Chapter 15
“Rebecca McIntosh? Oh my God, it is you!”
Heather Walsh stood in front of Rebecca in the grocery store aisle, between her and the baking soda and brown sugar she was looking for so she could make the applesauce cake she had decided on the day before.
“Heather Walsh!” Rebecca forced a smile.
“It’s been forever, hasn’t it? It’s Heather Prescott now, by the way.
Todd and I got married.” Todd Prescott had been on the football team with Cort, a mountain of a teenage boy who seemed designed to block passes.
“I haven’t seen you in, like, a decade, which is weird, but most other people know.
” It actually wasn’t weird. Since graduating high school and leaving town, Rebecca had steadfastly managed to avoid Heather Walsh—now Prescott—by going the other way every time she saw her.
Once, she had even hidden in a bush, a fact she was not proud of, but there it was.
Today, though, she had been lost in her thoughts and caught by surprise.
Now Heather’s eyes scanned Rebecca from head to toe, assessing. Rebecca tried not to feel self-conscious, the way she always used to around Heather in high school. “I heard you were in town. And about time—that building of yours is about to fall down.”
“It’s not that bad,” Rebecca said, feeling defensive. “I’m fixing it up.”
“So, are you back for good?”
“Just temporarily,” Rebecca replied, reaching around Heather for the baking soda.
“Right, right.” Heather nodded, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “You were out of here first chance you got.” Then Heather paused. “Such a shame about your grandmother. I didn’t see you so I didn’t get the chance to say it. She was a real fixture in town. She is missed.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca said automatically.
“So, Toronto, huh? Big-city life suits you?” Heather asked the question as if she couldn’t imagine big-city life suiting anyone.
Rebecca’s posture straightened. “It does,” she said. “I work at U of T. I’m an adjunct gothic literature professor.”
Heather let out a tinkling laugh. “Adjunct. What does that even mean? My eyes just glazed over there. I’m so glad I never have to go to an English class again.” She gave Rebecca another sweeping glance. “But you never outgrew your Bronte sisters phase, I guess. Cute.”
People did change, but it seemed Heather had not.
“Heather, I should really—”
But Heather was still talking, as if Rebecca had asked her questions about herself and she was now answering them.
“I manage the bank branch now, over in Milltown—and Todd has his own company. He’s in blockchain solutions.
Whatever those are, right?” She gave another laugh, then pulled out her phone.
“We have a daughter, Ambrosia, she’s nine, and twin boys, Brady and Rodger.
They’re seven.” She swiped to show perfectly posed family photos, everyone in matching outfits, Todd clearly sucking in his potbelly.
“This was our trip to Disney last summer.”
Rebecca made appropriate noises of admiration, wondering when was too soon to try to make an excuse again and walk away. She looked longingly at the bag of brown sugar behind Heather.
“Anyway,” Heather said, tucking her phone away, “I heard you hired Cort to do your diner renovation.”
“I did indeed,” Rebecca said. “He’s the best in town, after all.”
“The only in town, but whatever,” Heather said. She raised a thin penciled eyebrow. “Melanie and I are still best friends, so I am of course Team Melanie all the way.”
Rebecca knew Cort and Melanie had simply grown apart and now co-parented their son amicably. But it seemed Heather was still trying to manufacture drama—and engage in gossip. “Listen, I should really—”
“Pip is in the same class as my twins,” Heather continued. “Quirky kid. Loves to read and, like…garden, or something. Not much of an athlete, though Todd’s tried to get him interested in football like his dad.”
“I think Pip is lovely,” Rebecca said. “He’s a great kid.”
Now Heather’s eyebrows rose even higher. She seemed to be filing Rebecca’s words away for later use, and it made Rebecca feel uncomfortable. She didn’t know what this was supposed to mean and had no intention of asking. “I should really go,” she said.
“We should catch up properly while you’re in town! Coffee sometime?”
“Sure,” Rebecca said, knowing it would never happen. “That would be nice.” Then she coughed, feeling like she had just choked on the lies her grandmother had always advised her against telling. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it—words have a way of sticking to the walls.
