Chapter Ten James #2
“Fooey nonsense. Quit acting high-and-mighty, Noah, or I’ll bring out the picture of you running around town in your Batman undies and frame it over this damn table.”
He shrugs. “You’ve been threatening me with that for years, but I’ve never seen any evidence. I think you’re full of hot air.”
She grins. “Care to try me?”
They have a stare-down for a few chilling moments and then Noah’s expression softens. “How can we help you with your display, Mabel?”
“That’s more like it.” She looks pleased as punch. “I need a few muscular people—I’m not picky on the gender—to help me move a few hay bales onto my front porch sometime over the next couple weeks.”
“And where . . . ?” I begin, already knowing the answer. “May I ask, where are you getting the hay bales from?”
She looks me dead in the eye. “Your farm. I need three. And now I won’t be paying you either, so don’t ask for it because I’m just a broke old lady.”
“You’re rich as hell, Mabel, and everyone knows it,” says Will, tossing a sugar packet at her.
She flutters her lashes in his direction. “Rich in beauty.”
We all look up as a chilling shadow that could only belong to one person falls over the table.
Harriet, owner of the Market and Mabel’s number one enemy.
Harriet is the complete opposite of Mabel.
She wears her silver hair pulled back into a severe bun that tugs at the nearly translucent skin of her face.
She rarely wears anything with color and delights in proving she owns the moral high ground.
They’re around the same age, both grew up in this town, and I will be forever curious what their history is like. But I’ll likely never know.
“Mabel, what are you doing interrupting their get-together? You are not one of the boys. Leave them be.”
“I can be one of the boys if I want to.”
Harriet stares her down. “You never can tell when you’re not wanted.”
Mabel lifts her chin. “You’re just jealous because people like me everywhere I go, meanwhile they duck and cover to avoid your sermonizing.”
“Actually,” says Jack, sliding out of the booth, “I do have to get going. But let the record show it has nothing to do with your sermonizing, Harriet. And I think you both could stand to be a little nicer to each other.”
They both wince. He’s still too new to the town to fully understand.
A sudden thought strikes Harriet. “Wait. This is about the summer display, isn’t it? That’s cheating if you get their help.”
“I haven’t seen a sheet of rules.” Mabel’s nose goes into the air. “Appreciate you stopping by to pee in our Cheerios, but you can be on your way now.”
Harriet levels a glare at Mabel. “I’m going to find that list of rules, and when I do you’ll be disqualified.”
“Then you can get a pity win by default.” She taps her temple mockingly. “Smart thinking.” Mabel is a genius at outmaneuvering Harriet.
But Harriet can also hold her own. Before walking away, she leaves Mabel with a closing remark. “At least the trophy will only say “winner.”
To Harriet’s rigid retreating back, Mabel shouts, “I thought Christians weren’t supposed to idolize things!” Harriet grabs her to-go bag and walks out the door without ever looking back. “Dammit, that sounded desperate, didn’t it?” Mabel asks our table.
We all mumble a version of yep.
A few minutes later, Noah and Will tell us they have to leave.
Noah nods a goodbye to Mabel because he’s not one to show affection even though she’s definitely his favorite person on earth other than Amelia.
Will, on the other hand, goes around the booth, bends to wrap his tattooed arms around Mabel’s frame with a big squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.
She pats his face and tells him to have a good day.
His smug ass assumes he’s Mabel’s favorite. Wrong. It’s me.
“And now it’s just us and we can finally get to the good stuff . . .” she says, proving my point and twisting toward me in the booth.
“Gossip time?”
“I have tons for you today.” Her eyes drop to my wallet, resting on the table.
“Oh, are you leaving already?” Mabel looks gutted by the prospect, which is odd because normally she’s the last person to let her feelings show.
She has sad puppy eyes, pleading that I don’t leave yet.
And now I wonder if Mabel hasn’t been sharing her stories not out of fear of death but out of loneliness.
Maybe she hasn’t had anyone else to talk to.
I pocket my wallet. “Listen, I’ve been cooped up at the farm too much this week, and my supply of juicy gossip is running dangerously low. I’m not going anywhere until I hear what the hell happened with Clara and that woman at the salon last week.”
“That’s a good story.” Mabel’s eyes brighten.
“But we’ve gotta hurry because I have an appointment to get to in a bit.”
She nods. “Go get yourself another cup of this shit they call coffee and we’ll get to it.”
Before I slide out of the booth, I meet her eyes. “Mabel . . . I’m your favorite, right?”
She pats my hand several times. “Sure.”
“And how often have you been experiencing the dizzy spells?” asks Dr. Macky while pressing the stethoscope to my chest.
“Oh . . . you know . . . here and there. Nothing too bad.”
“And how are you sleeping?”
I situate, hating the way the paper under my ass crinkles as I do. “Like a baby.”
“Mm-hmm. And what about the headaches?”
“They come and go.” The fluorescent lights in this damn doctor’s office definitely won’t do me any favors, though. I hate it in here. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“James.” Dr. Macky stares into my eyes, right through my soul.
“Yes?”
Her right eyebrow arches. “You are aware that I’m your doctor, right?”
“I figured. The white coat gave you away.”
“And you’re aware that you scheduled this appointment because you were concerned about your dizzy spells, headaches, sleeplessness, and fatigue?
Right? I didn’t break into your house and abduct you, throw you into a van and force you to sit on the crinkle paper you’ve hated since you were ten years old while I examine you. ”
I tip forward. “That statement taught me a lot about your TV viewing preferences.”
“James!”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”
“Are you ready to cooperate? Because this is serious and I need your honest answers. Based on your elevated blood pressure reading, something is going on, and I can’t get to the bottom of it if you don’t answer my questions honestly.”
I look toward the pamphlet rack, filled with terrifying information about how you might die one day, and let out a breath. “My dad had a heart attack.”
I don’t need to say this to her; she has been our family doctor for decades. Sometimes I wonder if she’s actually immortal, because for as long as I’ve known her she’s been in her fifties.
“I know,” she says softly. “And as his doctor, I can say with certainty that if he had been seeing me regularly before the heart attack, it might not have happened at all. Which is why it’s good you’re here now.”
My dad always seemed so healthy to me. So strong and capable. Until a random Wednesday two years ago when he suddenly wasn’t. We almost lost him to that heart attack, but he pulled through. It was a wake-up call, one that came with a congestive heart failure diagnosis.
I really had no choice after that but to step up and take over the farm for him.
My mom didn’t even have to beg him to release it—that was the wildest part.
He had been partially “retired” for two years before that but couldn’t stay away from the farm.
The heart attack shook him so badly that he said he was ready to sign the whole thing over to me.
Said he’d trust me to keep the legacy alive while he and Mom embraced retirement in sunny Florida.
And now here I am, facing financial ruin and putting all my faith in a new restaurant to revive it.
Without the investor deal that Tommy snagged, I wouldn’t have even been able to open the restaurant.
Everything is hinging on it—a fact that I’ll continue to absorb the weight of so Madison doesn’t have to carry it.
“I don’t . . . I can’t have a heart attack right now. There are too many people relying on me.”
Dr. Macky’s head tilts empathetically. “James, if I can speak frankly, a heart attack doesn’t give a shit about your schedule or how many people depend on you.
It’s time to take care of yourself and get your blood pressure under control before it becomes a long-term problem like it has for your dad.
” She pauses, letting those words soak in.
When she seems satisfied that she’s thoroughly shaken me, she adds, “Now. Let’s start from the top with my questions and then we’ll discuss next steps. ”