Chapter 4
Chapter Four
REESE
Awkward silence fills the truck as we pull back onto the road. I tuck my hands under my arms, uncomfortable with the lingering sensation from Tristen’s touch. Even thinking of the way his thumb grazed over my skin has me shivering all over again.
Maybe I should make a new rule to go with our truce? No touching . . . like ever.
I peek out of the corner of my eye to gauge his reaction. Did he feel something too? But he appears unshaken, concentrating on the twisting road.
Well then . . . it’s just me it seems.
Placing my elbow on the windowsill, I rest my chin in my palm and distract myself with the passing scenery.
Branches of golden leaves pop like jewels against the army of thick pines, painting the horizon in an autumn swirl as Tristen’s truck chugs up the mountain pass.
The foliage counts down the days until the landscape will be nothing but snow-covered pines and overcast gray skies.
Winter always comes when we least expect it, sometimes as early as the beginning of October.
Hopefully, Maya and Des’s sunset wedding won’t change to a winter wonderland theme instead.
The trill of his phone echoes in the ashtray, causing both of us to flinch with the sudden noise. A name scrolls on the screen, Daniella Mortan, one of the other Cliffhangers bartenders. He sighs before tapping the screen to accept the call on speakerphone.
“Hey, Dede,” he says more like a question.
“Where are you?”
My eyes widen at her sharp tone. I know of her as much as anyone does in a small town—by what I’ve heard whispered through the rumor mill.
A college dropout, she fell into mischief with the wrong crowd.
Then her fancy-pants father cut her off and is now forcing her to earn a spot back into his good graces .
. . or maybe to gain access to his platinum card again.
Having been a troublemaker myself at her age, I’m grateful that my granny taught me better than to be so disrespectful.
“Didn’t you get my message?”
“No. I’m working,” she says, drawing the last word out sarcastically.
His thumbs drum on the wheel. “Well, I mentioned I had an emergency and had to pick up a friend.”
Guilt washes over me at the realization that it’s my fault Tristen is late for his shift. I chew on my bottom lip knowing I’ll need to apologize again.
“You’ve told me not to be messing on my phone when I’m on the clock.”
He grinds his teeth as he veers us around the mountain bend. “I meant for personal reasons, Dede. This is work related.”
“How much longer until you get here? I’m on thirty minutes of overtime,” she whines through the speaker.
“I’m about five minutes from our exit. And don’t worry, you’ll be compensated for your time.”
She huffs. “Just hurry. I’m supposed to be meeting my boyfriend for our date, and I’m already late.”
“I’m going as fast as the speed limit allows. In the meantime, can you slice all the citrus—”
The call ends before he can finish.
He growls, a legit animalistic sound under his breath as he turns off at the Rocosa exit.
“Good help is hard to come by, huh?” I joke, but his growl only intensifies.
“She’s more trouble than she’s worth most of the time. And there’s nothing I can do. Her dad and Uncle Ted are old golfing pals, so I can’t fire her . . . and Dede knows it.”
“You should try talking to your uncle again, especially after that rude call. Is he back in town yet?”
“I wish. He’s down visiting Mom and Bruce in Florida still. Something about the white sandy beaches and warmer weather being better for his health.” Tristen hesitates a second before blurting out, “He’s considering opening another bar down there.”
“B-but, what about the bar he already owns here?”
“That’s what I asked him too.” He shifts in his seat. “He said he’d promote me to co-owner if he does. Then, I’d be doing his job and mine.”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”
“I mean . . . yeah, but this is more official sounding. Plus, I’d get to weigh in on big decisions that could help shape Cliffys’s future.”
“And as co-owner, you can fire Dede.” I tilt my head. “Where is the bad news in all of this? It sounds like a win.”
“If I take the promotion, then I’m stuck in Rocosa.”
I shrug. “Aren’t we all? Nobody ever truly escapes unless they are made of money. Even then, they don’t go far.” I pause to replay his words back in my head. “Are you thinking of leaving?”
He parks in one of the rare empty spots in front of the post office and leans back in his seat, unable to meet my eyes. “Maybe.”
That one word pierces through me in a way I never expected. My heart thuds in my chest, the empty hollow sounds vibrating up to my ears.
“Nothing is set in stone, but sometimes it feels like I don’t have an anchor here.” He shoots me a look before returning to drum on the wheel again. “Why should I stay?”
