2. Summer ‘23
Winnie
“Um…hi,” the blonde waves awkwardly from her chair to the rest of the group. “I’m Honey, and I don’t really know why I’m here.”
A chorus of greetings erupt from the group despite Honey’s self-introduction full of annoyance and displeasure. I watch silently as the young woman’s eyes dart to the floor, a flush spreading over her cheeks like it was the first time she’s ever had to introduce herself in front of a group of misfits. Reluctant or not.
It’s a big step. It really is. To even walk in this room is an accomplishment deserving of recognition.
Everyone in this small circle of chairs can relate to how difficult it is to be aware enough of the fact you might have a problem, let alone voice the problem out loud. While Honey didn’t necessarily admit to her addiction, whatever it may be, she’s still sitting in one of these uncomfortable metal chairs with the rest of us.
Well, except for me, I guess.
I’m not an addict; unless you count being addicted to support groups.
But that feels relatively harmless.
It could be misconstrued as something cruel and ignorant, like wanting to know the town’s juicy gossip, but it has nothing to do with that. In fact, most of the information shared in this room has already been spread throughout the town like a wildfire by one of the old ladies that somehow know all.
It’s one downfall of living in Magnolia Hollow.
Honey’s voice, musical in sound and articulate, pulls me out of my thoughts. I watch her lock eyes with Cole, our group leader. She’s speaking slowly and stumbling over her words slightly like she’d rather pull all of her teeth out than be here, but Cole’s reassuring presence makes everyone feel safer whenever he’s around. It’s easier for the group attendees to look at him and tell their life stories than it is to look at anyone else, which always struck me as odd considering Cole is practically the face of Magnolia Hollow Police Department now.
But maybe it’s because he feels like a kindred spirit despite that.
The town watched Cole go from being a golden boy destined to play pro ball to an alcoholic, pill-popper (Lorelai’s words) after his deployment. Mrs. Betty claims he only joined the military to run away from Magnolia Hollow and all the problems he’d created for himself here. I was too young to know what was going on, but I overheard my parents talking about all of his wasted potential when he married Junie Farmer, his high school sweetheart.
People suspected she was pregnant for the longest, but a baby never came. Only divorce. And boy, was it an ugly one. Junie left town five years ago, and no one has seen her since. Not even her parents who chose to stay in The Hollow.
It took a couple of years, but Cole made a turnaround, which feels even harder to do in a town where he’s treated like royalty, his life constantly on display.
Honey takes a deep breath and picks at a spot on her dress. “So, now, I’m here; with my sister and my mother, who’s practically dead.”
“I take it you don’t want to be here?” Cole asks softly.
Honey scoffs, narrowing her eyes at him. “You of all people know why I’m here, detective.”
“That I do. Want me to share?”
Her face drops, and I lean forward in my chair, practically falling off the edge to catch what Cole might say. Mrs. Betty is wide eyed and turning her good ear their way too. We should know better. Cole is as tight lipped as humanly possible when it comes to other people’s secrets.
Cole smirks. “Don’t worry, Honey. That’s your story to tell whenever you’re ready.”
“You’re an asshole!” Honey grits her teeth. She points around the room, eyes locked on Cole’s. “Do they know what a fucking asshole you are?”
He raises a brow, corners of his mouth turned down as he meets everyone’s eyes. When his eyes connect with mine, he winks, and I can’t help the grin on my face.
I pipe up from my metal chair and shrug. “He’s a lot of things… Annoying, too happy, energetic, goofy, mysterious at times, but an asshole? I’ll need some convincing.”
Mrs. Betty pats my thigh and nods. “I completely agree, Winifred. How dare she say those things about this sweet man? He helps me grocery shop every Wednesday.”
“He did mouth to mouth resuscitation on Mister Whiskerton!” Gretchen adds, grinning a bit too hard to be believable.
With arms crossed over his chest, Cole chuckles. He looks lazily at Honey, eyes softening at her twisted face. He turns in his chair to face her and leans his elbows on his knees so he can really look at her.
“This is a safe space, Honey,” he says quietly. “The people in this room have seen every version of me. The good, the bad, the ugly. My whole point for mandating these sessions for you is so you can have a sense of camaraderie. Everyone here has a story to share.”
Not me, but I don’t bother correcting him.
No one really understands why I show up to these meetings, and I can never explain it well enough.
Honey crosses her legs, so close to kneeing Cole in the face as she turns away from him. She picks at another place on her pink dress, and I’m drawn once again to how out of place she looks. How she doesn’t look like an addict. I know that sounds bad, and I try so hard not to judge a book by its cover.
But Honey carries herself differently than anyone I’ve ever seen.
Like she’s important. Worthy of the eyes she holds and the stares she captures.
