Chapter 10 Everett #2
“Thanks, man.” I clap him on the back with a quick, quiet hug before leaving and turning left.
Main Street is quiet for a Thursday afternoon.
Red, white, and blue bunting crosses the street above my head, zigzagging between lampposts and buildings, and there’s a faint flutter of vinyl in the breeze.
The enormous wooden doors of Tell’s Tavern are wedged open, and the shouts of small-town retirees tumble out as they throw darts at a board.
I walk slowly, leisurely; unhurried and with no specific place I need to be.
The light breeze is cool on my face now that Henry has trimmed back my small beard into fashionable stubble, and I run a hand over my chin.
It’s still plenty long enough, but it’s tidier now. Trendier.
I had him keep a little more length on the mustache, though.
I hope Ruth likes it.
I pass by Talia’s Boutique—a fashion store run by one of my sister’s high school classmates.
The lights are on, and there are two women inside, holding dresses up against each other.
The Yellow Rose of Skillett, a flower shop run by Savannah Townley, has buckets of fresh blooms spilling from the open door across the sidewalk.
Savannah’s family has lived in Skillett since it first came to existence, and most of them are Sheriffs or doctors or lawyers.
But Savannah never cared much for school.
She defied the family trades, got her degree in agriculture, and opened Yellow Rose.
She rents a small chunk of land from Jody’s family, where she grows her flowers and a handful of fresh herbs.
Ellison’s Bakes is closed on Thursdays, so I’m not surprised to see the windows dark, but I am shocked when I see nothing but darkness in the windows of Golden Glam next door.
There’s a for rent sign in the window, and a little of that weight comes back, settling on my shoulders again.
Some businesses thrive in small towns, but it’s always hard to watch when they don’t.
Golden Glam was a beauty salon, and Mom always said they did a great job—if a little overpriced.
I’m sure someone will take over the unit. There’s always been a waiting list for businesses to get themselves a storefront on Main Street. Most of the ones here today have been open for years, or the units have changed hands within the same family over the generations.
That’s the kind of small town Skillett is.
And that’s the kind of place—the family, the community, the everyone-knows-everyone’s-business—I grew up in.
I haven’t spent much time in town lately, and I never thought I missed it, until now.
Main Street runs out into vast, open Texas land, with a sky bigger than anything I’ve ever seen in my whole life, and when there are no more buildings left to nosey at, I spin on my heel and start back the way I came.
It doesn’t take me long to reach my truck, and as I get there, Miss Celia is wiping down a table outside the door.
“Everett Tanner, you’re lookin’ mighty scrawny, son. When’s the last time I made you a burger and a milkshake?”
“Too long, Miss Celia,” I say with a chuckle. “It’s been far too long.”
“Extra tomato slice and strawberry with a vanilla float, am I right?” Miss Celia recites my standing order—the one I’ve been making every time I’ve been here. I don’t remember my first visit, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve never ordered anything different.
“As always, Miss Celia.”
“Hah,” she says, pointing her dishrag at me.
“I might be an old lady, but I still got my brain. I still remember. You coming?” She spins, lumbering awkwardly through the door with the limp she’s had since I was a child.
It’s never seemed to slow her down. What the hell.
I could use a cheeseburger. And a milkshake.
I shrug inwardly and follow her inside, choosing my favourite two-person booth with the perfect view of my truck on the street.
The diner is quiet, too, although I remember this time of day being something of a lull between the lunch and dinner crowds.
Miss Celia delivers my food, and as I chew on my burger—with extra tomato, just the way I like it—she busies herself clearing tables elsewhere, after other customers pay and leave.
The bell rings two or three times while I sit there, signalling more people coming and going.
I offer a friendly smile, but I don’t talk to any of them.
All I’m thinking about, as I sip my milkshake through a red-striped straw, is how I can’t wait to bring Ruth here.
I can’t wait to learn how she eats her burgers and what kind of milkshakes she prefers.
I can’t wait to see her eyes light up at the sight of Savannah’s flowers and Talia’s dresses, the dreamy look on her face when she smells Ellison’s famous blueberry buns.
I might not live within the town boundaries, but it’s the town closest to the ranch, and the Tanners have always been respected faces around here. Skillett is as much my home as the ranch is. I can’t wait to show Ruth around this town. My town.
The following morning, I wake before the sunrise to find another three texts from Ruth.
ROO
I was indeed very, very drunk last night.
I apologise for anything I may or may not have said.
Oh God, now I’m double texting. Triple texting, even. Oh God. Just ignore me.