Chapter 6 #2
She’s been divorced for two years since her husband cheated with a mutual friend. She’s not actually a witch but is definitely bitter. She’s also an artist, teaches art classes, and does anything “artsy” the Parks and Rec department needs, including designing the new hockey teams’ mascots.
She has also decided to let all of her suppressed artistic flair—suppressed by her asshole ex—spill all over her house, the only place she’s ever lived alone and called her own.
The house is a little cabin down by the bayou.
It’s hard to get to, and she doesn’t like having visitors.
She never invites anyone but me, Sutton, and Everly out there, and in public talks about curses and hexes.
She’s going for a ‘swamp witch’ reputation.
I’m not sure it’s working, but I do know that no one has tried to set her up, and she’s ecstatic about that.
Everly, on the other hand, is sweet, funny, and beautiful.
She does landscaping for a living and is responsible for all of the beautiful public spaces in town—we work closely together—and people definitely love her.
Would everyone who wants me to marry their nephews be just as thrilled to have Everly in their family? Absolutely.
“You know I’m into the witchy stuff,” Everly tells her. “Totally into potions.”
She’s actually into plants and flowers and how they can be made into perfumes and teas. But sure, we can call them ‘potions’.
“You’d be a good witch,” Andi says. “And I don’t mean that as a compliment. You’d be a good witch, versus a bad one.”
Everly laughs. “Well, I’ll come live in your cabin with you and balance out your evil impulses.”
“Nope,” Andi says. “Love you, but that house and those impulses are all mine. And Merlin’s.”
Merlin is her cat. He’s, of course, black.
He’s also nothing but a big floof who seeks out and gets comfortable on the nearest lap, no matter who it belongs to.
He’s the goofiest, sweetest animal I know.
And considering Andi is painting her ‘swamp witch house’ mostly pink, I think asking Merlin to be a scary witch cat is just confusing him.
Not that anyone in town knows her lair is pink and other pastel colors. She has a long, winding lane up to the front of the house, so even the postman and other delivery people don’t know what the house looks like.
I brace my hands on the counter and lean in. “I have to tell you something about Alex,” I say in a hushed voice.
“And we’re back to the hot and dirty part of the day,” Andi says.
Everly laughs, but I shake my head. “No. Not like that. Gardening club and then a mad dash to the airport. Dirty and sweaty from work and panic.”
“But you’re worried about him,” Andi says.
“Of course I’m worried about him. I don’t want him scared off! We need him. I went to the airport to save him from being kidnapped!”
Andi nods. “Okay. Well, yeah, he seemed awkward stepping into a café full of people who don’t really want him here.”
“Yes, and he’s not supposed to know that,” I say with a frown, straightening. Obviously, Leo, Brewser, and Wilson didn’t give a great first impression, but I thought the rest of the town would behave.
I should have known better.
“It was Bruce’s fault,” Everly says, pointing towards the cash register.
I know she’s pointing at today’s straw poll.
“That was here when Alex showed up?” Thea asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Oh my God,” Thea mutters.
Our grandpa Bruce has been doing these polls every day for as long as I can remember.
People vote by putting a dollar into the mason jar that’s labeled with the answer they agree with.
Of course, he combines all of the money when he donates it at the end of the month, but it’s a fun way to collect the money.
Usually, it’s things like best sundae topping or worst place to get an itch while giving a public speech. And yes, sometimes the answers are inappropriate.
But today is the first time Alex Olsen’s name has shown up in the polls.
Which reminds me… I want to scold my grandfather. I spin toward the kitchen door. “Bruce!”
Ruth pops out from behind the swinging door, her eyes wide. I hope we’re not going to have to have another talk about child labor laws. “Where is Grandpa?” I ask.
“He’s up to his armpits in barbecue sauce,” she reports.
Whatever. I step forward and push the door open. “Seriously?” I demand of my grandfather.
Harley is my grandfather by blood. He was married to my grandmother, and they had my mom, my aunt Bebe, and my uncles, C.W.
and Ben. I never knew my grandma. She died before I was born.
And Harley and Bruce, best friends while my grandparents were married, realized they were more than friends after Bruce helped my grandpa regroup.
Bruce and Harley have been married all my life, so Bruce is my grandpa as much as Harley is.
In fact, they’re both more like fathers, having raised me after my mom left.
“I didn’t put all those dollar bills in the Alex jar,” he says.
