Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
Elliott
The Mercer Hardware sign comes into view after a minute.
Right beside it is the Bait & Tackle shop, and sitting out front is the Thermos Crew—Jimmy, Clyde, and Sam.
Not only do they hang out in front of the shop drinking coffee in their lawn chairs and gossiping like teenage girls, they’re also at my uncle’s place once a week for poker night.
Since they’re my uncle’s best friends, they’ve been a fixture in my life since I was ten and came to live with him.
“Hey, guys.” I raise my hand as we approach.
Clyde nods. “Elliott. Finally bringing this cutie for a visit. How are you, Baylor?”
She thrusts her cup toward the old men, beaming. They’re old to her anyway. Now that I’m in my thirties, someone being in their early sixties doesn’t seem so old to me anymore.
“Daddy got me a steamer.”
Jimmy chuckles. “Down at the café, were you?”
“How is Dottie?” Sam asks with a teasing glint in his eye.
Baylor nods enthusiastically. “Daddy says Miss Dottie just wants someone to warm her bed.”
I put my hand over her mouth as heat floods my face, and all three men erupt in laughter.
She turns away from the guys and looks up at me, and I release my hand. “Daddy, how come she doesn’t use a heating pad like the one you give me when I’m cold?”
“Baylor, what did I tell you about repeating things I say?”
“But that’s what you said last time we were there. And you say to always tell the truth.”
It’s when things like this happen that I wish Kate were still around. I picture the two of us on the back deck after Baylor’s asleep, me recounting whatever hilariously inappropriate thing our daughter said that day, Kate’s laughter carrying out into the cool night air.
Sometimes I feel sorry for Baylor and myself—for her not having a mother and me not having a partner. But then I remind myself there’s no point. It is what it is. All I can do is make the best of it.
“Anyway, what’s new, fellas?”
“Let’s see…” Clyde taps a thick finger on his lips as though he can’t recite an entire list of gossip.
“You know Greta Goldstein drove into the city and spent a couple days there a few weeks ago. The women in town are saying she had a little work done… you know, a bit of an enhancement.” He cups his palms up to his chest area.
“What does enchantments mean?”
“Guys,” I say, looking down at Baylor and back up at them. “Nothing for you to worry about.” I set my hand on the top of her head.
“Well, I say God bless modern science. Maybe it’s the feminist in me, but if a woman wants to enhance things, I say so be it.” Clyde grins, completely ignoring me.
Sam and Jimmy laugh, and I shake my head. No wonder Baylor talks like a full-on teenager half the time. She’s around adults who don’t have a filter around kids.
“Heard someone’s thinking of doing something down on the lakefront,” Jimmy says, his eyes on me.
Alarms go off in my head, and my blood heats.
“Who’s doing what where?” I won’t get the whole story. The Thermos Crew gets bits and pieces, just enough to tease, but never the full story.
Jimmy shrugs. “Not sure. Just heard rumblings. You know, Rita Milltown’s land?” He lifts his thermal mug to his mouth to sip his coffee.
Fucking developers. They’re always coming into small towns like this and trying to turn them into something they’re not. Not every paradise has to be paved over.
“You guys mind if Baylor hangs with you for a few minutes? I have to go place an order for some stuff I need at the camp to shut ’er down.”
“’Course not.” Clyde heaves himself up from his chair. “Why don’t you take my seat, Baylor? I could use a stretch. If I sit too long at my age, I’ll freeze up.”
Baylor’s eyes narrow into the cutest confused face as she walks toward the chair.
I head next door to the hardware store, the bell chiming above the door. The scent of this place—a mix of raw wood, machine oil, and sawdust—always brings me back to my teens. All my siblings and I had a mandatory stint working here.
Though my teen years were tough ones, something still pulls at me every time I walk through that door.
“Roy?”
“Yeah, just give me a sec.” A minute later, my uncle ambles up from the back of the store. He’s a little heavier than he used to be, and these days his hair is more salt than pepper, but he hasn’t gone entirely gray yet.
I guess that Mercer Hardware T-shirt we got him for Christmas was a worthless purchase.
He’s wearing his tried and true black Pink Floyd T-shirt.
He has quite the collection of T-shirts dedicated to various musical entities and wears one almost every day.
And they’re not all rock bands. They range from New Kids on the Block to Luciano Einaudi.
Once, Baylor asked him why he always wore them, and he told her it was because they made him happy, which I suppose is as good a reason as any.
“Hey, everything go well today?” He takes his spot behind the counter.
“Yeah. No surprises, which is always good.” One year, two sets of parents forgot it was pickup day, and since they were from out of state, their kids had to stay an extra night.
“Glad to hear it. Give it to me?” He grabs a pad of paper and a pen.
“What?”
“Your end-of-the-season order.”
God, is this how predictable I’ve become?
“Yup. I’ll grab it all with my truck Tuesday morning after I get Baylor settled at school.”
He arches a wiry eyebrow. “Tuesday, not tomorrow?”
