Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
W ith one fist, Rose tightened her rain jacket around her neck as she hurried into town, her rain boots kicking water up with each stride. The patch of blue sky she’d seen when she’d left the cottage had been a lie. The storm wasn’t supposed to hit for a few more hours.
The sky became grayer, the raindrops harder as she walked the path through the woods. When she broke from the trees to cross Ash Street, the wind shoved the rain into drifts that wove and battered everything in its path, including her. She forced one rain boot in front of the other.
Why hadn’t she checked the battery supply earlier?
She’d known the storm was coming. The weather forecast declared there was no hiding from it.
High winds were expected. She should have thought about the possibility of a power outage, but she’d been too focused on the rendering of her attacker by the sketch artist Reggie sent.
An image real enough to haunt her thoughts.
Rose held up a hand as if she could divide the rain to create a clear path for herself to walk through.
Rain snuck in beneath her collar where the top button had fallen off long ago.
With every gust, her jacket flapped, exposing her messenger bag beneath.
At least she’d had the sense to use her old bag, the one without her laptop inside.
Her destination came into sight. The bell on the door of Hanover’s Hardware bounced with a strangled jingle as she fought to push the door open. It slammed closed behind her before she could stop it.
She removed her rain jacket; it was dripping.
With stiff fingers, she hung it on the coatrack by the entrance.
A small puddle formed beneath it on the floor.
With her boots, she adjusted the towels on the floor to catch the drips.
She reached up to scrape the rogue strands of hair out of her face.
The wind had done its best to dismantle the braid she’d woven before tackling this idiotic errand.
“Who’s that there?” An older man, hunched and weathered by time, appeared in the main aisle that ran through the middle of the store.
“It’s Rose Finch, Mr. Hanover.” She moved forward so he could see her clearly. “I need to buy some batteries for my lanterns.”
He looked her up and down, his expression skeptical. “Just batteries?”
“Yes, sir, that’s it for today.” It would be best to let him help her. She’d get home faster. He was a lifetime fixture in Evers Hollow but a cranky, suspicious one, always on the lookout for shoplifters. She’d learned that lesson in her childhood.
“Sure you don’t need any kerosene or lamp oil?” His wrinkled face and coke bottle glasses came into better focus as he shuffled towards her.
“If I was in the main house, I would, but I’m in the gardener’s cottage still. The lanterns will be fine.” She pressed her hands together. She should have worn gloves.
“Candles?”
“I stocked up last time I came in.” She hoped that was true.
He harrumphed, took off his glasses and cleaned them with a bandanna from his chest pocket. “What size?”
“D batteries. I need at least an eight-pack.”
He brightened and motioned for her to follow him. “I keep them by the register. Had an issue with theft. Everybody wants AAs. Makes it hard to keep them in stock. Only time people buy C’s and D’s anymore is cuz of storms like this and them hurricanes that come through.”
The last hurricane caused significant damage. It had downed trees, damaged homes, and flooded the storefronts closest to the river. Asheville had gotten it much worse.
Evers Hollow received its share of problem storms. There was a solid chance a tree would fall somewhere and take the power with it. She didn’t fear the dark, but she liked being able to see her surroundings, especially when she was working on a book.
She said, “I try to keep batteries on hand. All the sizes. When I looked this afternoon, I only had two Ds left.” Her lanterns each took four.
“Mayor said there might be sleet and snow.” Mr. Hanover moved to the back wall, past the long register counter. The scent of metal and oil grew stronger as she followed him back.
“That would be unusual.” It was sixty-one degrees outside, but stranger things had happened in their little nook.
He showed her the battery display. She pulled her selections off their hooks, cradled them against her without moving her injured arm.
Her dose of ibuprofen was wearing off. She followed him to the counter.
The scrapes and dents along the thick wood stood testament to how long this store had been here.
He rang up her purchase while she took in the view of tall shelves with small engine parts behind him.
The faint sound of a television came from the back of the store.
She paid in cash with exact change from the damp bag beneath her rain jacket. He preferred that. A long ago memory, maybe something Magnolia told them. She was surprised his wife hadn’t come out to say hello. She always greeted the customers.
Rose opened her mouth to inquire about Mrs. Hanover.
A scrawny black cat jumped onto the counter between them.