Her platinum blonde hair is perfectly curled and framing her face. Her makeup looks flawless, like her skin is airbrushed, and there’s a thin gold chain with a single pearl around her neck that she’s been fidgeting with occasionally. She’s wearing a bright pink dress that hits her mid-thigh and nude heels that look like I’d snap my neck if I tried to wear them.
Don’t even get me started on the huge, brown-leather tote she’s carrying with her. I imagine her entire life is in that bag. I briefly wonder if she keeps almonds in a mint container like I’ve seen in the movies.
She’s beautiful. Elegant.
Like her namesake–Honey.
So yeah, she’s so out of place sitting with this rag-tag group that it’s almost comical.
By contrast, my light blonde hair is in a ponytail on top of my head with a few bumps along my scalp that I couldn’t be bothered to smooth out and enough grease to start a small kitchen fire. Thank god, it’s hair washing day today. My face is bare of makeup, not even lip balm–not that I wear a ton of makeup to begin with–and there’s not a trace of jewelry on my body .
I rolled out of bed this morning with crusty eyes and drool on my cheek. It took me approximately six minutes to throw on an old t-shirt Cole gave me when he moved into his own place a year ago and a pair of cut-off denim shorts. It took me another five minutes to make a cup of scalding hot coffee I ultimately leave in the kitchen sink and try not to spill it as I hopped around the entryway shoving my feet into my tennis shoes.
Jogging to the town square where Cole rents out a basement unit under the municipal building from my house takes eight minutes, and I manage to do it three times a week.
Don’t let me fool you. I am not a runner. Honestly, I’m barely a walker, but the jog is good for me. It wakes me up in a way coffee just doesn’t.
The short sprint wakes me up physically and gets me ready to tackle the day. Whereas my travel mug of sweet, hot coffee wakes up my mind and soul so I can be a kind person throughout the day.
I wish I could say that over time I’ve come to enjoy the trek, but my short legs rejoice as soon as I enter that dingy room and collapse in a chair. My route consists of jogging down my street and cutting a hard left through Hollow Graves Cemetery where I say a quick hello to Old Man Jenkins–may he rest in peace–then almost kill myself on the slight hill that leads up to Main Street.
My chest always heaves, sweat dotting my brow, and lungs on the verge of collapsing, yet I continue to do it.
Actually, instead of developing a love for running, I’ve done the opposite. I have an intense hatred for it. I shoot disgusted looks at anyone I see running these days. Sometimes I flick them the middle finger.
In my head, of course.
I don’t think I’ve ever actually given the finger to anyone.
I’m a nice girl. Always have been.
Fishermen down at the docks brag about what a good kid I am whenever I buy from the market. The Old Coots Brigade as Cole has affectionately named them—who hang out on the square like Magnolia Hollows very own vigilantes ready to make a citizens arrest at any moment–smile and tell me what a good girl I am every day when I pass by.
I don’t even do anything!
And let me just tell you that’s not the way I want to hear those words.
None of the women in the books stacked all over my room and on my shelves get called a good girl by the grannies in their hometowns for just existing and not causing any trouble.
But that’s how I’m known around The Hollow.
Just a good girl that doesn’t make a ruckus.
It’s a change of pace from two years ago when no one bothered to know me, I suppose. I’m not fully sure when the change happened. One day I woke up, and Betty Rigby flagged me down to fix a button on my uniform shirt. From there it spiraled until suddenly I had a part-time job with Betty’s granddaughter, a platinum membership card to Edith’s bookstore (which let me just tell you the membership has no perks), and Cole Fletcher calling me kid and offering me a ride home from school so I didn’t have to walk.
Instead of being the girl everyone avoids, I’ve become…something else. Just wholesome and good and I’ve been fine with that for the most part.
My wish came true. I’ve become a part of something for once.
Just beginning to wonder if I should’ve been a bit more specific with my wish after all.
I cross my legs, mimicking the way Honey sits, but it feels off when I do it. I’m envious of her. Of her long, perfect hair. Of her smooth, flawless skin. Of her larger than life presence. I’m envious of the way she holds herself in high regard like she’s a woman deserving of being looked at, appreciated, and adored.
I’m not a kid. As of today, I’m officially an adult.
I wish I was lucky enough to say I’ll be away at college in a couple months. Far away from Magnolia Hollow and the box I shove myself into while I’m here and what it symbolizes for me.
Solitude.
Because even though I’ve managed to worm my way into the community here, I still come home to an empty house, eat simple dinners alone, and shut myself in my room until it’s so late my eyelids won’t blink open again.
“We’re going to wrap it up here today, guys,” Cole says, looking down at the watch on his wrist, and I shake my head to clear away my rampant thoughts. “Remember George leaves on a big fishing trip Saturday, so let’s make sure we give him a good send off.”
George perks up at that and grins at the group, showcasing the missing teeth in his mouth. Gretchen pats his shoulder and wishes him luck on his trip. I reckon even she can see how lonely George feels at times.
