for the elderly. He was a respectful jerk, if such an oxymoron existed. Eddie barked at her coming near.
“Quiet, Eddie.” He whined louder. Thunder cracked from above and the man pounced. He clutched her arm and shoved her behind him as he crouched to the pavement.
What the hell…?
She hadn’t the time to ask him what was wrong. His movements had been too sudden, shoving her down so forcefully. She frowned, and the contents of her purse spilled and spread in a puddle on the pavement. She couldn’t see much of his face from his nomadic facial hair and the low bill of his hat, but from the death grip on her arm and his sharp intake of air, he had to have been terrified. Coupling his reaction to the noise with the fact he “protected” her behind him, she clamped her mouth shut.
Thunder. Not a gunshot. Kelly hadn’t had many post-trauma victims during her unsatisfactory career of nursing in Atlanta, but she wasn’t stupid. With a tense swallow at the adrenaline rush, she wanted to look away as he closed his eyes—in relief, in embarrassment, maybe both. As much as he was an arrogant asshole, she deduced he was hurting. He was skittish, more like a rabid dog than a man, and she fought the pity she always felt when her heart bled for her patients.
As suddenly as he had struck her down, the man jumped to his feet. With trembling fingers, he rubbed at his face. She sat on the wet pavement, letting her shorts dampen as he paced back and forth.
“You going to sit there all day or move the car?”
She smirked at his sharp question. All bite and no bark after a scare, I bet. “You’re not going to help me up?”
Dependence on someone for something as simple as standing up seemed brainless to her, but she wanted to piss him off. Nothing like a dose of petty anger to chase away the fear he had experienced.
He swore under his breath as he stopped and looked to the sky, then came back toward her, his face still covered in the depth of his hat.
In a thrust of impatience, he stuck his hand out to help her up. Kelly ignored the extension and stood on her own. He glared at her.
“Principle of it.” She crouched to the ground to gather her stuff. She tore her gaze from his unsteady hands.
“Goddammit, my candy’s getting wet.” She whined, hoping her petty bitching would distract him from his panic attack and hide the pity he might catch on her face.
On her haunches, she picked up the loose scattered articles, and he squatted to help her after taking a deep calming breath. She shook the water from the soaked Junior Mints, then tossed them back in her purse. He studied her well-worn copy of Grapes of Wrath before shoving it at her and she scooped up her loose change.
“Well, lookie what we have here.”
They both turned at the slow, exaggerated drawl from the driver’s side of the car that pulled to a stop at Kelly’s rear bumper. The patrol car shifted to park, cleanly blocking her in.
The man’s scowl deepened momentarily and then he looked at the birth control package in one hand and the tampon in the other. Kelly bit her lip. Stranger or not,
it was weird to see her feminine belongings in the dirty rough hands of a man. She snatched them back.
“He giving you trouble, ma’am?” The cop exited and looked the man over carefully.
Eddie started yapping again.
Hon. Ma’am. The staple endearments were already getting on her nerves. “Ma’am? Please. I’m probably hardly older than you.” Kelly scoffed.
“He giving you trouble?”
“What do you want?” Irritation sparked from the man’s question. “She’s moving her car.”
“No need to lose your temper, now.” The cop strode for the diner.
“What the hell are you doing?” The rain came down harder, dimming the man’s yell.
“Getting my coffee and piece a’ pecan pie.” He was nearly inside the shelter of the diner.
“Move your—” A crack of thunder silenced his shout. Kelly winced at the following swear.
“Mr. Parker…” The feeble old man’s voice called under the drone of the rain.
“Eddie, shut up,” Kelly said at the nonstop barking.
“Sit tight, Jared. Only take a second.” The man turned and wiped at his mouth, swore some more, then slammed a clenched fist on the car next to them. The car alarm beeped ominously.
He flinched at the commotion. “Goddammit!”
She couldn’t help it. Small laughs tickled from her lips.
He glared at her. “You think this is funny?”
Shaking her head, she tried to stop. “Lighten up.”
“Shut up,” he said to Eddie.
“Hey, I’ll tell my own dog to shut up!” She pointed to the patrol car. “He left the window cracked.”
“Brilliant observation. Now he’ll have a wet ass.”
She shook her head as she approached the cruiser. It wasn’t like she was enjoying the rain either. She squeezed her arm in the crack, popped the lock, then opened the door. After shoving the gear into neutral, she slammed the door shut and gestured to the car as though she was a Price is Right model.
“What the hell are you doing?” He glanced up at the windows in the diner.
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