Round Five
MAGGIE
I step outside on Tuesday morning with my keys in one hand and my phone in the other.
Locking up, I peer left and study the side of Billy’s home, like I do almost every single time I come out here now, then I shift my gaze to the neglected garden bed separating our yards.
It spans the length of our properties and butts up against Billy’s lush grass, which he would’ve, in the past, benefited from the beautiful blooms my grandmother tended without having to do any of the work.
Now, what was once a stunning parade of color is just crunchy sticks, rotting leaves, and grass growing through the barrier.
I make a mental note to set a little time aside to come out and tidy the space up, but beyond pulling weeds and reinforcing the border, there’s not much I can do until I secure my first in-town event and, more importantly, an infusion of cash.
Turning on my heels and skipping down the porch steps, I cross my yard and slide into my car, and five minutes after starting the engine, I come to a stop on Main Street.
Nostalgia settles on my shoulders, long-ago memories tickling the back of my mind.
Not much has changed over the years; the bank is still the bank, and the drugstore is still the drugstore.
There are no more or less parking spaces than there were in my childhood, and the horse—the kind you slip a dollar into so a kid can have two minutes of ride time—still sits outside the pharmacy, exactly where it sat twenty-five years ago.
A soft breeze trails along the street and whips my hair forward, so I shut my car door and tuck the locks behind my ear, then I move onto the sidewalk with a plan.
Step one: find the social hub of this town and hope for the best.
I spy Mrs. Middler’s bookstore near the corner and narrow my eyes in thought, because I know that place used to be called Books Books Books. However, according to the shiny signage out front, Books Books Books is no more. Still, the inside bustles with little old ladies and loud chatter.
So, I turn that way.
I swing the heavy glass door open and step into a long room bubbling with noise and conversation, but the instant my presence is noticed, the horde of women freeze and dozens of eyes warm my face.
Conversations fracture, coffee cups still, and, I swear, the thunder of my heart becomes audible for everyone to hear.
“Maggie Sava?” An older woman in floral print sets her book on a small communal coffee table and rises from her leader-of-the-free-world sofa.
I wrack my memories for familiarity, for a name, since she obviously knows mine, but it’s been too long, and the last time I was in Plainview, I was only eight years old.
“Oh my goodness, I heard you were back in town. I was so hopeful I’d run into you at some point.
” She comes around the table faster than I’d expect of spindly legs.
Her hair is gray, her lips, bright red, and her teeth…
a little smudged. “It’s Barbara, honey.” The instant she’s close enough, she takes my hand and yanks me in for a cheek kiss.
“You look like your grandmother, don’t you?
” She inches back, but maintains her tight grip on my arm. “Same eyes and everything.”
“Uh…”
“Maggie?!”
I sling my gaze to the right, to a friendly blue stare and a smile even wider than Barbara’s.
“Shut the hell up! Is that really you?” The woman’s blonde hair whips back as she dashes around her counter in tight blue jeans and with a baby literally strapped to her chest. She latches on and tugs me free of Barbara’s grip, shooting a sneaky wink my way as she drags me toward the counter, much to Barbara’s muttered displeasure.
“They’ve been plotting for a week,” she whispers slyly.
“Literally planning to knock on your front door this afternoon, since it was clear you weren’t coming out to play. ”
“Alana, right?” I slip my phone into my back pocket and stop on the customer side of the counter. “Alana Page?”
“Alana Watkins.” She whips her pastry fridge open, plates up a cupcake, then slaps it down on the counter by my hand. “Tommy never let me go. And you—”
“Maggie Sava.”
“Oh, I know.” Settling back on her heels, she sways and pats her sleeping baby’s bottom. “I already got the gossip down at the gym.”
“What gym? What gossip?” Jesus. She’s a Plainview gossipmonger, too? She was so much cooler back in school. “Why were you talking about me?”
“Tommy and Chris’ gym.” She picks a little icing off my cupcake and licks the rainbow swirl from her finger. “And Jeremy told me the gossip.”
“Jeremy? Jeremy, who?”
“Caster,” she snickers. “Your new neighbor.”
“You gossip with an eight-year-old boy? Seriously?” I peek over my shoulder and find the whole book club still silent, still staring. Coughing out a nervous laugh, I bring my focus back around. “They start ‘em young in Plainview these days?”
Snorting, she leans a little closer and murmurs, “Give the book club bitches ten more minutes, then they’ll file out and leave us be.
They won’t be able to help themselves.” Pulling back, she hitches her hip against the counter and goes back to baby-patting.
“Tell me everything, Maggie! Where’ve you been?
What did you do there? Kids? Husband? Golden retriever? ”
I firm my quivering lips, lest I reward her too easily with a smile, and press my hip to the counter too.
It’s the perfect angle to watch her and the book club at the same time.
“Not married. No kids. No dogs at all. Jeremy Caster is my neighbor, and I’m pretty sure I’ve convinced him I’m a witch who boils little children for fun. ”
And just like that, the book club ladies peel out of the store, coffee cups still spinning, books left behind for Alana to pick up and pack away.
