Chapter 4
With her high ponytail and cute nose, the Donner Bakery’s newest employee had to be one of the most attractive women I’d ever seen. But she was also, hands down, the rudest. Every insult that had tumbled from her full lips had been worse than the last.
If I were never forced to endure another moment of her company, that would be just fine by me. She could take her abrasive Brooklyn attitude and disappear back to where she came from.
And as for Karen Smith, well I didn’t care what she or anyone else in this town thought of me. The only thing I cared about was that they left Gemma alone.
In a black mood, I got into my truck and drove home, speeding up as I passed the farmhouse where the Brooklyn she-devil was staying. The house I’d grown up in was a further five minutes’ drive up the same road, on a stretch that was lined with forest. The gravel driveway was rutted, and my ancient truck bumped over the rough surface.
The house had been both comfortable and attractive once, more than a decade ago, when my momma had still been alive. I’d moved to Boston a few months after her death, taking my sister with me. With our brother in prison, our daddy had lived alone in the house for years, and he’d let it fall into disrepair.
Now my father was dead too, and waist-high weeds choked what had once been my momma’s front garden. The weeds stretched all the way to the woods, though the trees still made for a picturesque backdrop. The house’s weathered clapboard siding had faded to a dull gray, with paint peeling off around the windows and porch.
I’d done little to fix the place up since I’d arrived. I’d meant to. But returning to Green Valley and seeing the house again had been so overwhelming, it had sent me spiraling. Days had gone by, then weeks and months, without me doing much of anything. And though I was back in a functioning state, lately I’d been too busy setting up my new business in the large barn out back to do much about the way the house looked.
Sliding out of my truck with the bag of chocolate cake, I made a mental list of all the things that needed to be done to bring the place back to its former glory. Now that my niece was staying with me, I couldn’t keep putting it off.
“Gemma, I’m home!” I called when I got inside. There was no answer, so I put the chocolate cake on the kitchen counter. Yesterday, after leaving the cupcakes on the counter, I’d discovered the chocolate ones had disappeared. She must have crept out and eaten them. I’d counted it as a win and hoped to double down on my success with more cake today.
I rapped softly on her bedroom door, and when I still got no answer, I opened it.
Gemma was sitting at the little desk next to her bed, watching something on her phone with her earbuds in place. Turning her face to me, she pulled one from her ear. “What?”
“We need to talk.” Leaving her door open, I moved toward the kitchen. “Please come out here a moment.”
She emerged from the bedroom dragging her feet, and flopped onto the couch with a loud sigh. “What is it?”
“I have chocolate cake.” I put the slices onto plates. “We can eat while we talk.”
She said nothing for a moment, and I could feel the weight of her gaze on me. She was frowning, as though she was mulling over something serious. And when I carried the plates into the living room, she said, “You were yelling in your sleep again last night.”
“Bad dreams. Sorry if I woke you.” I handed her a plate.
Her eyes lit up as she ate a bite of cake. She even made a small mmm sound as she chewed. They made excellent cake at the Donner Bakery. I’d hoped it might help smooth a path between us, and maybe it was working a little.
“Good?” I asked.
She nodded. “Good,” she said with her mouth full.
At least I was making some kind of progress. Maybe bribing her with cake was cheating, but I needed all the help I could get, as this was sure to be a tricky conversation. While I ate my cake, I tried to think of how to approach the matter of her schooling.
“What do you dream about?” Gemma asked. “Last night it sounded pretty bad.”
I took my time swallowing, not sure how to answer. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to reveal the bleakness of my nightmares. But we were having an actual conversation, and they’d been few and far between in the weeks since she’d arrived. My privacy seemed less important than keeping the conversation going.
“Your momma and I had a difficult childhood,” I said. “She told you about your granddaddy, didn’t she?”
Gemma nodded.
“He was a violent man. And he sold drugs to other violent people. Your mother and I spent most of our childhood feeling afraid, and it’s a hard feeling to shake. Sometimes I dream about it. That’s why I yell in my sleep.”
“If growing up here was so bad, why are you still living here?”
“I came here to fix the house up and sell it. You know that.”
She screwed up her nose, looking around. “But you haven’t done anything.”
“Not yet.” My own glance around was rueful. The wallpaper was peeling, the curtains were faded, the kitchen hadn’t been updated for at least thirty years, and I’d contributed to the ugliness by piling a huge stack of moving boxes in the living room. I hadn’t even carted away my father’s old, broken-down furniture yet, though my own, much nicer furniture was stacked in one end of the barn.
“This place needs a bulldozer.” Gemma scooped the last of the cake into her mouth.
“It’s structurally sound. You’d be surprised at how good it could look. I’ve been meaning to paint, and maybe it’s something we could work on together. You could pick all the colors. It’d be fun.” As I spoke, the idea was growing on me. Why hadn’t I thought about getting her involved in the renovation before? It could take her mind off being away from her friends.
She set her plate on the coffee table. “I hate it here. Why can’t I go back to Nashville?”
“Because I’ve been setting up a business here.”
“I could go back without you and stay with one of my friends. They wouldn’t mind.”
We’d had this argument before, but I made sure to keep my tone kind. “Your momma would rather you stay with me, and you don’t want to give her something else to worry about, do you? She’s trying her hardest to feel better, and once she does, you can go home.”
“It could be months until she’s better.”
“It might be. But if you make the best of things and try to settle in, your perception of time will change. It’ll pass more quickly.” I braced myself for her reaction. “Gem, I spoke to Green Valley High School’s principal.”
“What? Why?” Jerking her head back, she narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to go to school here.”
“It’s the law. You have to go to school, and it won’t be so bad. You’ll make friends and enjoy yourself.” It was all I could do to say it as though I had no doubts. But Gemma wasn’t a Baxter. I had to believe she’d be okay.
“I won’t!” Her voice rose. “I don’t want to go! I’m going to hate it!”
“Moping around here is making you miserable. Going to school will help.”
She leapt to her feet, fists clenched. “I won’t go!”
“I’m sorry, Gem, it’s already organized. They want you to go in on Friday to get shown around and sort out the books you’ll need, then start classes on Monday.”
Her glare of furious betrayal made my heart ache, but what could I do? I’d promised Ruth I’d send her to school.
Gemma stormed to her bedroom. “I hate you!” Her door slammed behind her.
I sighed into the empty living room, then got up and walked over to her closed door.
“Tomorrow I’ll pick up some test pots of paint so we can start choosing colors to make the house look nicer,” I called through the door.
She didn’t reply.
I thought about asking if she wanted to come with me, but if folks saw the two of us together, they’d know she was a Baxter. It’d be better if she started school without having that hanging over her head.
“On my way back, I could get us more cake,” I added.
My suggestion was met with sullen silence, and I had a feeling I’d be in for a whole lot more of it over the next few days. All I wanted was to connect with her, but now we were further apart than ever.