Cole gestures toward me, and I’m already shaking my head, eyes widening as I bolt to my feet to… I’m not sure. Tackle him to the floor and slap my little hand over his big, stupid mouth? “Don’t forget to wish Winnie a happy birthday on your way out.”
“Cole!”
I don’t even make it two feet before Mrs. Betty has me wrapped up in her arms, nose full of that old lady scent–one dollar powder from the bottom shelf at Mitzy’s Market and moth balls.
I glare at him over her shoulder.
He shoots me two thumbs up and a goofy grin.
Maybe he is an asshole…
Honey is out of the door before anyone can stop her, and I wish I had the guts to just run out of the door. Unfortunately, after I escape Mrs. Betty’s hug, Gretchen wraps me up in her arms. Everyone follows suit after that, and I make a mental note to kill Cole in his sleep later.
I’m drafting up the most elaborate home invasion-slash-murder plans ever in my head when he saunters over to me.
Beau, Cole’s best friend since childhood, helps Mrs. Betty put away all of the little finger foods she’d brought at the row of tables set up along the far wall. He’s snapping lids on containers faster than she can speak and stacking them in her bag with amazing efficiency.
“Help me with these chairs, kid?”
My eyes flick to Cole’s, and I shoot him a dirty look. “I regret saying you weren’t an asshole earlier.”
He chuckles, grabbing four chairs. “You wound me, Win. Might be the first time I’ve heard you cuss.”
“Well, it won’t be the last time at this rate,” I tell him menacingly as I grab a chair and push it closed. “Sleep with one eye open tonight, Officer.”
“Hey,” he pouts, “it’s Detective.”
Rolling my eyes, I drop the chair onto the pallet then grab another one and let it clatter on top of the others.
Cole grabs another four chairs and drops them easily onto the pallet with minimal noise, and I purposely let my one chair clang right after him.
“Why do you come to these meetings, Winnie?”
I look at him then grab another chair. “Haven’t we already talked about this?”
I can practically hear the way he cocks an eyebrow at me without even looking at him. He replies easily, “Let’s talk about it again.”
“What’s there to talk about?” I ask, finally looking at him and planting my hands on my hips. “Are you going to tell me I can’t come anymore?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what’s the big deal? ”
Cole leans against the pallet and stares at me. “I’m here because I almost destroyed my life with drugs and alcohol. Beau is here because he helped pull me out of my addiction, and being a support person to someone who struggles with addiction is incredibly difficult.”
I frown. “I know that.”
“You do know. You know everyone’s story. You know why everyone walks into this room, Winnie. Do you see the level of trust and vulnerability there?”
“Yes, but I–”
“This is a safe place. Even for you.” He cuts me off, and his stare is intense. “No thought or feeling is too big or small here. There’s no competition.”
“I don’t have anything to share.”
Cole nods and sighs. “Just know that we trust you with our stories.”
The you can trust us with yours is unspoken but heard, and I swallow roughly.
He doesn’t get it. He thinks I’m hiding some big feeling or problem. I’m not. Truly. I’m here because I like sitting with this group of people in the mornings. It gives me a reason to wake up and get out of bed. I enjoy the relationships I’ve formed because of this support group.
But I’m out of place.
There’s no deeper meaning for me. There’s no grief or addiction I’m struggling with daily, and I’m sure that feels unfair to the others within the group when I never have a story to share .
I just don’t want to walk away from the group when it gives me something I so desperately need.
Friendship. That sense of more I’ve been desperately searching for.
Cole doesn’t press any further. He just grabs my travel mug from the floor, looks at the saying, and chuckles. “I don’t even want to know where you got this thing.”
Grabbing the cup, I grin. It has an excel spreadsheet wrapped around it, and it says freak in the sheets in block lettering.
“I ordered it online, obviously.” I shrug and take a sip of my coffee, still warm and delicious. “What else is a girl to do besides read books and online shop?”
Cole starts ticking off fingers as he speaks, “Uh, go on dates, hang out with your friends, prepare for college? Just to name a few.”
“Geez,” I mutter with a grimace. “All of those sound awful.”
“Spending all of your free time here, at home, or in Sugar is–”
“Weird?”
Cole chuckles and shakes his head, running a hand through his brown hair. “That’s not what I was going to say, but now that you’ve said it…”
“Hey!”
“What’s Sienna up to today?”
Shrugging, I slide the lid on my coffee cup back and forth a few times. “She’s busy prepping for the future and all that jazz. ”
Cole tilts his head, like a hound dog with his nose to the ground, and I can see the moment he catches whatever scent he was searching for. “You don’t want to prepare for the future?”
Chewing my lip, I shrug again. “Not really.”
It’s common knowledge around The Hollow that when August comes around Sienna and I will be packing up our belongings and high tailing it to Harvard to follow in the footsteps of our parents before us. The entire week of graduation I was bombarded with congratulations and pats on the back.
