CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ledger
With a sigh, I pull into the driveway of my rental. It’s simple, with its basic gray clapboard siding and flowers lining the path to the front door, but like I told Ford, it could be way worse.
But there’s a reason I’m sitting in my car staring at the house. And it happens to be the same reason I drove back and forth down Main Street twice on the way home.
Asher.
The woman has eluded me. I went to the farm the other day, but when I knocked on the door, there was no answer.
Then on the way home just now, I thought I saw her walking on the sidewalk and talking to someone in front of the hardware store.
I figured I’d make a convenient stop and “accidentally” run into her, since I can’t get her out of my head.
But on the second pass by, I was clearly seeing things that weren’t there.
You’re losing it, Ledge.
“Clearly small-town life is making you crazy,” I mutter as I climb out and around to my passenger door to grab my laptop and files.
“Hi.”
I jump at the sound of the high-pitched voice behind me.
When I turn, I’m met with a little girl about seven or eight—fuck if I know since kids aren’t exactly in my wheelhouse.
She has a pair of uneven, blond pigtails, black-framed glasses over a freckled nose, a box in her hands, and jeans with holes in the knees.
She stands and stares expectantly at me as if she’s waiting for me to speak.
“Uh, hi.” I look around to see if her mom or dad are around. “Can I help you?”
She twists her lips and narrows her eyes for a beat. I’m being sized up by a kid. Fucking perfect.
“I brought you cookies,” she finally says, pushing the box toward me. “But I’m not sure if you like cookies because they are made with flour, chocolate, sugar, and real butter. You know, non-organic, gluten-filled crap.”
Stifling a chuckle, I take the box from her and lift the lid to look inside. Not bad. “I’m from New York. Not California. I like all that crap. Thanks.” I tip the box at her in a thank-you gesture, but she doesn’t get the hint and move out of the way.
“New York, huh?” Her hands go to her hips. “Exciting stuff. Is it true there are rats in the sewers the size of alligators there?”
“Probably. It’s the people you have to watch out for more than anything. They’re the real rats who will eat you alive.” Come on, kid. Move along.
“My mom told me you might be brusque and rude.”
I do a double take. “She did? Why’s that?”
“She said you wear a suit, are from the city, and probably don’t have a personality worth talking to as a result of having the life sucked out of you from sitting behind the glass walls of a skyscraper all day.”
I cough over my laugh. “But you’re talking to me, right?”
“I am . . . but I haven’t decided if I like you yet.”
“Good to know.” This kid is pretty spectacular. She’d fit in perfectly in Manhattan.
“Apparently the clean air we have here, plus getting a little dirt on your shoes, will make you nicer. Maybe.” We both glance down at my shoes. “No dirt.”
“I guess I’m still rude, then.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she whispers and offers me a grin with a missing front tooth.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“I’m Tootie.”
“Tootie?”
“Yep. It’s short for Trudy because who names a kid Trudy these days? So I made up my own version of it that suits me better.”
I feel like I’m talking to a thirty-year-old with her matter-of-fact statements, but that little giggle she gives reaffirms I’m not. “I think Tootie fits you perfectly.” I smile at her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some work done.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks as I step past her.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, a woman that comes over and then sneaks out about the time that school starts, and Mom tells me not to stare at her or ask why she’s not wearing any shoes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“If I can’t say fuck, then you can’t say Jesus Christ.”
I open my mouth to speak but am at a loss for words as I glance around again for any parent concerned where their child is. “Um, Tootie? Does your mom know where you are? Shouldn’t you be doing homework or something?”
“First, homework is a thing of the past. Some brilliant person declared it to be busy work and decided to free us kids from its shackles.” She flashes a grin. “And second, Mom is inside on the phone telling all of her friends about you.”
“Yay for no homework.” It’s all I can manage to say before Tootie continues.
“She said you have a nice butt, but you seem a little uptight. That she wouldn’t mind kicking your tires—whatever that means.
” But her ghost of a smile tells me she thinks she knows exactly what it means.
And regardless of how much I want to laugh, I’m a little uncomfortable having this conversation with a kid.