“Nah, gonna spend the weekend with her since she’ll be starting school next week.”
“You are becoming a changed man.” He props up on the stool my siblings and I got him for his birthday three years ago when he complained about his back hurting while he’s checking out customers.
My forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Putting something off? Delaying your checklist?” His sarcastic smirk says more than the words coming out of his mouth.
“It’s not every week your daughter starts school.” My voice belies the actual feeling in my chest.
For five years, Baylor has been my sidekick. The idea of her being gone all day brings into perspective how much I’ve relied on her for companionship, which is pathetic that my best friend has been my five-year-old daughter.
“All right, what do you need?” My uncle slides on his reading glasses and puts his pen to paper, and I’m thankful to push that thought out of my mind.
I go through my list as he checks his stock on the computer. “What’s this the guys are talking about?”
“Mrs. Davidson’s rooster waking up her neighbors? I heard they’re picketing outside her house.” He presses the buttons, never looking up.
“Not that.”
“Oh, you mean the budget for the rec programs being cut in half?”
“Nope.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d be into Greta’s new breasts, but hey, no judgment if you’re looking for a cougar.” He holds up his hands, smiling, a laugh ready to fall out of him.
“I’m talking about the developer sniffing around.”
His smile deepens, suggesting he knew all along but wanted to fuck with me. Sometimes I feel as if I’m the only resident in Echo Lake who cares if this town stays intact.
“Oh yeah, heard that this morning from Mrs. Klein. She wanted a snow shovel just in case we get it early this year.” He shakes his head.
“I don’t ask. I just sell.” He sets the pen down and crosses his arms over his small stomach that hangs over his pants.
“Didn’t hear anything more than that, though. Don’t let it keep you up all night.”
“We have to watch them. These developers are like cockroaches. The minute you stomp one out, two more take their place.”
Roy stares at me without any reaction, and I feel my annoyance notch up another level. “True enough, though maybe it’s inevitable that someday one of them will succeed.”
“Not on my watch.”
This isn’t the first time some big city company has come sniffing around, looking for a way to fill their coffers by exploiting our small town. Just ask the original residents of Juniper Point. Oh, that’s right. There aren’t any. It’s filled with tourists and people who own second homes there.
I drove through there six months ago, and it looks nothing like the town I remembered.
“What are you up to after the store closes? You want to join Baylor and me for dinner?”
“Can’t. The guys and I are heading to the pub to watch the Sox. Before that, I have to run down to the Crow & Clover. Manuel called, and they’ve got a leak coming in through the roof from last night’s rain.”
I sigh. Roy still believes he’s in his thirties. “You’re not going up on that roof, old man. I’ll do it.”
“Who are you calling old man?”
“The sixty-two-year-old man in front of me who’s always complaining about his knees and his back. Let’s save the back and forth, and you just graciously accept my help. I’ll get a tarp secured that will last them until the roofers can get out there.”
He opens his mouth to argue but relents, nodding. “Fine. Leave Baylor here. I’ll keep an eye on her.” He tosses his reading glasses on the counter.
“She’ll be happy to have some time with her granddad.” Though Uncle Roy isn’t technically Baylor’s grandfather, that’s the role he plays in her life, not that she has many other options.
“I’ve already got everything ready to go in the back of my truck. Leave yours here and take mine.” He tosses me the keys, and I turn for the door. I’m half out of it when he calls my name. “Oh, the bunkie.”
Shit, I forgot it was the main reason for coming in here.
“Yeah, I’d like a little heads-up next time,” I say.
“If memory serves, I’m doing you a favor,” he jabs, tearing the sheet of paper off the corkboard next to the register.
I drag a hand through my hair. “You said you’d handle it while camp was in session.”
“And I have. This one just kind of slipped by me.” He smiles, and I shake my head.
We couldn’t be more opposite than one another.
I’m not going to stand here and fight with him. “When did they call?”
“Last week. Forgot to mention it. Just found the sticky note with the details.” He holds up a pink Post-it Note that’s crumpled and has a coffee stain on it.
“When are they going to arrive, and how long are they staying again?”
He glances at the note and picks his glasses up off the counter, sliding them onto his face. “They’re gonna be here today around seven p.m. and for the three months, like I texted you.”
“Seven?” I glance at my watch. It’s already coming up on five thirty. “All right. I’ll work as fast as I can over at the shop and swing back here to get Baylor. See ya.”
Though I’m happy for the rental income, I wish my uncle wouldn’t have such a lackadaisical way of handling the bookings. I guess with this guest, I won’t have to worry about it for three months.
I send Baylor in to see her granddad, then I climb into my uncle’s work truck. Battered, spotted with rust and chipped paint, I wouldn’t dare suggest he replace it. His love for his truck might be more than my siblings and I all put together.
When I pull up to the Crow & Clover, every spot out front is taken. A sleek black Mercedes with Massachusetts plates sits at the curb—conspicuous, since no one in Echo Lake drives a Mercedes or carries out-of-state plates.
But it doesn’t take a genius to know who does. The fucking investor.