Chapter 10
Olive didn’t sleep that night, both excited and unsettled. Excited because she had another new client. Unsettled because she still hadn’t heard from her parents, and even though no one else seemed worried, she was.
But also . . . she couldn’t stop thinking about Noah’s parting shot about her leaving . . .
You certainly know how.
True, by the way. Yes, in a way, he’d left her too when he hadn’t even tried to track her down himself. But this wasn’t about him, it was about her. She’d gotten really good at leaving over the years. She’d left her parents as a teenager. She’d left Noah, good reason or not. She’d left Katie, who hadn’t deserved it. She’d also left one of only two semiserious relationships with men.
She was a Leaver.
But actually, that was a lie she told herself. The truth was, she didn’t know how to handle love. The girl who’d fallen in love with her fake boyfriend at age sixteen hadn’t known how to deal with it, and she still didn’t know, because somehow, no matter how much she tried to do things differently, deep down she still felt like that weird, off-the-grid kid who no one knew how to relate to.
Just before dawn, her alarm went off. Groggy, she showered, dressed, and tiptoed downstairs to the living room, going still at the sight of Noah sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep.
On top of him lay an also-sleeping Holmes.
And curled against the dog’s chest sat Pepper. The little kitten was wide awake, eyes narrowed on Olive.
The cutie pie was on the job, guarding her two men.
Olive pulled on a jacket and stepped quietly outside, where the cold air had her breath turning into little puffy clouds. Since she was allergic to mornings, she didn’t often see a sunrise, but she’d been missing out because the sky was a gorgeous wash of pinks and purples, illuminating the landscape with a vibrant, almost surreal glow.
Today was the town’s monthly farmer’s market, something her parents never missed. Once a month, they sold their wares there: her mom’s soaps, candles, and jewelry, and her dad’s plants—at least the legal ones.
If all was okay with them, they’d be there.
The event was hugely popular, and already parking was scarce, which made her doubly glad for the Mini Cooper. She could park it anywhere, including the sidewalk if she had to, which she’d done at least three times since being back in Sunrise Cove.
One of those times was even on purpose.
“Olive? Olive Turner?”
Turning, she came face to face with Henry Milson. They’d gone to school together; he’d been on the varsity baseball team with Noah.
“Wow, it is you,”
he said, still tall, still handsome, still annoying. “The girl who ran over the town hero.”
She managed a smile. “And it’s you, the boy who thought he was God’s gift.”
He tipped his head back and laughed. “Still not afraid to speak your mind. And look at you, you turned out great. We should go out sometime.”
Her first thought was that he was messing with her, but he was smiling, looking friendly. “Sure you want to risk it?”
she asked. “I might run you over.”
He grinned. “I’ll drive.”
She snorted. “Thanks, but I’m going to pass.”
He handed her a business card, which said he ran a local bike shop. “If you change your mind, look me up.”
“Sure,”
she said, waiting until he’d walked on to drop his card in the trash. She made her way through the aisles, experiencing a déjà vu. Or maybe it was just memories. How many Saturday mornings had she and Katie spent here, admiring all the different things for sale, eating their weight in churros and street corn and whatever else they could afford, pooling their resources from chores and babysitting.
For as long as she could remember, her parents had rented their space on the far south side, last aisle, in the middle.
But when she got there, all she saw was an empty booth.
“Olive! Yoohoo, Olive!”
Turning, she found her high school English teacher waving to her from the booth across the way. Mrs. Carlyle was selling her infamous knit goods: scarfs, blankets, stuffed animals, hats, and, Olive’s favorite, “man mitts,”
and no, they didn’t go on a man’s hands. The woman was somewhere between sixty and immortal, and was wearing a T-shirt that read I knit because stabbing people is frowned upon. She’d always been incredibly kind to Olive, so she smiled and waved. “Yep, it’s me. The girl who ran over the town hero.”
Mrs. Carlyle blinked. “Well, I’m sure it was an accident, dear. And how lovely to see you. Where are your parents today?”
“I was wondering the same thing. I thought they’d be here.”
“They’re here every second Saturday of the month without fail,”
Mrs. Carlyle said. “I don’t think they’ve ever missed one. Well, except for the occasional Grateful Dead concert or musical festival.”
