Chapter 3. #3
“Oh, he’s still a good guy, I don’t blame him.
” I realize my grip on the spoons tightened.
I set them down on the pile of others to avoid strangling them to death.
They did nothing wrong, after all. “It was his chance to get his girl, y’know?
How could I get in the way of true love …
with my selfish desire to explore some caves …
? Or see Zombie Marilyn Monroe? Or …” I shrug the rest of it away and smile at Billy.
“I’m happy to be home. It was meant to be. ”
Billy scratches the side of his nose with one finger, then drops his hand and shakes his head. “Still sorry that happened, Teej. It sounds to me like you were on your way to having one exciting time ‘til this bestie of yours went and tossed it in the trash.”
I fight an instinct, yet again, to defend AJ. Then I just smile at Billy instead. “I can have an exciting summer here in Spruce, too.”
He nods back, still appearing in thought.
“You’re right.” After collecting the pile of teeny spoons, he takes them to the trash and dumps them before returning to behind the counter.
“And y’know what else?” he asks, facing the back wall where he runs a finger over the calendar.
“Ever notice how people who run away from Spruce always come to miss it?”
I’m left staring at that trash bin, still thinking of his analogy about AJ throwing my plans away. “Ever notice how people who stay here never get out?” I quietly mumble back.
Billy turns away from the calendar. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Nothing.” I smile. “Still got my spare apron in the back? My mom cleaned out my room and … I couldn’t seem to locate it.”
“I’ve got you,” he insists, then frowns, “assuming my husband didn’t stuff it in a box someplace when he stopped in to help last week.
He means well, but sometimes when he ‘helps’, everything gets put someplace else, and I can’t find my foot under my own leg.
” After half a breath, his face collapses into a smile.
“God, I love that man.” He chuckles. “Anyway, I’ll get you that apron one way or another.
” Then he heads into the office, flicking on the light.
I get my apron. A sign is flipped.
Customers start entering. Slow at first. Then I’m scooping ice cream one after the other.
Smiling at familiar faces. Greeting my old history teacher and sharing a story from campus.
High-fiving two pals I grew up with who stuck around and now work (together) at the Strong ranch.
I’m graced by Mr. Lemon, general manager at Spruce Cinema 5, who’s come early for his late-night treat since he won’t have time to get it later.
Local barber Cale orders chocolate muffins and says I look due for a trim.
Martha Huntington and her friend Ms. Hubert tell me how much I’ve grown since last year, though I swear they just saw me over winter break.
Frankie and Tamika—who are totally, seriously not dating—come by together to sit at the booth by the window and share a Football Sundae, which I heard was taken off the menu for a minute, but is now proudly back on and served with pride (and extra cherries when Billy’s not looking, even though he totally knows, apparently).
Billy thanks me a truckload of times, since he was planning on opening the store by himself until his afternoon help came in but didn’t anticipate such a rush.
By the time his said afternoon help arrives, I’m halfway through serving six church ladies their “post-book-club sweet treats”, one of whom is sneakily trying to set me up with her granddaughter, and am relieved from my duties.
It’s only then I check the time—and realize I lost track of it.
“I gotta go,” I quickly tell Billy, barely having time to listen to him thank me (again) before I’m out the door and hurrying down the block back to my car.
It’s only a few hours since I drove in, and the town has come to life.
I dodge a noisy trio of children on bikes (where the heck’s their parents?) and gotta stop at the crosswalk for what looks like some off-brand moving-company truck (who’s moving in or out?
I’ll have to ask around) before I finally reach my car.
I notice a familiar truck parked next to it, and just as I reach for my door handle, out pops Bobby Parker’s head.
“Hi there, TJ! Just heard from Billy you’re back in town! ”
I wonder for a split second when Billy had time to text Bobby.
Or why. Then I remind myself both of them are married to Strong boys—Tanner and Jimmy—and like to commiserate over that fact every chance they get.
The Strong family are handfuls, every last one of them, and it’s likely all thanks to their wild-haired cannon of a matriarch Nadine, who as it so happens is also Mayor.
