Chapter 10
I’m woken up by the creak of the door without a knock. Dean slips into the room, dressed. “What time is it?” I croak, there isn’t much light in the room. The sun must be on the other side of the house.
“Eight o’clock,” He whispers. “Let’s go before they wake up.” He must be referring to his mother and sister. I scramble out of bed, and it lightly creaks beneath my stirring movements. I pull on my sweater, and give a look to Dean, urging him with my eyes to step back out so I can change.
“Ahem,” I whisper. “I need to change.” Even after last night, I’m too shy to let him see these parts of me.
“Oh,” He averts his eyes. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He closes the door just as quietly, and I quickly pull my jeans on, stuffing the shorts into my tote bag. I would leave no evidence that I was here—except for the stolen pair of shorts.
I silently, swiftly move through the hall, careful not to step too hard on any creaky floorboards.
When I get downstairs, I’m welcomed into a small, tight kitchen by warm, morning light.
The walls are sponge-painted a seafoam green color, and there is pink square tile above the sink.
A small, round table covered in mail, flowers and an assortment of used dishes rest in a breakfast nook.
Dean is leaning on a pale green, laminate counter, looking at his phone. He hands me a granola bar, and ushers me into the foyer, through the screened-in porch and straight into the van.
The van roars to life with the turn of a key, and he books it out of the driveway.
“I’m sorry for rushing you and waking you early. I wanted to get out of there before my mother woke up,” He apologizes.
I release a long breath. We’re driving down a long, windy road and the windshield wipers are brushing off the small, fine snowflakes that are falling from the overcast sky. “It’s okay. We’ll be back this weekend, right? Did you sleep enough to drive?” I ask.
He lets out a laugh that sounds like BAH. “I’m not sure. But with a cup of coffee, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll find some when we get into town, don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
He handles the minivan on the curves of this country road like he knows them by heart. I don’t realize how far out into the woods the house really was until ten minutes of silence pass, and we’re still in the sticks. I’m antsy in my gut, wondering if he’s going to bring up last night.
“How far is town?” I ask, curious about where we’re headed exactly.
“About ten more minutes,” he answers.
I’m silently digesting what actually happened last night while he drives us another ten minutes to a small family restaurant where the two rivers in the township meet, aptly named Two Rivers Restaurant.
It’s a small brick building with a green roof surrounded by a wooded area that backs up one of the rivers, I don’t know which.
Even as it’s nearing nine on a weekday, the gravel parking lot is nearly full and we park round the back.
Inside, the small building is bustling with elderly folks and mothers with young kids. The linoleum floors are peeling a bit, and the paint on the walls is chipping, but the happy, bright energy inside is infectious.
A middle-aged waitress with gray hair and sun spots hustles across the floor toting a tray full of orange juice and coffee.
Dean waves to her, and she nods at him. He grabs two menus off of the hostess stand and leads us to an empty table—seemingly the only empty table— in a corner.
Dean takes the seat against the wall, and I sit with my back towards an older, burly gentleman with suspenders. I set my tote bag on the floor.
The waitress pops up next to Dean suddenly, and I’m greeted with the scent of perfume covering cigarette smoke. “Hey honey, how’ve you been? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” She says.
“Hi Tracy, I’m well, how are you?” Dean replies to her, batting his big, brown eyes.
“I’m good, sweetheart, are you gonna introduce me to your little friend?” Tracy drawls.
“This is Madeline,” He enunciates my name like he’s saying Princess Diana.
“Hi,” I say, my voice cracking as I try to sound cheerful.
“Well, aren’t you just a pretty little thing?” Tracy coos, giving me a warm introduction.
“Madeline, this is Tracy,” Dean offers. I nod my head at the both of them, wondering how Dean managed to befriend this sweetheart of a woman.
“I’ve known Dean here since he was a little boy—he used to be so cute. What happened to him?” Tracy laughs, squeezing Dean’s shoulder while he scowls with his signature expression.
“Pharmaceutical school happened,” Dean deadpans. “Life happened.”
