Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Town
Mr. Perkins said no.
It didn’t matter that my hair was in pin curls, that I had dressed like I was ready to bake a cake with powdered eggs and milk, or that I had pulled out esoteric knowledge of one of the greatest crooners in history.
He’d. Said. No.
Before I’d even gotten halfway through my presentation, he’d stopped me, asked me what I had in savings and if I had any collateral.
“There’s just no point in proceeding,” he’d said as he fiddled with his gray bow tie.
“I’m all for small businesses succeeding.
Especially in Huckleberry Hill. But a bookstore?
There’s very little profit margin, not to mention you’re a first-time business owner.
Even with your knowledge of the industry and plan to host events and sell local merchandise unique to the area, I don’t have high expectations of success.
A meager retirement investment portfolio is not enough. I just can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
Quietly, and holding back tears, I’d closed my computer, gathered my notecards, and thanked him for his time.
And now I was sitting outside the bank on a bench. I was prepared to be buried there because I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe.
I felt like a fool. A stupid, naive, idiotic fool who’d tried to believe in the best outcome possible, only to be told no.
No. No. No.
And not even given the full hour to be told no.
Salem, Hadley and Wyn believed in me.
Brooks believed in me.
I’d stupidly believed in myself.
What was I going to do now?
Finally, I got up off the bench—my legs had started to stick to the wood. And then I began to walk. My computer bag was slung across my chest, and it hit my butt with every step I took, a steady drum of failure, failure, failure.
I passed the closed diner, Sweet Teeth, and eventually stood in front of the vacant storefront that was supposed to have come alive with my dream. I unlocked the front door and dropped off my computer bag. I kept only my phone and keys with me. And then I kept walking.
I walked down Silver Street toward Silver Springs.
My phone rang when I was a mile outside of town. It was my mother.
I was already at a low point in my life.
What the heck. Might as well.
“Hey,” I said when I picked up.
“Poet?”
I held in a sigh. “Did you mean to call me?”
“Yes, I meant to call you. Sorry. I just thought it would go to voicemail. I’m glad you answered, though.” Her voice was ethereal. Whimsical. Downright flighty.
Mom didn’t really live in the same world as the rest of us.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m leaving your father,” she announced dramatically. “The man doesn’t understand me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied with perfunctory indifference.
“Anyway, I’m leaving England, and I’m headed to Bali for a spiritual cleanse. Tru is meeting me there. You should join us!”
“Thanks for the offer,” I lied. “But I’m kind of swamped right now.”
“Swamped with what?” she asked. “Jack said you quit your job.”
“Grampy told you?” I asked in surprise.
“Well of course, sweetie.”
“Did he also tell you I’m in North Idaho?”
“He might’ve mentioned that,” she said with flippant disregard. “Visiting friends, yes?”
“Yes.”
“So, I guess you won’t be joining us in Bali?”
“Afraid not,” I said.
“Maybe next time. Well, I’ve got to pack. I love you.”
“Love you—” the line went dead ‘’—too.”
By mile three my mood was no longer in the toilet—it had been flushed out to sea and sank to the bottom of the ocean.
The heels had given me blisters on my big toes and the back of my ankles, but I refused to turn around.
Four miserable miles later, I was in Silver Springs, the sister town of Huckleberry Hill.
It was quaint, too, but different. Huckleberry Hill, despite once being a mining town, now had a small-town upscale polish.
Silver Springs still felt a bit . . . Wild, Wild West. I almost expected gunslingers and stagecoaches to appear at any moment.
I ordered an iced tea to go at the café and then wandered through town, peering into windows out of curiosity. The musical sound of a carousel drew me toward the park. Parents roosted on benches, owlish eyes surveying their children who laughed and played in the sun.
I went to the carousel booth, preparing to slide open the back part of my phone where I carried my ID and credit card.
“Rides are free,” the middle-aged operator said. He handed me a few golden tokens, and I peered at one of them. It had an etching of a carousel horse and the year 1910 stamped on it.
“This carousel was at the 1910 World’s Fair,” he explained, blue eyes alight as he mentioned the historical fact. “It’s been fully restored and just became operational only in the last year. Pick your horse.”
He held out his robust hand. I took it as I stepped up onto the carousel. As I walked around, I stroked finely painted wooden noses and static manes and finally settled on a black mount with a white star on its forehead. I side-saddled the horse and adjusted my skirt and sipped my iced tea.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
He pressed a button, and the carousel began to whirl. Music played. And I lost myself for a while. When the ride came to an end, I asked, “Can I go again?”
“You can go as many times as you want.”
I stayed on the carousel for several revolutions. Children came and went. But I remained. I finished the iced tea and still I stayed atop that mount.
It must’ve been the thirtieth ride, and when the carousel came to a halt, I finally saw him.
Brooks was standing at the railing that separated the carousel from the park. He was staring at me, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Thank you,” I said to the operator.
He came and helped me down. “That your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s been here for three turns,” the operator said. “Can’t take his eyes off you.”
I gestured to my clothes. “Probably the costume.”
“I don’t think so.” He smiled. “Are you in a play or something?”
“Or something,” I said, smiling back. “Thank you for this. It was lovely.”
I walked through the turnstile and approached Brooks. “Hey.”
“I like the dress, Freckles,” he said, his gaze dipping, the brim of his cowboy hat lowering.
“Thank you. How did you know I was here?”
“I’m tracking your location,” he explained.
“Oh.” I frowned.
“After the fire . . .”
“Ah. You could’ve told me that.”
He cradled my cheek in his hand for a moment before releasing me. “I turned on my location too. So you know where I am.”
I sighed and looked behind me at the carousel. “Times used to be simpler.”
“Maybe. So, you’re not mad that I found you here?”
“No.”
And I wasn’t. I was glad to see him.
“You didn’t call after your meeting,” he said, gently taking my elbow and leading me away.
I held in my wince of pain due to the blisters and my swollen feet. “No, I didn’t.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t go how you wanted.”
He gestured to a bench under a lush tree with huge branches and wide leaves, and we sat down.
“I didn’t get the loan,” I said, my voice sounding small. “The meeting didn’t even last the full hour. Salem and Hadley thought this look would help, but it did nothing for me.”
“If I’d been in that meeting, and you came in dressed that way, I would’ve given you the loan and then begged you to marry me.”
I shot him an amused smile. “I look that good, huh?”
“Freckles, don’t take this the wrong way, but your normal clothes don’t do you any justice. This,” he gestured to my dress and then pointed to the heels, “this look . . . these types of clothes were made for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming at his compliment.
“Why’d he turn you down?”
“Doesn’t matter. I sat on the bench outside the bank for who knows how long. And then I—I just started walking. And ended up here.”
He was quiet, just letting me talk.
“And then my mother called,” I said with a sigh. “Which is a whole other deal. She’s leaving my father.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “How long have they been married?”
“Oh, they’re not married.”
“They’re not?” he asked in confusion.
“No. But every few years my mom pretends to leave my father, and my dad lets her because she always comes back.”
“Why does she leave him?”
“To prove that she can? My sister is just like her, too. They’re going to Bali for a spiritual cleanse, whatever that is. Mom invited me but I declined.”
“What do you need right now, Freckles?” he asked. “What can I do for you?”
“I could use a lift home,” I said with a sad smile.
“That I can do.”
“And maybe, a piggyback ride? Those heels ruined my feet.”
Brooks got off the bench and leaned over. “Hop on, Freckles. I’ll carry you to the truck.”