“Oh, and she gives you two weeks before you run back to the city because you can’t handle things here. ”
“Two weeks? That’s all? Good to know.” I glance at the house next door where Tootie pointed and see a woman standing in the window with a cell phone to her ear suddenly move out of sight. “It’s probably best if you don’t tell her that you told me that part about kicking my tires.”
“Okay. Then I guess I should also leave out the part where I tell you that we didn’t really bake these cookies ourselves. Mom bought them from Cedar’s Bakery so she had an excuse to come over here and talk to you herself. Guess I ruined that plan.”
“I’m glad that you did.”
“Is it true you’re here to fuck up our town?”
Christ. I cough over my laugh. “Who told you that?”
“Everybody who means nothing.” She shrugs and, somehow, I completely understand what she means.
“It’s like adults can’t ever make up their minds.
They want more jobs in town but complain when someone like you tries to make them.
They want more people to visit but then complain when there’s traffic, or they have to wait too long for a table to eat at Bessie’s Diner. You adults are super confusing.”
“We are, aren’t we?”
“For sure.” She gives a definitive nod that has her pigtails bouncing. “So, are you?”
“Am I what? Messing up the town?”
“No. I don’t care. It’s not like it matters to me. I meant are you going to Connor’s too?”
“Who’s Connor?” My head spins with her constant change in topics. And also, why is everything in this town named after somebody?
“The man who owns Connor’s,” she says as if I’m an idiot.
My patience for talking to little people is about done. My sigh says as much and she just puts her hands on her hips to say the same. “What is Connor’s?”
“It’s where all the adults go to act funny and dance and . . . kiss.” She shudders. “Sometimes when Mom has to pick up friends from there, I get to go inside for a second. I can’t wait to be a grown-up.”
“Huh.”
“Yep. Huh,” she repeats. “Time to go cause more trouble.”
She skips down the sidewalk toward her house. “Hey, Tootie?” I ask so that she stops and turns to look at me. “Do you know an Asher Wells?”
Brilliant, Ledger. Ask an eight-year-old about her.
“Why?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“It’s a long story.” I give her a half-smile while feeling like an idiot. “I was just wondering if you did.”
Tootie angles her head to the side as she thinks. “The purple lady?”
“Lavender?”
“Same thing.” She rolls her eyes. “Yep. I know her.”
The kid runs at the mouth and the minute I want her to talk, she clams up. Fucking par for the course for me today.
“That’s all you’re going to give me?”
She squints at me as if she’s figuring out if she wants to tell me more or not. Almost as if she’s protective of the people who live here from outsiders like me.
I can respect that.
“She’s nice if that’s what you want to know. And super pretty. My momma is jealous of her legs but not jealous about what people say about her.”
“What do people say about her?”
She shrugs as if she doesn’t know, but I do. Christ. Even after all these years it still seems Asher Wells is still being judged for her mother’s promiscuity and reputation.
“We had a field trip to her pop’s farm last year to learn about growing and stuff. Peter Doocey didn’t listen and got in trouble for trying to pants Dylan Abernathy. There was a big to-do over it. Pop was nice. He even gave us ice cream and didn’t care if it dripped when we ate it.”
“Ice cream is always good.”
“He’s dead, you know. Died around C.J.’s birthday.
That made me sad so I can’t imagine how it made Asher feel.
Probably way more sadder than me. Momma sent flowers to her but was angry over what she paid for on the Internet versus what was actually sent.
It was a whole thing that I don’t care to get into.
” She rolls her eyes and gives a shake of her head.
“I wonder if we have another field trip there if Asher would be the one to give us the tour?”
“Maybe.”
“Mom said hi to her in town the other day, but don’t worry, they’re not close enough for her to call her on the phone and talk about how fine your butt is. She only does that to Lacey.”
“Good to know.” I give a quick shake of my head. “Thanks.”
“Connor’s.”
“What about it?”
“Are you going? She’ll probably be there tomorrow night. It’s the place to be on music night.”
“Thanks for the info.”
“Yep. No problemo.” She flashes a mischievous grin and a wave before skipping away.
Really, Ledger?
You just asked a kid you barely know about a woman you want to know more.
You do seriously need help.