She flinched. “Cat.”
The single word came out of her as if she’d never seen one before. She’d never seen a cat like this.
Mr. Hanover reached out and stroked the feline. “A stray. Keeps me company. Young Rose, meet Smokie.” The man almost smiled as his hand ran over its ragged back.
Rose wanted to say something complimentary about the cat.
It was a struggle. It looked like someone had removed half its fur and tried to glue it back on.
One of its ears was damaged enough to appear missing.
Straight out of Pet Sematary . The cat stared at her.
Its yellow eyes held no offer of friendship.
One of them oozed. Rose took a half step back.
“I found him covered in mud in that last storm we had. Somebody set him on fire. Teenagers today got no respect for animals.”
Rose broke eye contact with the cat and looked at him. “That’s horrible. It’s a good thing you found him.”
“Me and Smokie are friends now. He wasn’t too trusting at first.” He held up his forearm. Half-healed scratches crossed his flesh. “We got an understanding now, don’t we, Smokie?” His voice softened as he rubbed the feline’s head, its undamaged ear straight up as it emitted a mangled meow.
“I took him straight to the veterinarian, had to wrap him in a towel to keep him from harming me.”
She listened as his story continued, but the storm divided her attention. Repetitive sounds came from the metal roof above. Was that hail?
When the overhead lights flickered, he said, “You best get home. It’s getting darker.”
Batteries in her bag, jacket back on, she left the hardware store.
It was hail mixed in with icy rain. Both pelted her back and the top of her hood with an overzealous tune.
Her rain jacket repelled most of the water.
Between it and her peony rain boots, parts of her remained dry.
Her jeans, however, did not. They clung to her legs uncomfortably as she moved away from the store. The wind pushed at her.
Why hadn’t she driven?
After a few blocks, an illuminated open sign came into view. There was no hesitation. She reached for the door and stepped inside. She forced the door shut behind her and leaned against it, her breath loud in the absence of wind.
Rose looked up to see red and orange walls—Firebrew. Not a bar. Somewhere familiar and warm. Her hands pushed back her hood as Shirley came towards her.
“Rose Everson Finch, have you lost your mind? Out in this hell of a storm!” Shirley looked her over, obvious shock in her eyes.
She forced the words through her teeth before they chattered. “Batteries. Had to buy batteries.”
Molly came into view, her mouth gaped open. Rose winced as Shirley’s voice came out again, shrill. “Did you walk here?”
Both mother and daughter stood with their hands on their hips, glaring at her. They looked so similar in appearance—dark hair, dark brown eyes, ageless. She imagined they were often mistaken for sisters rather than mother and daughter.
Rose said, “It was sunny when I left the cottage. Mr. Hanover delayed me some. Told me about his horror cat. I didn’t even know he had a cat.” Her chilled fingers moved to the oversized buttons of her raincoat. Slipped one free.
They continued to stare.
“I need to warm up some before I head home.”
A sound of disgust came from Shirley, her voice still shrill. “Young lady, you will not walk home in this.”
Another voice broke into the conversation. A masculine one. “I’ll take her home.”
That voice. She knew it. Rose whirled around.
Maybe Willow was right.
Finn Murphy was back in Evers Hollow again, his eyes dark in the low light of the coffeehouse as he sipped something steamy from a burgundy mug. He sat in her corner, the one she always claimed as hers.
In her favorite Firebrew cozy chair.
At her favorite coffee house.
Wearing a cable knit fisherman’s sweater.
Damn.
So not fair. She loved cable knit fisherman sweaters, especially on him.
He stood. She heard a tiny whimper. It may have come from her.
He, too, must have been caught in the storm.
Not as long, though. His clothes looked dry.
Light caught the nestled raindrops in his wet hair as he moved towards her.
Shirley and Molly spoke. Their words were cloudy, as were their movements around her.
Her fingers stalled over the next button. Her throat felt tight, rejecting her attempt to swallow. A shiver went through her as he stepped within reach.
“Let me.” His voice sounded like flannel, the cozy kind she could snuggle up to. His fingers moved slowly as he pushed the large buttons through their slots. She let him help her, too stunned to argue otherwise. Her heart beat a little faster, a small ball of warmth inside her waiting for more.