Chapter 14
Elias
She’s been at it for hours. I’ve given her space and helped Silas around the bar for as long as I can stand, but I’m ready to blow this popsicle stand.
I grimace at another one of Goldie’s sayings. At this point, I’m just an old grandma in a younger man’s body.
“You out?” Silas asks as I toss him a rag after cleaning off a table. “You know I’m a sucker for free labor.”
I snort at that. It was more of a way to pass time than a favor. “I think I need to get some food in her,” I say, gesturing upstairs. “A woman cannot live on iced tea alone.”
Silas’s lips curl into a devious grin. “How gentlemanly of you to look after the new girl in town. Are you sweet on her?”
And I thought my mother was bad.
“Shut it,” I grumble. “Just more free labor around here.”
He sniggers and I ignore him, making my way upstairs. I find Nora standing at the window, a tired expression on her pretty face. Her cheeks are pink and damp. All the letters from the ottoman have been stacked neatly on top and tied together.
“Ready for some fried clams?”
She spins to look at me, her blond hair dancing around her, and a smile tugs at her lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I forget, for a moment, that she’s not my favorite person. In fact, I’m mesmerized by her long lashes as they blink against her apple cheeks. Dragging my gaze from them, I find my eyes lingering over her smiling mouth for far too long.
Get it together, man.
As she gathers up the letters, I take her empty iced tea glass. I deliver the glass into the dishwasher bin on the way out and she heads to the bar to talk to Silas. By the time I exit the kitchen and round the bar, I find him hugging her.
A spike of something shoots through me. It’s unfamiliar, and whatever it is, I don’t like it. Gives me the willies.
“Ready?” I ask, voice a little louder and firmer than I intend.
Silas shoots me a knowing look. “She’s all yours.”
I shift uncomfortably at that statement. There’s nothing about Nora Everhart that’s mine, but there’s a small part of me that’s glad they’re done with their hug.
“Come on,” I say as we pass a loud table full of tourists. “We can walk. I doubt there’s any parking up that way.”
Once outside, the late afternoon sun burns hot against our skin. I squint at the brightness and wonder if I could make it all the way up Wing Whirr Way with my eyes closed. I’ve only gone up this path a million times.
But, with all these extra people in town, I’d inevitably run over some little kid or an escaped budgie or something, so the eyes remain open.
“Want to put your letters in the truck?” I ask when we pass my vehicle.
She stops long enough to toss them inside. I lock it back up and we continue our trek. Nora hugs her purse to her and walks close enough to my side I can smell her perfume. I don’t hate it.
“Is that a bookstore?” she asks, pointing across Wing Whirr Way.
“Yup.”
“Don’t go in there much?” Her eyes glimmer as she teases me.
“Actually,” I say grumpily, “I don’t. And not because I don’t read.”
Her eyebrows hike up. “You can’t leave me on a cliffy like that. Why don’t you go in there?”
“I don’t like some of the staff.”
“You not liking someone?” Nora feigns over-the-top disbelief as she presses her fingertips to her mouth. “I just can’t see it.”
“Funny,” I deadpan. “Clementine works there.”
“Ex-girlfriend?”
“She’s a Harker. Our kind doesn’t mix well with theirs.”
Nora frowns. “What exactly does that mean?”
“Her family is full of shiitake heads.”
A giggle bursts out of Nora. “My grandma really did a number on you.”
“Tell me about it.”
I place my hand on the small of her back as we cross the street.
It’s completely unnecessary, but I feel compelled to make sure she gets across safely.
You can’t trust tourists around here. Monroe said they account for ninety percent of vehicular accidents each year which is a lot considering tourist season is generally only through the summer.
Once we’re on the other side, I remove my hand and then shove it into my pocket, because for some reason, I feel guilty. The scent of fried clams fills my nostrils as we approach my childhood haunt and my stomach growls in anticipation, erasing all the strange emotions bubbling up inside me.
An older man exits the restaurant and then beams at Nora. “Hello, pretty lady. Let me get the door for you. Not every day an old fella like me gets to help a lovely gal like yourself.”
She blushes and thanks him profusely. The man gives me a thumbs up when she heads inside and whispers to me, “You hit the jackpot, buddy.”
Rather than get into a deep conversation about how she’s my deceased roommate’s granddaughter whom I still think was selfish for not going to the funeral, I nod instead and follow after her.
The place is hopping like it always is, but a little more chaotic than usual given that BudgieFest is nearly here.
We pass by a table of what has to be three families and their dozens of kids between the three of them.
Most of the kids are gathered around at one end, oohing and ahhing over a small cage sitting on the table.
Inside is a very terrified albino budgie, its red eyes pinning.
One of the children tries to rouse the poor bird to do something with her straw.
This is the part I hate about BudgieFest. I hated it long before Goldie started staying with me. In fact, all locals hate that these clueless parents get birds for their children without truly considering how labor intensive having birds can be.
“Excuse me, little girl,” Nora says, voice firm as she aims it toward the kid with the straw. “You’re going to scare your budgie to death. Don’t poke at it with a straw or I’ll have the sheriff come over to deal with you.”
