Nate
This can't be good.
A pit forms in my stomach as I reread the text from Rory’s brother:
Dylan
Dad is going to text you about a favor. Just say no.
He doesn't offer any further information, so maybe the stress that’s forming in my gut isn’t warranted.
Wouldn’t he have offered more details if it were something quick and easy, though?
But then, Dylan is a man of few words. Solid, steadfast, and a great guy to have in your corner, but spilling the tea is not exactly his thing.
There's not much to do but wait for whatever favor Rory and Dylan's dad is about to call in. Or text in, I suppose.
“How are things going with Rory?” Lawton asks, leaning back in his chair.
I set my phone on the desk and push a hand through my hair as I turn toward him, grateful for a distraction from whatever ask is headed my way.
Lawton has been a part of the High Lonesome police force for a few years and, unlike most outsiders, seems like he’s actually going to become a permanent fixture.
“Things are great, actually,” I say, unable to hold back the smile that spreads across my face. “It's been hard on her since her mom died, but having her back home with me and our relationship on track? Fucking perfection.”
It really is. All those years I had Rory on a pedestal, picturing her as my perfect girl? Yeah, I knew that reality might not measure up. It often doesn’t.
But in this case, reality is better than I could have imagined.
He scratches his jaw. “I'm happy for you, man. Really.”
A pang of guilt flashes through me, because Lawton has had it rough over the past few years when it comes to love. He moved to town with a girlfriend something like…three years ago? Four? After the first winter they were here, she had enough and left town.
Lawton doesn’t talk about it much, but I get the sense that she didn’t just leave town. She left him, too.
Despite the darkness of his past, Lawton somehow manages to see the best in people, and I can always count on him to be happy for his friends.
"Thanks," I say, adding a small shrug. "There were times when I didn't think Rory and I would get here, so sometimes it still feels not quite real."
He lifts his baseball cap to push a hand through his dark hair, then settles it back into place. “Yeah, I get that, man. Is her friend still staying with you?”
“Allie? Yeah. She can work remotely, so she’s staying in town as long as Rory needs that extra support.”
“And that’s not interfering with…things?”
He’s about as subtle as a brick through a window. Or as subtle as Allie waking up at four a.m., which she does with alarming regularity.
Now that she’s been living with us for several weeks, Allie and I have settled into a routine: she puts on some kind of pants as well as a sweatshirt before venturing out of her bedroom, and I make sure my morning wood is taken care of before I head to the kitchen for coffee.
Let’s just say that first morning we were both up early was a learning experience for both of us. And one we have promised to never speak of ever again.
But to answer Lawton’s very valid question: is having Allie staying in the spare bedroom putting a strain on my relationship with Rory? Absolutely not.
“It’s not an issue, honestly. Allie gets up early to work since she’s on Chicago time, so she goes to bed pretty early a lot of nights. And Rory doesn’t seem to care if Allie hears our…activities, so I guess I don’t either.”
I smirk, remembering the walls Rory and I rattled a few nights ago.
Something else Allie and I have agreed not to discuss.
Lawton shakes his head with a smile. “Good for you, man. I’m in a dry spell over here.”
That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one, but my phone buzzes against the desk before I can respond.
I glance down to see a text from Jim Kelley. Without the heads-up from Dylan, I’d be worried since Rory’s dad usually calls her instead of me.
A favor was what Dylan mentioned, but that doesn’t really narrow it down. Curious, I swipe to read the message.
Jim
Hey, Nate. I have a favor to ask you.
I anticipated that one, but I’m still wondering what he’s about to ask. I type out a response and send it off.
Nate
Sure, happy to help however I can. What's up?
Jim
Well, maybe listen to all the details before you agree. Can I call you?
My apprehension gives way to intrigue. This sounds like more than Jim needing help with mowing his lawn or moving furniture.
I text back to let him know I’m free to talk, and a few seconds later, my phone rings, Jim's home number on the screen. He has a cell phone—hence the texting—but he tends to make most of his phone calls on the landline.
Rory's mom was the one who dug her heels in, stubbornly insisting that even though both she and Jim had cell phones, a landline was still essential.
After Cathy’s death from ovarian cancer not too long ago, I'm sure Jim can't bring himself to part with anything that reminds him of his late wife, including this.
Plus, it turns out she was right. Cell service is getting better in our small mountain town, but it’s still spotty in some places.
I swipe to answer the call. “Hey, Jim. Everything okay?”
He clears his throat. “Eh, you know how it is. You know the Mr. Lonesome competition?”
I do, of course. It's one of High Lonesome’s crazy town festivals. We have a good number of them—maybe too many, depending on who you ask—and most of them are what the kids today would call unhinged.
There’s opera karaoke in honor of Clarabeth Almentrot, a High Lonesome native from the 1920s who was once a famous opera singer.
There’s the Drunken Mule Festival, a combination of a moonshine-tasting event and mule races, which tends to end with at least a few minor injuries and a lot of hangovers.
The Box Challenge, in which townspeople place bets on when a biodegradable box filled with rocks will break through the melting ice of one of the nearby lakes.
That last one was tamer than the rest, so they added a kind of Polar Bear Plunge. In addition to the regular rocks, the box now contains one large rock painted in a neon color. Once the ice is mostly melted, people line up to not only jump into the ice-cold lake, but to dive for the special rock.
The Lonesome Rock, if we’re being technical. Because theming sells, and tourism pays the bills around here.
And anyway, you get the idea.
In a small town that’s as isolated as High Lonesome, we have to come up with ways to keep ourselves entertained, as well as to bring in tourists to enhance the town’s revenue.
Is it cheesy? Maybe. I prefer to think of it as charming.
And the Mr. Lonesome competition is yet another example of these adorable town events.