Not good news. Olive turned at the sound of footsteps. Amy stood there, holding a tote bag full of fresh veggies and fruit. She eyed the empty booth, then Olive. “This doesn’t necessarily mean anything,”
she said gently. “Your mom loves a good time above all else, so if something came up that called to her, it’s very likely she chose that over being here today.”
Surprise filled Olive. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other that well.”
Amy shrugged. “We went to school together.”
Since neither Amy nor Olive’s mom had ever mentioned being friends, Olive hadn’t had any idea. “Were you close?”
“No. But I’ll ask around here today for you, see if anyone’s heard from them.”
“I’d appreciate that, thanks,”
Olive said, but Amy had already walked off.
“I bet you didn’t know I was also your mom’s English teacher back in the day,”
Mrs. Carlyle said.
And the surprises kept coming. “I had no idea.”
“Amy’s too.”
Mrs. Carlyle tilted her head. “You don’t know, do you?”
Uh-oh. “Know what?”
“That they were mortal enemies in school.”
Olive felt her jaw hit the floor. “What?”
“Oh, honey, the stories I could tell you.”
“I’m listening.”
Mrs. Carlyle smiled. “I adored your mom. Violet was such a shy one. Not the sharpest in her year, but she did the best she could under the circumstances.”
Olive’s mom had told her very little about her growing up years, just that her own mom had walked away, leaving only her dad to raise her. They’d lived paycheck to paycheck, and Olive’s mom had spent a lot of time alone or unsupervised because her dad had worked long hours at a lumberyard.
“She was at a disadvantage being that she didn’t have anyone at home really looking after her,”
Mrs. Carlyle said. “Poor thing was scrappy, though. And . . .”
“And what?”
“Well, she didn’t fit in, not really. Honestly, she didn’t seem to want to. As a result, she was frequently bullied. Not that we used that word back in those days. Mostly, teachers and admin turned a blind eye to such things, letting the kids work out their problems on their own.”
The story was uncomfortably similar to Olive’s own, and it made her realize she had some more things in common with her mom than she’d even known. “Do you remember who bullied her?”
Mrs. Carlyle’s gaze looked beyond Olive, so she turned to see who the woman was looking at.
Amy, who’d stopped a few booths away and was picking out some vegetables.
Olive turned back to Mrs. Carlyle, a thousand questions on her tongue, but a group of people stopped at the woman’s booth.
How was it that neither her mom nor Amy had ever mentioned their past? But come to think of it, she’d never seen the two interact, mostly because her own mom had rarely if ever come to Sunrise Cove.
Her phone buzzed an incoming call from Katie. “Joe?”
Olive asked quickly.
“Nothing yet. Did you find your parents at the farmer’s market?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, but I was thinking. Isn’t this around the time of year they go hiking with that nudist colony they love?”
Things you don’t want to picture . . . “That was last month.”
“There’s still a chance they’ve just lost track of time.”
True enough. She tried to shrug it off. “They’ll show up.”
“They will.”
Olive found a smile. “Look at you being all positive. I don’t think I’ve told you how happy I am to be back in Sunrise Cove with you. I know I don’t tell you enough how much you mean to me, mostly because you hate mushy stuff, but—”
“Mushy stuff isn’t allowed. It’s in our rules.”
Olive snorted. “I just wanted to make sure you know how much I love you—”
Olive pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. “Aaaand she’s gone.”
With a short laugh, she headed out. Five minutes later she was getting back into her car while munching on her third churro—because why have one when you could have three and a gut ache to boot?
Back at home, she checked in on Gram, then worked for several hours until her alarm went off, reminding her to get to Joey’s game. After parking at the fields, she walked to the stands, where she found herself grinning because . . .
T-ball.
Big, badass Noah Turner was coaching T-ball.
He stood near home base wearing jeans, jersey, baseball cap, and a pained expression, watching as his team bounced around the field like a bunch of tumbleweeds in the wind. When he sharply blew his whistle, the pandemonium came to an immediate halt.
“Bring it in,”
he said with calm authority. Which, damn, was really annoyingly hot.
He gestured the kids in closer. Whatever was said in the huddle, she had no idea, but they all clapped, yelled “Cubs!”
in semiunison, and then scattered back to the outfield.
The first kid up from the other team was so short, he had to swing up to reach the ball—which flew about three feet and died.
No one in the field moved toward the ball.