Heather, oblivious to her old classmate’s discomfort, air-kissed near Rebecca’s cheek. “Great to see you, hon.” Then she pushed her cart away, leaving Rebecca standing amid the baking supplies, feeling more rattled than she should have.
When she arrived back at the diner, Rebecca felt as if she’d run a marathon rather than completed a simple shopping trip.
Cort was up on a ladder, filling in the hole Eli had made in the ceiling, his faded black T-shirt dusted with plaster, his forearms flexing as he worked.
Sunlight streamed in through the front windows, catching in his hair, warming the bronze of his skin.
Rebecca stood there a moment too long, watching him, trying to control the flutter in her chest, the way seeing him always made her feel unmoored and grounded, all at once.
He saw her, and a welcoming smile tugged at his lips.
“Hey. You’re back. And you look like you’ve run a marathon, not gone to the grocery store.”
She laughed aloud. “That is exactly what I was just thinking. All I wanted was some baking supplies, but I ran into Heather Walsh.”
Cort climbed down the ladder to exchange one tool for another and shot her a sympathetic glance. “Heather never seemed to update her operating system after graduating high school,” he said. “She and Mel are still close, and I know she’s a good friend to her—but she’s not always the kindest.”
“That’s a mild way to put it,” Rebecca said, shaking her head. “Not sure why I let her get under my skin, but I did.” She held up the bag of brown sugar. “I should really be cleaning out cupboards, but I’m going to do some procrasti-baking upstairs instead. Holler if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
—
The applesauce cake recipe came together easily, and while it was baking, Rebecca brought some boxes into the small kitchen and began sorting through items. The room was getting crowded, so she dragged a box into the living room—but she wasn’t watching where she was going, and she knocked into something.
She turned just in time to see the apple-blossom Tiffany lamp teetering at the edge of the table near the window.
“No!” She reached for it—but it was in vain.
The lamp crashed to the ground, shattering into so many pieces Rebecca already knew that there would be no salvaging it.
The sound of boots on the stairs, and Cort appeared, looking alarmed, then relieved. “Good, you’re in one piece. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”
“I haven’t,” Rebecca said, feeling sudden tears spring to her eyes. “But I broke a lamp. And—” It was hard for her to speak over the sudden swell of emotion. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” she said.
Cort’s gaze had gone to the broken lamp. “No, it’s okay. I remember that lamp. It was always on in the window when I’d come over.”
“Lenore always turned it on for me when she knew I was coming home. Always. And I broke it. I wish I could go back in time.” She crossed the room for a broom and dustpan and dejectedly began to sweep up the many shards of glass.
Cort tilted his head. “I do know an antiques and salvage place that always surprises me in terms of what I find there, and they have an amazing lamp selection. It’s called Kingman’s, just outside of Milltown.
I have a few things I need to pick up, and they also sell reclaimed lumber supplies for a deep discount, which I had been thinking could be a good idea for this place.
It will save you some money—probably at least what you owe the BIA, which would help. ”
“That would help,” Rebecca said.
“Pip is with Mel for the weekend, and I have the day free. I could drive you there. It’s one of my favorite places, and I’d love to show it to you.”
Rebecca felt a rush of gratitude for him.
He was there for her, willing to jump into action exactly when she needed him to.
He was proving to her that she could count on him—that he was a friend.
“I’d like that,” she said, her smile genuine.
His, in return, was like a cozy blanket on a cool afternoon.
They both stood still, gazes snagged, smiles wide, until the oven timer dinged, startling them both.
“Just let me get that…” Rebecca said, reluctantly turning away from him, grateful that the heat of the oven might explain away her sudden flush.
She turned back to him, hoping she had managed to compose herself, and found him right where she had left him, standing still, watching her.
“As a thank-you for trying to fix my lamp problem, how would you like a slice of applesauce cake?”
His smile returned, slow and easy. “No thanks are needed from you, Becca. But cake is always welcome. You know the way to my heart.”
She managed not to react to this. Cort Adams Effect: 0. Rebecca: 1. It was a start—and for once, she felt like she might be able to keep it going.