He’s hardly up to his armpits in barbecue sauce. He’s stirring a big pot, and it smells like barbecue for sure—deliciously so—but still, he can step away.
“You put the jars there. You labeled them,” I say, planting my hands on my hips, and propping the door open with one foot. “You have to stop being mean. You need to be welcoming. Kind. Friendly. Helpful. We need him.”
“I don’t like him,” Bruce says curtly.
“Why not?” I personally thought Alex was very…likeable.
Then again, Bruce hadn’t kissed Alex and realized just how likable the man’s mouth was.
“What do we know about him? He’s a spoiled, rich, professional athlete who has probably always gotten his way and couldn’t even take his time to talk with a guy who has been a fan since his first day in the league, who had a major medical event.”
I blow out a breath. “I know. But the only thing we need to know is the professional athlete thing. We need him for hockey. Period.”
“I know things about him!” Ruth says. “He likes Fruity Pebbles but only eats them in the off-season. He takes his training very seriously. He gives money to the hospital where his sister had surgery and rehab after her accident. He does lots of meet-and-greets! He got hurt the night that Harley and I were there.”
I blink at her. She knows what kind of cereal Alex likes? I knew she was a fan, but…wow. I look at Bruce. “He sounds like a nice guy.”
“He is!” Ruth insists.
“He was a shit to you and to your great-grandpa,” Bruce says.
“Yeah, and he was having a really bad night, and he said sorry to me. He was nice today.”
Ruth is a big-hearted, happy kid who loves hockey, baking cookies, and the sci-fi channel. Not necessarily in that order.
Okay, actually exactly in that order.
Bruce, on the other hand, is big-hearted but does not just automatically like everyone.
He’s not Harley. But he knows how to get along.
How to schmooze. How to fake it. He’s a politician’s spouse.
He’s lived in Rebel all his life, though, so he doesn’t have to do that much here.
He can’t erase sixty-four years of not getting along with certain people or the things he said forty years ago. Or twenty. Or two.
Thankfully, those people vote for Harley because they’ve known him for seventy-six years.
People also keep coming to Perks and Rec because Bruce is a hell of a cook, his coffee is the best in town, and the rest of the people in the building are people they like and get along with.
I love Bruce dearly, but how he and my happy, sunshine-y, sweet grandpa Harley fell in love is something I sometimes wonder about.
But then I sigh. Bruce is acting like this toward Alex because he’s protective of Harley. He doesn’t like Alex because Alex snubbed Harley. Bruce has been especially surly ever since Harley’s stroke reminded him that Harley isn’t invincible. And that scared the shit out of Bruce.
So when Harley’s big chance to meet his favorite player came up and was then a huge disappointment, Bruce took that personally.
I get it.
I hated Alex Olsen that night, too. And for a long time after that.
I still wouldn’t be a fan if he weren’t the answer to all my problems.
“And you forgive him?” I ask Ruth. I raise my voice slightly. I’m standing with the swinging door propped open so the whole café can hear me. I’d hate for anyone to strain something trying to eavesdrop.
“For sure!” she says exuberantly.
“That’s great.” I give her a smile. “I’m proud of you.” I want them all to hear this. Everyone in here is a regular. No doubt some of those dollar bills in the Alex Olsen jar are theirs. They also need to spread the word to those who aren’t here.
I turn to address the whole café. As expected, everyone is watching and listening.
“Alex is new to town, new to small-town life. He told me he was really sorry about how he treated Harley and Ruth, and I believe him. We need to give him a chance.” I get heads nodding in unison, and I give them a big smile. “Thank you.”
Then I lower my voice and say to Bruce, “We need the hockey team to do well for the election.”
Bruce’s shoulders slump slightly. “I know.”
Bruce doesn’t want Harley to run again. He thinks Harley should retire.
But Harley doesn’t want to end his tenure on the heels of the stroke.
He doesn’t want that to be the reason. He wants to prove that he can still do the job and then go out on top.
On his own terms. Not because his body gave out and betrayed him.
I’m going to do whatever I can to make that happen for him.
“We need the team to be successful, so everyone sees that Harley’s idea for hockey in Rebel was a great idea and he’s still able to lead,” I reiterate. I know Ruth, Thea, Everly, and Andi are all still listening. They’re part of our inner circle and definitely need to be on board.
“But this new hockey thing is your idea, sweetheart,” Bruce says.
“No.” I shake my head. “Harley’s helped with it a ton.”