“Teddy,”
Noah called out. “That’s you.”
“Oh!”
Teddy ran from the mound to pick up the ball and dropped it. Twice.
Olive was pretty sure she could hear Noah grinding his back teeth to powder.
Someone behind her on the stands leaned in. “Isn’t it good to see him out there again?”
Olive took a peek. It was Gina Davies, who’d dated Noah briefly in high school. Since she was wearing a big fat diamond ring on that finger, it was safe to say she’d moved on. Olive smiled noncommittally.
“After you ran him over,”
Gina said, “none of us thought we’d see him back on the field ever again.”
“Actually,”
Olive said, “he’s not on the field. He’s on the sidelines. Coaching.”
“Well, the boys are lucky to have him.”
Gina cupped her perfectly manicured hands around her perfectly glossed lips and went category-five stage mom as she yelled, “Sammy! Look alive out there, baby! This is your calling!”
She sat back and lowered her voice. “Assuming his future girlfriend doesn’t take it all away from him, that is.”
A woman on the other side of Olive patted her knee. “Honey, don’t listen to her. Hardly anyone still blames you.”
Olive had no idea who the woman was, but she searched her brain for something to say. “Great day for this.”
A man behind her snorted. “Yeah, if you’re on the other team.”
The Cubs’ right fielder was sitting on the grass, facing away from the game, pulling daisies. Their first baseman appeared to be singing a song to himself and dancing like no one was watching. And their third baseman was working on his somersault game.
Noah stood on the sidelines, hands on hips, staring down at his shoes, whether to hide his smile, or just so he didn’t have to watch the calamity, was anyone’s guess.
When it was the Cubs’ turn at bat, Noah’s day didn’t improve any. The first batter kept missing the ball entirely, probably because his eyes were closed.
Noah swiped a hand down his face. “Carlos,”
he said with what looked like remarkable restraint. “Eyes on the ball. Which means your eyes have to be open.”
A few more batters came and went, all fouling out. Noah appeared to have gained an eye tic.
When the teams took a brief break between innings, Olive walked over to the fence, only a few feet away from where Noah was giving a pep talk. Well, maybe not exactly a pep talk.
“We’re not the Bad News Bears, here, guys. We got this.”
“Who are the Bad News Bears?”
a couple kids wanted to know.
Noah gave a rare sigh.
Olive laughed.
He craned his neck and leveled a look her way. “Having a good time?”
“I mean, it’s not a bad time.”
She smiled at the look on his face. “Come on, it’s T-ball. What did you expect?”
“I’ve got no idea.”
He lowered his voice. “This might surprise you, but I suck at this.”
“At what, being motivating? Gentle? Understanding?”
“Yes,”
he said, and made her laugh again. He gave a small head shake, but he also almost smiled on the inside, she could tell.
One of the kids ran up to Noah and wrapped their arms around Noah’s long legs. “Coach! There’s a snake in the dugout! A big, scary snake!”
Noah patted the kid on the back, then disentangled himself as a panicked murmur grew among the parents in the stands. Kids were running around, screaming like they were in a horror flick as Noah headed toward the snake sighting.
Was his limp less noticeable today? Olive hoped he felt good enough to run from the snake if need be, but then, in less than a minute, he came back out . . . carrying a black snake, which was at least a mile long. Okay, three feet, but still.
“Just a garter snake,”
he called out to everyone. “Harmless.”
He then headed to the end of the outfield. Beyond the fence was open land covered in hip-high wild grass. Noah let the snake loose there and then stood a beat, his back to the stands, hands on hips as he presumably watched the snake slither off. Apparently satisfied the snake wouldn’t return, he came back.
“Damn, he’s the hottest thing on two legs,”
a woman whispered somewhere to the right of Olive.
“He’s the hottest thing on the entire planet, two legs or otherwise,”
another woman whispered.
“You do realize I’m sitting right next to you, Cheryl,”
a man sitting at the woman’s side said.
“Yes, Bob, I do realize. I also realize that if we’d found a snake in our yard, you’d run right over the top of me to get away.”
“Well, that’s just survival instincts,” Bob said.
Olive was dealing with her own survival instincts, and they were screaming at her that she was feeling things that she shouldn’t be feeling, especially since once upon a time, those particular feelings had nearly destroyed her.