Chapter 6
six
BONNIE
By six thirty the following afternoon, I was dragging.
My late night—or early morning, however you wanted to look at it—had caught up with me, and no amount of coffee could help. But I couldn’t bail on bowling league tonight. It had been my idea initially—before my divorce—to form a team with my family and friends.
I’d asked Larry to participate, but my cousin had said there was no way we were getting her to put her feet into shoes that were still warm and moist from someone else’s body. Apparently, bowling was a hard no for her, even when I’d suggested she buy her own bowling shoes like I did.
Becca, our newest resident of Kirby Falls and my cousin Will’s fiancée, had a knitting group on Wednesdays and couldn’t join us. And Chloe, my good friend who worked at Grandpappy’s, had other obligations keeping her busy.
So our team became the Orchard Sisters with just me and Mac, and then my best friend, Candace, and her older sister, Joan, both of whom were Brady’s sisters and worked at the apple farm across the street from Grandpappy’s. We met every two weeks for league night down at the Lucky Strike Lanes.
I wasn’t a skilled bowler on the best of days, but tonight’s performance was sure to be in the gutter, literally. I’d mostly wanted to start a team for the social aspect—something fun to do with my friends and family that wasn’t just book club once a month.
Looking back, I could see that I’d been lonely in my marriage.
And then that marriage had fallen apart.
Now, ironically, socializing was one of the last things I wanted to do.
Mostly due to the fact that Danny also participated in a bowling league with his coworkers and friends from down at the garage.
The Begley Auto Boys were currently at the opposite end of the alley, thanks to Jemma, who worked behind the counter and handled league night. She’d greeted me tonight and called Danny a “fuckface who deserved the shittiest lane in the place.”
It had been nice of her. Better than being asked how I was doing every five minutes.
“How are you doing?” Mac asked suddenly, holding out a plastic container of nachos. The cheese was violently orange.
I shook my head at the offered snack and kept entering our names into the score-keeping software. “I’m good.”
I didn’t think my sister actually wanted to hear that I was slightly nauseous over my ex-husband’s proximity. And even if she did, I didn’t want the world to know I was this weak.
Everything was so complicated. How could you still miss someone who’d broken all your walls and then buried you in them?
That beneath the bitterness and resentment I couldn’t seem to scrub away, there was a layer of hurt and bewilderment that somehow my marriage had ended here, with me tense and clammy-handed at the other side of the bowling alley, faking happiness.
My sister’s concerned stare was burning a hole in the side of my head, but I ignored her. Finally, she gave up and walked back to the table behind our lane, her dark ponytail swinging.
Once I had the computer all set up, I joined my teammates.
“I got you a corn dog,” Candace said, nudging the paper tray in my direction.
We cheers’d, tapping our deep-fried dinners together before taking huge bites. Candace was smiling so hard, hers nearly fell out of her mouth.
Candace Judd and I hadn’t been friends long, but we’d clicked right away. She’d returned to Kirby Falls two summers ago after a bad breakup and job loss.
As kids and adolescents, we’d only vaguely been in each other’s orbits.
At five years her senior, I hadn’t been in any of Candace’s classes or extracurriculars, but I’d always known who she was, if not the details of her life.
She’d been the popular girl, the valedictorian and the homecoming queen, whip smart and goal oriented.
Candace had been a prime example of a successful small-town girl making good in the big city.
But she hadn’t been happy there. Luckily, upon her return, she’d found her place, incidentally, working at her family’s orchard. She handled things behind the scenes with social media and marketing, as well as on outreach and education, planning group tours and local student field trips.
Judd’s Orchard was across the street from Grandpappy’s—my family’s farm—and had a somewhat smaller, more niche operation when compared to Grandpappy’s sprawling acreage and year-round attractions.
Candace worked with her parents, her boyfriend, Mark Mercer, her brother, Brady, and her sister, Joan.
Speaking of Joan, she was watching us happily devour our corn dogs with a look of disgust. “I don’t know how you can eat that.”
“Junk food is good for the soul, Joanie,” Candace told her sister before wiping mustard from the corner of her mouth.
I laughed into my napkin at the horror on Joan’s face.
