4. Lily
4
Lily
It took me ages to fall asleep last night, even though I was exhausted. But as weary as I was, I just couldn’t get Orson Donovan out of my mind. And it’s not just because he looked like he had walked out of a photoshoot for Men’s Health. Though he certainly had my blood pumping as he stood there, completely composed and confident, facing plenty of people who had made his life miserable.
But I think that’s what was irking me. It’s still irking me this morning, and I’ve already been up for hours. I just can’t seem to get this niggling feeling out of my head. It’s like an unreachable itch that I can’t scratch.
Of course, since we started work this morning, Jasmine hasn’t shut up about him, either.
“My, my, he is a fine man. If I were ten years younger,” she says, grinning at me and raising her eyebrows knowingly.
“Maybe he likes an older woman,” I quip back.
“Oh, no, girl. And besides”—she gestures to her curvy figure—“I think I’d just be too much woman for that man.” She then throws her head back and bursts into laughter.
Jasmine has this fantastic laugh that emanates from the soles of her feet. It’s loud, and deep, and genuine. It’s also entirely infectious, which is why I find myself laughing along with her.
Busily placing the order that just arrived out on the shelf behind me, she says, “He’s a savior, that’s for sure. That man is just what this town needs. My heart tells me that Mr. Donovan is going to do some real good around here.”
But as I listen to her, I’m not so sure. To look at him, as he strode in here last night, his back straight, his broad shoulders taking up half the room, you couldn’t imagine he was the same hounded boy that used to live here. There has certainly been a huge transformation. And yet…
“What is it?” Jasmine says, gazing at me with her inquisitive eyes. “I can see your mind working overtime.”
“I don’t know. Something just feels off.”
Jasmine’s brow furrows. “What do you mean, off? You think the man is lying?” She turns to give me her full attention.
“Yes and no. I think.” I sound as certain as the weather. “I went to school with Orson Donovan, Jasmine. The people here were awful to him. You know Cindy Caldwell?”
“Who doesn’t?” Jasmine says, rolling her eyes. “The woman’s mouth never closes, and when it’s open, all I hear is ‘blah, blah, blah.’”
I giggle at Jasmine’s perfect description. “Well, she was one of the main perpetrators. She would rile the others up against him, and both the boys and the girls did her bidding to appease the most popular girl in school. She was a real piece of work.”
“I see nothing has changed, then,” Jasmine quips. “She’s still a mouthpiece. Now, she thinks she owns the town instead of the school.”
I couldn’t disagree. The only reason she isn’t on the town council is because she thinks it’s beneath her.
“And that is my point. I mean, how did he do it? How was he able to walk in here last night and speak to everyone so calmly, and—?”
“He’s outgrown this town,” Jasmine says, as if that’s the only logical answer.
But I’m struggling. It’s too simple. It’s hard to believe he’s just gotten over all of that. I know I haven’t, and I wasn’t even the target.
My colleague is still looking at me, and being the perceptive woman she is, she reads my mind. “But you don’t believe that.”
“Not really.” I shake my head. “He arrived here last night and did his best to charm us all. That, in and of itself, could not have been easy for him. But then, he acted like none of it happened. And there were some things he said that alerted me. Like how much he loved this town, and that Willow Creek made him the man he is today.”
“Maybe it did.” Jasmine shrugs.
I shake my head again. “That’s certainly not how I remember it.” I still get shivers down my spine when I think of some of the things they put him through. “They tortured him for years, Jasmine. He suffered constant name-calling. They painted his locker with words that would make your ears bleed. They tripped him up in the cafeteria, sending him and his lunch flying across the room. The humiliation was awful. And that’s not even the bad stuff.”
Talking about this is bringing up memories I’ve purposefully repressed. He was a loner with—if I remember—one friend who was also an outcast. If Jake wasn’t by his side, then Orson was on his own. That went on for all the years of school. When it was over, I never saw Orson Donovan again in this town. And I mean, ever. Which is why I was so surprised last night.
All right, breathless is probably a better description.
“But why?” Jasmine is frowning again. “What dreadful thing did he do to deserve such awful treatment?”
I then explain to her about the Donovans and how the town had treated their whole family. I tell her that Orson didn’t do anything to deserve any of it. He was just born with the wrong name.
Jasmine is gazing at me intently. “So, you think there’s another reason he’s here,” she says.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “But you heard him last night, spouting all this garbage about the fondness he felt for this town. After school, he was out of here so fast, he left a plume of smoke behind him.”
Jasmine grins at me. Then she inclines her head. “You know, maybe he said what he felt he had to say,” she says wisely. “It’s obvious he had a hard time here, but he’s an accomplished businessman. I mean, my entire wardrobe wouldn’t add up to the cost of that fine suit he was wearing. Maybe he told the town what they needed to hear.”
“Maybe,” I reply.
“Sweetheart,” Jasmine begins, but the sound of the tinkling bell above the bakery door cuts her short, and we both turn to watch Mrs. Ferris walk in.