I furrow my brows as I try to understand what Jim is asking. “Mr. Lonesome is kind of your thing, isn't it? Haven't you been in first or second place for the past five years or so?”
He grunts. “Seven years running. And I should’ve won last year. The thing was rigged.”
He may have a point there, although God knows I’m not going to indulge him.
Lionel Dowd was crowned winner last year, and just about everyone in town knows that his wife, Martha, curried favor with the judges by baking them her famous snickerdoodles.
I got one of the cookies myself. They're freaking delicious.
I wonder offhandedly if Rory could make cookies like that. She’s pretty good in the kitchen.
“Well, there's always this year,” I say to Jim, still wondering where he's going with this whole conversation.
He said he had a favor to ask me, after all.
He makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a throat-clearing. “That's the thing. I can't compete this year.”
“Really?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice.
The Mr. Lonesome competition has been Jim’s thing forever. Not just the past few years—eight, apparently—when he’s won or been close. He’s been involved in some way or another since the event’s inception. If he wasn’t competing, he was a judge or the emcee.
I can’t imagine the event without him.
He clears his throat again, like the words are tough to get out. “I’m not in the right headspace. Isn't that what the kids call it these days? The right mindset or whatever. Since Cathy…”
I wait, silent, because there isn’t a right thing to say here, at least as far as I can tell. The man lost the love of his life, the woman he’s been married to for close to forty years.
After a moment, he coughs and then continues. “Anyway, it's not in the cards for me this year.”
My throat tightens. I get where he’s coming from.
"I understand," I say quietly. "It's been a tough few months."
"Yeah." The word comes out thick, weighted. "But the thing is, Nate, the competition needs a Kelley. It's tradition."
A knot forms in my stomach.
Dylan's text flashes through my mind.
The favor Jim mentioned.
"What are you asking, Jim?"
Lawton lifts his eyebrows, far too interested in this conversation. I wave a hand toward him, hoping he takes the hint.
"I want you to take my place. Represent the family."
My initial reaction is, of course, to say no. I’m not cut out for pageants, even whatever kooky way they run them here.
But I’ll do just about anything for Rory, and that extends to her family. Even if it means incurring ridicule from my buddies.
I press my fingertips to my temples, perching my phone between my shoulder and my ear. "How about Dylan?"
I suspect this avenue has already been exhausted since Dylan was the one who gave me a heads-up, but it’s worth a shot.
Jim coughs. “He doesn't have time. Not with the end of the school year coming up and everything he has on his plate. Being the high school principal is a big job. Besides, he said no. So I need you to do it.”
Ah. There it is.
“Me?” I scrub my hand across my face. “I'm not even a Kelley, Jim. Not officially.”
"You're as good as," he says firmly. "You're the man my daughter loves. The man who's been there for her through everything. Just a matter of time before you make it official. Right?"
Lawton raises his eyebrows again from across the desk, clearly intrigued by my half of the conversation. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear about my being drafted into this circus of a pageant.
"I appreciate that, Jim, but—"
“Right?” he says again, this time with more force behind the words.
It's not exactly a mystery where Rory’s stubborn nature comes from.
"Besides, you're one of the few people I know who can handle it," Jim continues, his voice now smooth as silk as he tries to butter me up.
"It’s not just standing on stage looking dapper in a tuxedo, you know.
There's the history quiz, the charity fundraiser. Obviously, the axe-throwing competition, if they include that again.”
I wonder who it was exactly who added the axe-throwing competition to the Mr. Lonesome competition last year.
I also wonder if it will become a tradition, given the injuries that resulted. It’s all fun and games until someone loses half a finger, after all.
“I don't know, Jim.” I scrub a hand over my face as I rack my brain for a way out of this.
“You're the only one who can do it, Nate. Don't let me down.” His tone is almost pleading, and that's what breaks me.
Fuck.
I take a deep breath as reality sets in. Apparently, I’m the new Mr. Lonesome competitor.
“Okay. What do I need to do?”
"That's my boy!" Jim's voice brightens instantly, the gravelly I’m-so-old-please-help-me tone disappearing. "First meeting is tomorrow night at the town hall. Seven o'clock sharp."
“Got it.”
This is a huge mistake. One of gargantuan proportions. And I see no way out.
“Thanks, Nate,” Jim says.
He ends the call.
I set the phone on the desk as I let out a long sigh and meet Lawton's curious stare.
Lucky bastard. He doesn’t have to prance around on stage, doing God knows what.
That’s the best part of the Mr. Lonesome competition. There’s always a history quiz and a talent portion, but the charity fundraiser changes from year to year, and sometimes they add a fourth event if the organizers are feeling bored.
Hence, axe throwing last year.
"So," Lawton says, eyebrows raised. "What was that all about?"
I open my mouth, then close it again, trying to figure out the best way to explain the shitshow to which I’ve, apparently, been recruited.
“I, um,” I manage, which explains absolutely nothing.
Lawton’s eyes narrow as he studies my face. “You okay, man? I can cover the rest of the shift if you need to head home early.”
I shake my head. If anything, I need work as a distraction from this nonsense I’ve agreed to.
“I’m good. That was just Rory’s dad. He asked me to…”
I’m still not sure how to explain it without inviting ridicule. There might not be a way, come to think of it.
“What?” Lawton asks, not giving up.
I blow out a breath. It’s not like this is the end of the world. It’s a town event. That’s all. Nothing to stress about.
I scrub a hand over my face, hoping that with enough time, that message will sink in.
Because it hasn’t yet, and right now, it feels like everything is riding on this. It’s just a town event, but it’s important to Rory’s family.
And since family is important to Rory, and Rory’s important to me, that means that this pageant has to take center stage in my life.
Because I can’t let them down.