“Because Rocosa is your home. You don’t just dig up your roots and leave without a better reason than not having an anchor.”
“Yet when Des left for college, you didn’t even bat an eye.”
With a flinch, I meet his blue gaze. “Then I guess I’m one amazing actress. Thanks again for the ride, Tristen. It’s been an absolute delight, as always.”
I unclench my fingers from their death grip on the seat cushion and snatch my wet blouse from the back seat.
“Reese, wait a minute . . .”
I scramble out of the truck and slam the door a little too hard behind me. With an overly sweet smile, I say, “Sorry about the whole thing with Dede. I hope it works out.”
“C’mon, Reese . . .”
There’s nothing more to be said.
His pleas fade in the distance as I storm off, jogging down a side street toward the open community field.
The normally grassy area has since been transformed for the harvest season.
Hay barrels and pumpkins litter the field, and the merriment of children laughing eases some of the tension from my muscles.
When I’m angry, it’s best to keep moving.
Traveling my usual path fills me with a cathartic peace until I slow to a more leisurely pace.
I turn another corner and find myself at the far end of town, near Mountainview Church, our only church in Rocosa.
It sits higher than most of the buildings at the top of the hill, its double doors facing the long stretch of Main Street.
Granny used to say it was so that no matter where you were in town, the cross on the steeple would be visible.
Despite Des’s weekly invitation, it’s been some time since I entered these church doors.
Questions flood my mind, sprinkling doubt on everything I was taught growing up.
Now my faith is like one of the leaves lost in the turbulent wind.
Nothing makes sense. I would be nothing more than a fraud if I returned with uncertainty in my heart.
They’d probably slam the door in my face before I could enter.
I shiver as another cool breeze whips over my shoulders, and I regret not bringing my windbreaker with me. The brisk autumn wind nips in the shady spots. But the chill is worth it for the panoramic view of Rocosa from the hill.
Colorful buildings line Main Street, the ambience similar to an old-time TV show.
Quaint hand-painted shop signs with local names like Alma’s Antiques and The Bee’s Knees swing in the breeze.
Lights are strung between the golden aspens, off now in the daylight but will twinkle like fairies at sunset.
All the flowerpots lining the sidewalks have been replanted with orange mums, thanks to the strict regulations of the Rocosa Historical Society.
To tourists, it’s a picture-perfect mountain town.
To me, it’s home.
I stroll past the church until I find myself outside the cemetery’s stone gate.
Like usual, I don’t go in. Instead I curl my fingers around the iron bars and stare past the crumbled headstones in the direction where my granny is laid to rest. After years of passing this entrance, I should be prepared for the wave of grief that hits me, but it’s still a surprise when the hole in my heart is ripped open again.
As if my brother senses where I’m at, a text buzzes in from him.
Des
Can you come over tonight?
I lean back on the wall, typing a response.
Depends. What are you cooking and when?
Des
Burgers at 6.
It’s not prime rib, but I’ll take it. Does Maya want me to bring anything besides my sparkling personality? Napkins? Paper plates?
A minute ticks by as I watch the three dots on my phone while he types.
Des
Actually, it’s just you and me. I want to talk to you about something.
I squint at his message and read it again carefully. Why would Maya be absent? Since she moved to town, they’ve been connected at the hip. I’m both disgusted and envious of their lovey-dovey relationship.
My stomach sinks. So there has to be a reason my brother is baiting me to his house. My gut instincts lean toward a lecture or reprimand. Scratching my scalp, I recall all my snarky remarks from the last forty-eight hours in hopes of figuring out what I should be apologizing for.
Like he knows me or something, my brother answers the silent question circulating in my head.
Des
You are not in trouble, so stop freaking out.
Perhaps he hasn’t gotten the scoop from Maya or Tristen about my day yet . . .
Des
And be on time for once.
I’ll try my best. See you at 6:30.
Reese . . .
6-ish?
If I’m going to get a lecture, I might as well have a little fun beforehand.
Des
If you’re late, no dessert.
Hey now. That’s a low blow.
Someone needs to keep order in the chaos.
I flinch slightly at that, even though I know it’s a joke and he doesn’t mean I’m literal chaos, but a part of me remembers when I was. Back when my brother used to look at me with disappointment in his eyes. A look I never want to see again.
I’ll be there. Trust me.