It was overwhelming, and it sent a shiver down my spine at the thought of disappointing everyone I know.
Just a month ago, Sienna had told me we’d have the best summer ever together to make up for all the time we spent studying and cramming for finals and SATs—me more so than her.
Yeah, right.
We hung out for two days–watched movies, ate good food, made bracelets–then she messaged me and said we should really be preparing ourselves for the first semester of classes.
No, thanks.
“I…” I start when Cole doesn’t say anything. “I just want to have a chill summer before everything gets crazy.”
He stares down at me for a moment, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Scared of college, kid?”
I smile, too big and bright. “What? No!”
“I have a radar for liars,” Cole says. “I’m the one person in this town people don’t feel the need to put on a show for, so put away the megawatt grin before you hurt yourself.”
Huffing out a breath, I flick my eyes over to Beau and Mrs. Betty. She’s slapping his cheek lightly, her face stern, and suddenly I feel like we’re both being scolded.
I struggle to find any words though.
Mainly because Cole is right. I have been fully prepared to lie my little denim-clad butt off all summer to everyone in this town until I’m blue in the face and forced to violently vomit out the truth.
My throat feels tight, and I decide then and there to keep my secrets until I absolutely cannot anymore.
Cole seems to take pity on me. “Everything works out the way it’s supposed to, okay? One of life’s biggest lies is that you have to have it all figured out as soon as you turn eighteen.”
“I literally turned eighteen at five o’clock this morning, Cole.”
He chuckles, “And that’s why I’m saying you don’t need to stress about having it figured out, kid.”
“When did you figure it out?”
He pats my shoulder and solemnly replies, “I haven’t. Even at thirty, I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing half the time.”
Beau ushers Mrs. Betty out the door with a gentle hand on her back, placating her along the way with soft words and a lot of nodding. He shoots Cole a pleading look over his shoulder, and I stifle a laugh.
When I finally look back at Cole, I inhale deeply. “So we never really figure it out?”
“I guess I’ll let you know if I ever do,” he tells me with a wink.
I huff out a laugh and lift my mug high as I walk backwards away from him. “Thanks. I’ll be waiting, I guess.”
Cole gives me a dismissive wave and turns to the pallet, grabs a strap, and pulls it over the chairs to secure the stack, and I watch the way his t-shirt stretches over his biceps, tattoos peeking out from underneath the fabric.
Sweet Jesus. I need to go.
“Hey, Win!” Cole calls out just as I’m clearing the doorway, and I poke my head back around the frame.
“Yeah?”
“Happy birthday, kid.”
My heart thumps harder in my chest, and my eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. Cole has become someone very near and dear to my heart over the last couple of years, and the thought of disappointing him at the end of summer makes me want to hurl myself out of a moving vehicle.
Especially when he does something as simple as remember my birthday.
My mind flickers to two years ago on that swing set when everything seemingly began to change for me, like it was the catalyst to living a life I’ve been dying for, and to the boy who made it happen before he disappeared.
In the end, I manage to give Cole a small smile and a nod because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I duck out of the room again, heading out of the big, steel door that opens up to the sidewalk.
Beau rubs his forehead, eyes closing, and I barely stifle a laugh as I let the door clang shut. Mrs. Betty is a handful, no doubt. She’s waddling toward the center of town undoubtedly towards her favorite bench in the shade underneath the awning of the Hollow Hair Salon. She likes to sit and chat with some of the other Old Coots there, people watching the whole time.
I don’t know how true it is, but Tootsie, Betty’s oldest friend from grade school, carries a large canvas bag around with her. Rumor has it she stuffs a ton of oranges in it just in case she needs to fight off a criminal.
Magnolia Hollow is relatively low on crime, thankfully, but I appreciate the fact that they’re always on the lookout.
Who needs Cole and his squadron of fully armed officers when you have the Old Coots Brigade ready to beat the dickens out of anyone who seems the least bit out of place?
I bypass Beau with a light punch to his arm, startling him out of his incoherent mumblings, and a bright grin. “You did good, champ!”
“She’ll be the death of me…”
I chuckle and nod. “Thank you for your great service to The Hollow.”
He salutes me, mouth set in a grim line, as I walk backwards away from him following after Mrs. Betty. Then he smiles, cups a hand over his mouth, and shouts after me, “Happy birthday, by the way!”
My feet trip, and I momentarily freeze.
I’ve never had so many people acknowledging my birthday.
I send him the same tight smile I flashed Cole because I just don’t know how to respond.
My birthday has always been something I ignored since it seemed it was just another day, and it still is for the most part. But now I have people who know me and care enough about me to remember this day.
And that…
That makes me feel not as lonely.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand as I’m applying deodorant after my shower, and I cap the stick before I check the message.