“Good morning, girls,” the old lady says.
She always calls us girls, but then, she is nearly eighty-two years old. Anyone below the age of sixty probably looks like a girl to her.
“What can I get you, Mrs. Ferris?”
And that made the discussion more or less over. We didn’t return to it after Mrs. Ferris left, and as the hour moved along, we didn’t get much chance between the customers.
But it hasn’t left my mind, even now, as the day has come to an end, and I’m upstairs in my apartment with my laptop open, ready to Zoom call my sisters. It’s a thing we do nearly every couple of weeks.
I’m just not convinced. I couldn’t have imagined anyone from Donovan Enterprises showing their face last night, but even if they had called ahead and booked a chair, I would have expected Orson’s father, not the man who suffered such ill will from these narrow-minded townsfolk.
He lied last night when he recalled fond memories of living here. And if he lied about that, what else was he lying about?
When Martha and Ellie pop up on the screen, I push the thought from my mind and beam a huge grin.
“Hey, you guys.”
“Hey, sweetie, Ellie replies.
“Hello, lovely,” Martha says.
The conversation begins, and I listen to Ellie and Martha tell me all about their lives. I love our calls. They keep me sane. We weren’t always super close as young sisters. In fact, we fought like cats and dogs. Mom had to separate us on many occasions, fearing we might kill each other. But when we all moved out, that changed.
It’s strange, but apparently not unusual. We’re now closer than ever, each of us taking turns to visit Mom in the care center so she gets a visitor every two weeks.
Mom has no clue who we are, of course. She thinks we’re the nurses. It was hard at the beginning, especially for Ellie. She was always closest to Mom. But as the years have passed, we’ve become accustomed to sitting with her and pretending this woman didn’t raise us to be the best versions of ourselves.
“So, what’s happening where you are?” Martha says. “Gerry says there are investors coming to Willow Creek.”
“How would he know?” I ask, frowning with surprise.
“Oh, you know Gerry. He spends more time reading the paper than he does talking to me.”
“He does not,” Ellie laughs.
Martha grins and shakes her head. “Of course, he doesn’t. You think I’d put up with that kind of treatment?”
We all laugh, partly because it’s funny, partly because we know it’s true.
“He was reading The Post the other day and mentioned it. So, what’s the gossip? Surely you’ve heard something by now?”
I feel myself getting nervous. Both my sisters know how hard I crushed on Orson Donovan at school. Whatever I say here is going to elicit conclusion jumping.
“Did Gerry tell you it was Donovan Enterprises?” I ask.
Martha lifts her eyebrows and widens her eyes. “He did. I’ll bet that’s going to go down well.”
“Oh, wow. Donovan Enterprises,” Ellie gasps.
“It gets better,” I say. “Last night, I held a town meeting in the bakery. Guess who walks in?”
“No way,” Martha cries, jumping forward on her chair.
Ellie is nearly screaming with excitement, wafting her hands up and down. “Orson Donovan? Really? Orson came back?”
I nod. “He sure did.”
“Well, what’s he like?” Martha presses.
I shrug and try to act as nonplussed as possible. “Yeah. He looked good.”
“Oh, my Lord,” Ellie squeals. “Look at him.”
I’m a bit confused.
“I’m on their website,” she continues in her high-pitched excitement. “He’s right there. Holy cow, he’s hot!”
“Ellie!” I laugh.
Martha’s typing like mad, clearly following Ellie’s footsteps. “He looks good, huh, Lily?” Martha smirks at me a few seconds later. “I can tell you this. If I looked that ‘ good ’”—she flashes quotation marks with her fingers—“I’d be in magazines. In fact, he should be in magazines.”
“He’s so photogenic,” Ellie coos.
“Will you guys cut it out?” I say, trying to prevent my sisters from drooling over their laptops.
“Is he single?” Ellie carries on regardless.
“Ellie. Seriously.”
“Well”—she smiles widely—“you always did have the biggest crush on him. You can’t tell me your heart didn’t do a somersault when you saw him.”
There’s no point lying to them. My sisters know me too well.
“My jaw may or may not have dropped to the floor. And yes. I think there was a point where I actually pinched myself.”
They both giggle at me, the excitement of the conversation making us all a little giddy.
After many more inappropriate remarks from my sisters, we eventually say farewell and end the call. As always, I am in a far better mood. But with Orson on my mind, I return to my doubts.
As hot and as cute as he is, both of which are undeniable facts, that itch still can’t be scratched. I’m super tired and start to ready myself for bed, but as I stand in the bathroom and brush my teeth, I am determined to keep a close eye on our new investor.
Looking at myself in the mirror, toothpaste foaming in my mouth, I shake the toothbrush at my reflection.
“Keep your eyes open, Miss Harper.”
After spraying toothpaste across my bathroom mirror, I rinse, spit, and turn the bathroom light out.