Chapter 5 #2
Brett grimaced and then said to me, “They shoot it down from the tree with a shotgun.”
I nodded. “I know.”
Brett’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’ve done it?”
“Are you kidding?” Mom chimed in. “From the time he was knee high, he and Archer were out there every year to see who would be the first to catch it when it fell from the branches. One year, it hit him in the head, and he cried. He wouldn’t stop until Archer hit himself in the head with it too.”
“Mom,” I admonished. Completely embarrassed, I turned to Brett. “I was like five.”
“Eight.” Mom corrected me. “When they were thirteen, Archer’s father—God rest his soul—taught the boys how to shoot it down. Toby’s first shot hit an old hornet nest, and it fell at their feet, making them scream bloody murder until they realized the bees were long gone because it was winter.”
Well, how was I supposed to know that? All I saw was some huge nest hurtling toward me. At thirteen, I thought the bees might be hibernating inside and were going to be mad as hell that their nest was destroyed.
“You can shoot too?” Brett seemed impressed.
“Clearly not very well,” I muttered.
“Of course he can. Warren taught both boys. Of course, it’s a skill only Archer uses now since Toby’s in Boston.” Mom was just a wealth of information today, wasn’t she?
Even still, I couldn’t help but ask, “Archer shoots it down?”
Mom nodded. “Every year since his father passed. I imagine it’s a bittersweet thing to do.”
A lump formed in my throat. Warren Hodge died five years ago, and I hadn’t even come home for the funeral.
It seemed like the wrong thing to do, even if I had wanted to be there.
He’d been a good man, a second father to me.
I still felt guilty, but given the relationship between me and Archer, I thought it best to let him grieve in peace.
I thought about Archer with his father’s shotgun, standing under that big oak tree at the edge of their property every year, alone except for all the memories of the years before.
How painful it must be to carry on a tradition after someone who taught you was no longer here.
“And then one year—” Mom started, and I nearly kicked off my sneakers, turning to Brett to speak over her.
“Actually, do you mind if I tag along? I haven’t seen the old oak tree in years or the harvesting of the mistletoe.”
What are you saying? Do not go there.
“Really?” Brett’s expression lightened with relief. “That would be great, actually. I think my father wants me to learn to harvest it, but, uh, I’ve never even held a gun.”
I didn’t bother to point out that Archer wouldn’t let him use the gun anyway. I was trying to get out of here. If I stayed any longer, my mother would start telling stories about potty training me.
“That’s perfect.” Mom jumped in. “And since you’re going early, you can get a tree and wreath.”
“Sure,” I agreed readily.
“Wonderful. Well, your father and I will meet you there later tonight,” she said, heading to the door. “Be sure to stop by Hodge Podge and say hi to Connie.”
Confused, I glanced at Brandy.
“It’s the name of the gift shop,” she supplied.
“They named the shop after their secret seasoning?” I asked, thinking of the seasoning Connie Hodge had been selling since I was young.
Even after all these years, I had no idea what she put in it.
No one did. But the town loved it. People even drove in from neighboring towns to purchase it.
I had to admit it was the perfect seasoning for a Thanksgiving turkey and a Christmas ham.
I had no idea how she managed that, but I supposed it was part of the secret.
“Why not?” Brandy replied. “Their shop is a hodge podge just like their seasoning. Full of all kinds of things. Never quite sure what you will find.”
“Don’t forget to wear your boots,” Mom said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Say bye to Teacup.”
“Bye, Teacup,” I echoed, giving the dog a pat.
She was halfway out the door when I called, “Didn’t you want to know about my first day?”
“I can see you have it all under control,” she tossed out. “See you tonight!”
When she was gone, the room was a lot quieter. I turned to Brandy. “Why do I feel like she somehow did that on purpose?”
“Because she did?” Brandy answered my question with one of her own. Then she smiled. “But I’m so glad she did because now I can hang out with my bestie at the bonfire!”
I groaned.
“It won’t be so bad,” she promised, patting me on the shoulder. “You already got that awkward first meeting out of the way.”
“It was awful,” I confessed quietly. “Even after all these years, he still hates me.”
“Archer Hodge does not hate you,” she refuted.
“The only reason he even let me treat Marlowe is because Ms. Keystone was here,” I told her.
“Maybe he was just surprised to see you,” she offered. “I mean, no one really knew you were coming home.”
I made a face.
Hers fell. “Was it really that terrible?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
“Maybe you should talk to him. Apologize to each other.”
Incredulous, I felt my eyebrows arch. “You want me to apologize to Archer Hodge for trying to kiss him?”
“Maybe if you do, he will apologize for shoving you away.”
“He didn’t just shove me away, though, Brandy.” I reminded her.
“Maybe he’ll apologize for that too.”
“Maybe,” I echoed. “And maybe Ms. Keystone really was a Rockette back in 1935.”
Brandy giggled. “Poor Cupid.”
I groaned.
Turned out Cupid’s digestive issues were because Ms. Keystone replaced her morning kibble with Christmas cookies.
The good news was, now that she knew Christmas cookies were not a suitable replacement for morning kibble, Cupid would go back to smelling her best.
“Only in Winterbury,” I mused, and we both burst out laughing.
“I’m ready,” Brett said, coming from the back, already changed from his scrubs and into warm clothes for a visit to the farm.
I rushed into my office to get cleaned up, once again wondering what in the tangled tinsel got into me when I asked Brett if I could tag along.
Of course, it was obvious.
Even after ten years, Archer Hodge still made me do things I shouldn’t.