She was a healthy person who had nailed that whole treat-your-body-like-a-temple thing. She ran nearly every morning—on purpose—and ate well. At thirty-five, she was in way better shape than the rest of us sitting at this table.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the granola I’d made for her, along with the high-protein yogurt cup I’d packed before leaving the house. “Here you go, Joan.”
Her dark eyebrows drew together. “You didn’t need to do that.”
Smiling, I assured her, “I know. But the food here isn’t really your speed, and I didn’t want you to be miserable until you could get home. I know you don’t like to eat too late at night. There’s a whole big batch of that granola. I’ll bring the rest by the orchard for you.”
“You made it?”
“Yeah. It has flax and chia seeds, almonds, pumpkin seeds, and a little bit of vanilla and honey.”
“Thank you, Bonnie,” Joan said earnestly.
She was a serious person by nature, not given over to silliness or flights of fancy.
Basically, the last person on the planet who would willingly plan a bachelorette party or be caught line dancing.
Even still, I could tell she was genuinely touched by my gesture.
I grinned. “You’re welcome.”
See, that was how a polite exchange went when you made something for someone and they accepted it graciously. Jack could stand to take some lessons.
Speaking of Jack, I’d scrolled back through our early-morning texts more times than I should probably admit.
In the light of day, I wasn’t any more embarrassed, but I definitely wasn’t planning on texting him again.
I’d done my duty and sent the required message about Brady helping.
Everything else had been . . . extra. A pleasant surprise.
A surreptitious mishap. A nocturnal emission. No, wait. That wasn’t right.
“Are we going to talk about why Brady went out today and bought a printer and is currently at home fighting with said printer in order to print out sample soccer training agendas and a practice schedule for a bunch of eight-year-old girls?”
“What?” Candace asked. “Why would my brother be doing that?”
“I don’t know,” Mac replied, fluttering her lashes. “You want to tell the class, Bon?”
Brady must have told Mac about coaching. I’d expected it. Brady was a good guy like that.
Sighing, I muttered, “It’s because I asked Brady if he’d be willing to help coach one of the parks and rec teams. Some of my second graders.”
“Did Eloise guilt you into volunteering or something?” Candace wondered before taking another bite of corn dog.
“No, nothing like that.”
My sister wiggled her eyebrows at me and made a face that very plainly said, Are you going to tell them or do I get the pleasure?
I wiped my mouth on my napkin and placed it back in my lap. “Actually, I told Jack I’d try to get him some help. He’s the one who was guilted by Eloise Carter, and apparently he doesn’t know anything about soccer. I stumbled on their practice yesterday after school, and I saw a way I could help.”
“You saw a way you could help,” Mac parroted. “Okay, Mother Teresa.”
Joan snickered.
“Wait,” Candace said. “Jack who?”
“Jack Ellis, a bartender over at Magnolia,” Mac answered helpfully. “I guess the bar is sponsoring the team, and he’s the poor sucker stuck on coaching duty.”
I watched as Candace turned that over in her head before her eyes widened. “Doesn’t he drive a motorcycle and wear a leather jacket?”
“He does,” Joan answered absently as she stirred granola into her yogurt.
My friend grinned at me excitedly.
Candace and I had binged three seasons of Sons of Anarchy together last fall. She knew how I felt about motorcycling-riding bad boys. That they were essentially my attraction catnip.
And looking at Candace’s still-pleased expression, the one bordering on maniacal glee, she’d obviously completely missed the part about how it was all a fantasy.
Normal people didn’t want to roar off into the sunset with violent MC members just because they looked good in their riding leathers. It was one thing to watch a television show and lust after fictional characters. Motorcycle gang members weren’t actually my type.
And neither was Jack Ellis.
I didn’t know if I even had a type. The only man I’d ever been with was tall and slim with light brown hair and a mustache I hadn’t been a fan of.
Danny was a quiet guy who spent most of his time in garage coveralls.
He was close with his family, and I didn’t think there was an adventure-seeking bone in his body. We’d been alike in that regard.
I made eye contact with Candace and gave her a subtle headshake.
She must have gotten the message because she tamped down her wide grin and didn’t say anything else about motorcycle men.
A loud cheer went up at the other end of the bowling alley, thankfully drawing everyone’s attention away from the topic of Jack. But when I tracked the hooting and high-fiving to the four grown men in the final lane, my gaze inadvertently collided with my ex-husband’s.
My stomach clenched uncomfortably, and I looked away.