“They’re gonna add that tidbit to the gossip vines.” Finally, Alana relaxes her shoulders, and her crazy-eyed grin smooths into the one I remember from school. “It’s seriously awesome to see you, Maggie. I was sorry to hear about your grandma’s passing.”
Picking at my cupcake’s icing, I shrug. “I didn’t really know her. Seems it should be me passing my condolences to everyone else.” I bring my eyes up again. “Alana Watkins? And a sweet baby girl, too?”
“She’s my heart.” She presses a kiss to the baby’s peach-fuzz head. “My son is my soul. And my husband is the world, keeping us all together.”
“You married the fighting champion,” I smirk, licking sugary icing from my finger. “Let’s not pretend his face hasn’t been on all the magazine covers for years.”
“I mean, he’s pretty amazing,” she admits dreamily. “And he works so hard for—”
“And then there’s your face, too, Miss. Big-Shot-Book-Deal. I can’t go to the store now without seeing an entire display with your name on the cover.”
Her cheeks glow red. “Aw, yeah, well—”
“You’re living the freakin’ dream. And now…” I cast my eyes around the store. “You own this place? What happened to Mrs. Middler?”
“She was getting on in age and didn’t want it anymore, so I made an offer. Now, this functioning-at-a-loss business enterprise of mine is flushing.”
“You mean flourishing?”
“No,” she giggles. “I mean flushing. Like, down the toilet. But my successful-in-business husband swears he doesn’t mind carrying us, so even if this place costs us money, he wants me to live my dreams and blah blah blah.
” She stares deep into my eyes. “What the hell happened between you and Billy the night you got to town?”
My heart gives a heavy one-two thump. “What?”
“Ramone said you nearly got arrested, and that you were probably gonna file a formal complaint against Billy. I heard you were trespassing, then he was trespassing, and eventually Jeremy was trespassing.” She snorts.
“I always knew that kid would end up with a rap sheet before he was even old enough for one.”
“Good to see that small-town charm is still being fertilized with manure.” My phone buzzes in my back pocket, beeping and vibrating against my butt. Wiping sticky fingers on my jeans, I snag the device and spy a number from the next town over.
“You need to take that?”
I glance up and catch Alana’s eyes trained on my phone, her long, dark lashes kissing her cheeks each time she blinks.
“Uhhh… nah.” I silence the call and vow to return it soon. “I’d much rather ask what the hell, Alana?”
Surprised, her patting hand pauses for a beat. “What?”
“Billy is my next-door neighbor!? That nice boy from elementary school, the sweet one who was the antithesis of all things bully? When some jerkoff knocked my books out of my hands on the way to class, since I was kinda small, it was Billy every single fricken time who’d be right there to pick them up for me again.
When Reggie Criada tried to pick on me, cos I—”
“Was kinda small?” she finishes with a grin. “Yeah.”
“It was Billy who shut that twerp up! When Giana Samson called me scrawny and ugly, Billy went toe-to-toe with her brother and made damn sure she quit it. You’re telling me that Billy Caster is the same Billy Caster who slammed me against a damn wall and tried to arrest me for being inside my own house? ”
Her eyes alight. “Guess the grapevine got one right.”
“That Billy Caster married Aria Sinclair? A girl who was also pure and sweet and kind and just…” I release a pent-up gah! “They were perfect for each other! But now they’re divorced, and he turned into a giant asshole?”
“Divorced?” she gasps. “What?”
“I mean, I get it. If she spoke her vows expecting the nice boy to stay, but he turned into the jerk he is today, then it makes total sense that she cut bait and hauled ass outta there. But seriously, what the hell happened to him? How did he change so much?”
“Well, he—”
“Is he an asshole to everyone? Or am I special because I had the misfortune of moving in next door? Does he hate all women?” I gasp as a new realization hits me. “Was it Aria’s fault?”
“Well—”
“I assumed she bolted because he’s a dick, but maybe she’s the reason he’s bitter.
” I lean against the counter. “Did she screw him over or something? When does Jeremy see her? Because he’s been at the house every day I’ve been in town, which kinda implies Billy has primary custody.
Which isn’t all that common, really. Maybe she was the problem, and maybe she’s a deadbeat who left them behind?
And if that’s the case, then I suppose that’s why Billy’s such an asshole now. ”
Alana snaps her lips closed, firming them into two straight lines. Then she lifts her brows until a wrinkle mars her forehead. “You done?”
“Am I done, what?”
“Talking over me. You have questions, and then you have assumptions. I have answers, so…”
“Oh…” I pick up my cupcake and take a hefty bite. “Sure. Sorry. I’ve been living with a stuffed cat mounted to the kitchen wall for ten days now. I used to ignore it, but now I kinda chat to it on the way past.”
Alana snorts.
“When I first arrived, I swore I wanted to tear that ugly thing down and toss it to the curb, but it’s kinda grown on me over the last few days.
A bit like a fungus, ya know? So even though I know I should get rid of it, I’d feel kinda bad doing it.
” I chew my dessert and whisper. “I’ve secretly named it Rupert. ”
“Aria died.”
“Aria—” My stomach drops. My heart aches. My whole freakin’ soul trembles. And then I blink, blink, blink until tears turn my vision glassy. “Excuse me. What?”