Chapter 4
Juliette
After my run-in with that demented police officer, I was sure I’d made the worst decision of my life. Yet here I was alone in my classroom, surrounded by what the children had left for me.
Toys. Fruit. Pictures and letters, most likely written with help from their parents.
I sniffed hard, but my lip trembled and tears welled up anyway.
This was what my family couldn’t understand.
Why I wanted to teach.
Why I wanted to shape these innocent, open-hearted young minds.
My father was an investment banker.
My mother, a glorified housewife.
My sister edited a fashion magazine and barely acknowledged my existence unless it involved judgment.
Farrow’s End had been my escape and, as it turned out, the best decision I’d ever made. Everyone had been so friendly. So overwhelmingly welcoming.
A far cry from the city, where people would step over you mid-medical emergency without blinking.
I pulled off my glasses and yanked a tissue from the desk to dab my eyes, trying not to fall apart over crayon drawings and slightly bruised apples.
“Knock knock.”
I quickly put my glasses back on and smiled.
“Hi, Cathryn.”
“Cute,” she said, grinning at the haul on my desk. “But honestly, it’s probably gratitude because you’re not like the old battle-axe, Mrs Morris.”
“She couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Ugh, trust me. She was. She was my teacher.”
“Ouch.”
“Wanna hit the bar this weekend?”
“I wish I could, but I’ve got so much to do at the apartment.”
“Alright, when you’re free, we definitely need a night out.”
“Thanks, Cathryn. You’ve really helped me get into the groove of things here.”
“No problem. If you’ve got any questions about the school—or town—I’m your girl.”
I hesitated. I almost asked about the cop.
But the words stuck.
I was too embarrassed. If anyone found out about that traffic stop, my job could be at risk. That was the downside of small towns. Reputation was everything.
My smile slipped as she walked away.
My consequences were mine to carry.
?? ?? ??
I was elbow-deep in kitchen paint when the buzzer chimed.
I dropped the roller and gave my hands a quick wipe.
“Hello?”
“Hello, dear. Just here to welcome you to our town.”
Wow. My first home visitor.
“Yes, please, come up,” I said, buzzing her in.
I opened the door, and it didn’t take long for an older lady to walk up the stairs. She had something in her hands — wrapped in foil and good intentions.
“Hello, I’m Juliette,” I said with a warm smile.
Her faded blue eyes sparkled as she looked me over with obvious approval.
“Oh, you’ll do just fine, dearie. Doing a bit of painting?” she asked, nodding toward my hands as she passed me the package… and walked straight into my apartment.
I stood there blinking, then lifted the corner of the foil.
Sweet, baked goodness hit me in the face like a warm hug.
If this tasted as good as it smelled, she could move in.
I closed the door slowly, the scent of sugar and cinnamon still curling around me like a spell.
She settled onto the couch like she owned the place.
“I’m Grammy Mercer,” she said, patting the seat beside her. “But you can call me Grammy.”
Okay. No forename necessary.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I said, setting the still-warm package on the counter. “This looks amazing—thank you so much.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, dear. I always bring something sweet for new folks. Helps soften the shock of living here.”
She chuckled, like she hadn’t just walked into a stranger’s apartment uninvited.
I smiled and tucked my paint-specked hair behind my ear.
“It’s been a really kind welcome, actually. Everyone’s been friendly.”
“Well, that’s good. We’re protective of our own. Very tight-knit here in Farrow’s End.”
Something was in the way she said it—sweet, but laced with warning.
“And you’re the new teacher,” she added, nodding like she already knew the answer.
“Yes, first year teaching on my own. First time living away from home, actually.”
“Brave girl,” she said with an approving smile. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. And sturdy hips. That helps.”
I blinked.
“Sorry—what?”
She waved a hand.
“Nothing, dear. Just saying, you look healthy. Like you eat real food and don’t live on kale.”
Then she glanced toward my kitchen.
“You don’t sit back and wait for others, do you?”
I let out a nervous laugh.
“Yeah… nothing would get done if I had that attitude.”
“Mm. Resourceful.”
She sipped from a mug she hadn’t brought with her.
Where the hell did that come from?
“So,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Are you seeing anyone?”
I blinked again.
“Um… no.”
She smiled wider.
“Good. I mean—such a shame, of course.”
“Mrs. Mercer—”
“Grammy.”
“Uh, Grammy. Can I cut you a slice of pie with your drink?”
This was weird, but it was still nice of her to come around.
I didn’t even want to know how she found out where I lived.
Her smile stretched.
“That would be lovely, dear. You can tell me all about yourself.”
?? ?? ??
Grammy Mercer let herself out once she’d finished interrogating me.
She’d threatened me with another visit soon—next time, apparently, with her grandson in tow.
Something about him being handy. Said he could help me paint.
Like I couldn’t hold a roller on my own.
I stabbed the pie with my fork, still trying to decide if the visit had been friendly or hostile.
Probably both.
It was obvious she was trying to set me up. Knowing my luck, he was a guy in his 40s living in her basement.
I shook my head.
And she wasn’t even subtle about it.
“Sturdy hips,” my ass.
I stuffed a bite of red cherry goodness into my mouth and chewed in silence.
It might’ve been worth it for the pie.