But judging from their respective husbands, their joy is worth every second of their mayhem.
I grew up attending dang near every one of their parties on their ranch and can attest to how addictive and wonderful their whirlwind can be at times.
So trust me, I get it. If I hadn’t been spending my falls and springs outside of Spruce, I’d probably be with a Strong myself if they had some secret younger brother no one knows about who also happens to be into guys.
“Hate to trouble you,” Bobby goes on, “but if you’re not busy and Billy hasn’t sent you on some errand, could I get your advice on something? Jimmy’s stuck on one of his whack-a-doo ideas and I’m trying to talk him out of it.”
I’m hallucinating the ticking of clocks.
My mother’s harsh eyes when I finally come home.
My dad’s soft yet soul-eviscerating sigh of disappointment.
“Yeah, I got a minute,” I say, because my other middle name is dude-who-never-says-no, and I come around to hear Bobby out.
I hear him out for over forty minutes.
Then I’m helping him lug surprisingly heavy boxes of labels, stickers, flyers, and other printed merchandise onto his truck.
Then I’m by his side at the Strong Fitness Zone to check out a new machine they got.
Four new machines. And I poke my head into a hip-hop dance class Bobby’s husband Jimmy is in the middle of instructing (he doesn’t see me and I don’t make myself known, not wanting to interrupt).
And then at Bobby’s insistence, I try out a new water-bottle-filling station they put in, only to succeed in drenching my shirt, which causes us to double over in laughter—after Bobby explodes into apologies first, of course.
My stomach sinks when I leave the gym to find the sun nearly on the other side of town. I don’t even look at my phone. No calls or texts anyway. I can’t bear to know how late I am now, only that there’s no use rushing home; we’re well into the evening now.
I’m on the long road that curves through the countryside out to my house, light woods on the left, farmlands to the right, and the town at my back.
At this time of day, it really strikes you, the view of the sky cracking over the trees, how the sun at this angle sets everything aglow in a way nothing up north can do.
Even the fields of wheat are a sea of gold you could swim through.
The cows chewing cud in the summer air look happy to be alive—as happy as any grumpy-faced cow can be, I guess.
Horses in the pasture, huddled next to one another under the shade of the biggest tree, two younger ones trotting around appearing playful.
An hourglass pond sparkling in the angled sunlight, a family of ducks wetting their beaks and feathers in its water.
Long wooden fences barely held together by nothing but twine and a little love, looking less like enclosures and more like loving reminders to the animals to stay off the scary roads.
It’s amazing how much of this you forget with just a few short months away at school … and how fast it seeps right back under your skin like it always belonged there.
Bobby’s laughter still rings in my ears.
My shirt is still damp from our shenanigans.
And I’d probably be smiling about it all right now if I wasn’t dreading what I’m going home to.
After I park my car and head through the door, intent on just sneaking up to my room, Mom’s voice catches me like the chirp of an alarm siren from the kitchen. “TJ, there you are!”
I stop, dazed by her cheery tone of voice, and face her.
She smiles and waves me over. “Just in time for dinner! Your father will have to warm up a plate later. I made some lemon-herb chicken with veggies, nearly done. Doesn’t it smell just heavenly? I hope you’re hungry!”
My stomach literally growls on cue. Starving.
“Wash your hands,” she says, then squints at me. “And maybe change your shirt? You look a bit road-worn, sweetie.”
Bewildered, I obey. I change into a shirt that doesn’t smell like chlorine, vanilla, and yoga mats. Wash my hands. Splash water on my face. Wince at that finger I stubbed helping Professor Patel.
Suddenly I think of AJ on the road right now, stuffed into a car next to the love of his life, who still gazes off, aloof and beautiful, pretending not to notice his crushing infatuation.
And a trash bin I clutched for dear life in a backstage hallway.
The guy in that hall was a good listener. Hot and obscured in shadow like a creep selling counterfeit merch, but a good listener.
I wish I hadn’t bitten his head off and trashed his idol.
Now I’m sitting with my mom at the table eating a lovely meal I did not plan on.
I feel worse with every bite. Especially while my mom goes on chirping with laughter telling me all about her day.