The child withdraws the straw and then runs over to her mom, sobbing. I can hear her complaining about the mean lady.
I stifle a laugh as we settle into a booth nearby. The mother of the child glares at Nora as she attempts to console the girl. I’m amused because it’s something her grandmother would have also done.
“Glad someone has the guts to say something around here,” a waitress says as she slaps down some menus. “What can I get you two?”
“Dot in?” I ask as I quickly peruse the menu for anything new that interests me.
“Nah, she left a couple of hours ago.” The woman cants her head to the side. “You must be one of her grandkids. Same eyes.”
“Perceptive,” I say and thump the menu with my knuckle. “I’ll have a root beer in a frosty mug.”
Nora perks up at that. “Same.”
As the woman walks away, I catch Nora staring at the table with the albino budgie. Her anger, this time, isn’t aimed toward me which is kind of nice.
Thankfully, the families must’ve been finishing up their meal because they all get up and leave before our waitress returns with our drinks.
After placing our order, Nora relaxes now that she doesn’t have to witness a bird in peril, and a smile touches her lips. I distract myself with sipping on my root beer, so I don’t fixate on her mouth.
“I think I found my purpose.”
Her statement gets my attention, and I snap my eyes up to hers. “About…”
“Why I’m here.”
I stare at her, my eyebrows pinching in confusion. “You’re here because you missed your grandma’s funeral and are trying to sell her house. Then you’ll go back to the city.”
She bristles and her nostrils flare. “You make me sound cold and heartless.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “If the shoe fits,” but I bite it back. Behind the flash of anger toward me is hurt and pain. I’m being a pain in the asterisk.
“Sorry,” I mutter out instead. “I’m hangry.”
Our waitress drops off a basket of fried clams. All irritation and weirdness is erased the second we taste the savory goodness. Nora groans happily. They really are the best in all the land.
“Anyway,” she says around a mouthful of clams, “I have an updated ta-da list that’s more than just a to-do list.”
“I thought there wasn’t any difference other than a snazzy name.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Snazzy. Not sure I’ve heard that word out of anyone under the age of eighty’s mouth. Ever. Until now.”
This ribbing between us, when we’re being playful and joking, is nice. I have to wrangle in the snappy retorts when I’m feeling resentful.
“Tell me your snazzy ta-da list,” I say before shoving another fried clam sliver into my mouth.
She wipes her fingers on a napkin and then leans closer as if to let me in on a secret. “House. Budgies. Book. All by the end of the month.”
Her ta-da list seems ambitious. Especially considering Dad can’t even get to the repairs until next week.
“I can tell you don’t believe me,” she says quickly, “but I’m good at project management.”
I eye the empty basket full of crumbs with longing for more before turning my gaze up to hers. “I’m not sure what all that entails, but my to-do list regarding Goldie’s house is going to take longer than a few weeks. Likely the whole summer.”
She nods as if she were expecting this response. “All the hard stuff, yes. But all the cleaning and going through her things can be done in that time period.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “And the budgies?”
“It’ll be more than enough time to rehome them properly.”
Sourness settles in my gut. There may have been a time after Goldie died that I considered giving them to someone else, but then it quickly passed. It’ll be one less thing off my plate, but it doesn’t sit right with me.
They’re not your birds, man.
You’re not her grandson.
“Before you panic,” she rushes out, “I’m not going give them to BudgieFest visitors. I’ll personally vet each person interested. Locals only. No Harkers allowed.”
My lips twitch with a hint of a smile. “Spoken like a true Everhart.”
“And, for the best part,” she says, leaning forward and grinning eagerly. “The book.”
“You want to do something with your grandma’s budgie care book? I know she has loads of them in a storage unit. She liked to pass them out at BudgieFest.”
“Not that book.”
Our waitress returns with our entrées and we’re both momentarily distracted. I’m halfway through my brie and bacon bay burger before she continues with her plan.
“I want to document their love story,” she says, eyes shining with excitement. “Officially. Maybe then Mom can understand Grandma’s feelings a bit better. I’d love for her to find a way to forgive her.”
This plan of hers is more than ambitious. It’s a bit insane. Just the book alone might take forever. Goldie left no shortage of notebooks, and her computer is crammed with more.
“What do you think?” Nora asks before nibbling on a curly fry.
I finish swallowing the last of my burger and shrug. “It’s a lot to be honest. I think you need to give yourself more time.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “Work won’t wait forever. At some point I’ll need to head back to New York.”
Even though I know it’s the plan, a part of me doesn’t like this answer. I’m not about to dissect why that is either.
“Let me guess,” I say in a dry tone. “You want my help with this stuff too.”
“I think we’ve entered truce territory. I can be pleasant so we can accomplish all of this. What about you?”
“I make no promises on pleasantness,” I say with a half smirk, “but I will help you.”
She beams at me. “Partners it is.”
The tightening inside my chest at her words is alarming. Maybe she’s getting through the thick grizzled exterior I wear like armor.
Or…
Maybe it’s too many fried clams and I’m one clogged artery away from chasing my old roommate into the afterlife.
I guess only time will tell.