Bella and the garden. A “longer-than-sin” call with Nadine about some sort of town ordinance and a funny thing that happened at her restaurant in Fairview.
Discussing plans with Cassie to expand Lance Goodwin Designs.
It goes on and on, and I’m totally lost in the weeds of her stories, blinking blankly as I eat.
“Mom,” I finally stop her. “Aren’t you mad at me? I was out all day. I said I’d be back by two.”
She doesn’t look me in the eyes at first, cutting her meat off the bone.
Then she stops and lifts a warm smile at me.
“Sweetie, I believe I said you’d be back by two.
That’s hardly a contract. You’d just come home and I was all over you.
You deserve time to breathe after the spring semester you had.
You’re sorry?” She chuckles. “I’m the one who oughta apologize for leapin’ on you like a cat the second you showed up.
I barely asked how your semester went! You’re so funny, acting like I’m some mom-ster.
What’d you expect me to do? Scream at you for going into town and catching up with friends and being a dang human being?
” She pops a bite of potato into her mouth.
“You don’t need me reminding you this place is your home, sweetheart. You’re the boss of your life.”
There’s almost something worse about her sweetness, the way a venus flytrap is cute and harmless until it snaps shut.
I’m not the boss of anything, let alone my life.
That’s what I’d say had I the guts, my kneejerk response.
Maybe she did get upset and just isn’t saying.
Then she took the time to think it over.
Her chats with Nadine and Cassie were all to do with me, her son with a mind of his own, who got as far away as he could with his choice in college and still ended up just a stone’s throw north of here.
She’s trying to disarm me with her honeyed words and lemon-herb chicken she knows I love, tasty home-cooking, the creature comforts in a house big enough for a family of twenty, letting me reattach to all my friends, allowing me this continued fruitless indulgence of my totally superficial employment at T&S’s …
All these things she’s sure I won’t find out there in the world. All these things, right here in Spruce.
And despite all the aggressive little demons inside me itching to rebel, to trust none of it, to fight for my right to a month-and-a-half road trip …
I can’t help but realize none of that is wrong.
This is my home. My parents would listen to me if I expressed my inner concerns about feeling trapped. I love my family and friends here.
Is being in Spruce really the problem?
Or is it me?
“Only if you want,” she’s telling me after we finish up and I’ve gone and done all the dishes out of sheer guilt.
“Your father may still be in the office, if he hasn’t gone out to visit the Strong ranch and check that funky tractor of theirs.
You’ll probably catch him later when he’s back home eating his own plate.
Go on, sweetie, go on and look for yourself. I have a few calls to make.”
That’s how I end up at our newly renovated office: a separate building on our property which, not long ago, was the guesthouse my grandfather stayed in before he passed.
I’m still wearing his wristwatch, even at this moment, when I ascend the steps of the porch and enter the house.
It smells the same. Oak and cinnamon. A pinch of old musk that reveals its age, somehow welcoming the senses rather than repelling them.
Old wooden paneling on the walls. Framed pictures everywhere.
The living room is full of filing cabinets, a printer and Xerox machine, display case with awards, cute floor lamp, a large rug with a winged cow on it—our old logo.
I float down the hall and find my office right away, the guest bedroom no one ever used.
The room is surprisingly inviting, its windows the largest, catching all the best sunlight.
Where the bed used to be now sits a modern-looking desk, not the ancient clunky office one I expected.
A shelf by the window keeps an assortment of my childhood plushies in a row, telling me not only do my parents listen, but they indulge me in my cute, cuddly tastes.
I take Banano off the shelf. Not sure how they found him. He smiles up at me with his banana face squished between my fingers even though I’m holding him gently. Guess he’s softer than he looks.
I stand at the window, awed by its view.
Garden out front. My favorite pond where I used to catch frogs.
Colorful pathway back to the house. Pavilion in the distance where we host the annual Spruce Ball.
While taking it in, I catch myself humming a melody, smooth and comforting, for a moment having no idea where it’s coming from—until I realize it’s the same one I heard outside the Horseshoe on the worst night of my life, just after the rain.