“Oh, yes, that poor boy. He was here studying even during the summer,” Tracy remembers. “That’s what you get for not studying in high school.”
“My habits in high school had nothing to do with it,” Dean laughs audibly.
“What can I get for you, darling?” Tracy asks, tapping the menu on the table with her pen. I immediately notice the cap is chewed on.
“Just my usual,” Dean smiles.
“Black coffee and toast?” Tracy takes a second to recall, but she doesn’t hesitate to say his order aloud.
“You know it.”
“Anything for you, Miss Madeline?” She asks.
“Do you have hot tea?” I ask.
“Of course we do, sugar. Anything else?”
“Uhh,” I haven’t even looked at the menu. “A bagel?”
“Butter or cream cheese?” Tracy asks.
“Butter.”
Tracy picks up the menus, claps them together and is gone in a woosh.
“You two seem awfully familiar,” I remark to Dean, who seems awfully nonchalant despite the largely social interaction we just had.
“I came here a lot in high school and college.” He says, fiddling with his cuticles.
“I noticed.”
“Are you jealous?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Of Tracy? Absolutely. She got to see the high-school Dean. I bet he was so moody.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll see the high-school Dean this weekend, I’m sure of it. If not from Sierra, from my mother. Photos anyway. They about cover the entire house.” He rolls his eyes.
“You’re just going to allow it?” I ask simply.
“Those women run my life.”
“Run or ruin?”
“Run,” Dean assures me. “They are nothing but a blessing.”
“Really…aren’t you sweet?” I laugh.
“Don’t tell my mother I said that. And definitely don’t tell Sierra.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I say, a smile forming on my lips. “What other secrets should I know about?”
“I never gave Eliza a fair shot.” Dean rests his chin on his left hand, his right resting on the coffee mug.
“No?” I ask.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There’s someone else I had my eye on.” The corners of Dean’s mouth upturn ever so slightly, and I can’t help but notice his pink lips. “Eliza couldn’t even hold a candle to her.”
“Who is it?” I ask, playing along with his game. He tilts his head, lowering one eyebrow and cocking the other at me.
“Just someone I know.” Something tells me he leaves it vague on purpose.
“Do I know her?” I ask.
“You might. She lives in town.”
“Are you going to tell me who she is?” I ask shyly.
“No, probably not.” He takes a sip of his coffee and looks away. Maybe it’s not me.
I look down at my own tea cup, and my own reflection peers back at me. “I think you need a third woman to meddle in your love life.”
“I don’t think I do,” Dean rattles, shifting in his seat, crossing his legs.
“Let me ask you a question.” I mimic his position, leaning against the wall, legs crossed.
“Anything, darling.” He gives me a sly smile. My body shivers at the word darling but I pull it together.
“How did you know who I was?” I ask. “The first day we met. You knew my name without me even telling you.”
“Everyone who knows Andy, knows who you are.” Dean scratches the side of his face.
“Yeah. But how do you know who I am? Andy? The media?”
“Do you really want to know?” Dean asks me.
“What? Was it Craig?” I ask, shaking my metaphorical fist at that damned pharmacist. It seems exactly like the type of thing he’d do.
“Craig only told me a bit.” Dean turns back in his seat, facing me. “It was the album cover. The first song on the album is named after you. Anyone would be a fool not to see the connection.”
“But it doesn’t have my face.”
“Then, I guess, the music.”
“What do you mean, the music?” I don’t understand what he’s saying, and it’s making my stomach bubble with anxiety.
“I knew you lived in town. The articles said that much. But those songs could only be about one person. I knew you before I even saw you. It had to be you,” Dean tells me, and I blush straight through to my shoes. I quickly deflect.
“So, you are an Andy McKinney megafan?”
“I’m a Madeline McKinney megafan.”
“Shut up,” I smile as Tracy comes back around to refill our coffee and tea, and with our plates of carbohydrates.
I eat my bagel in less than five bites, while Dean takes his time on his toast. He’s wearing his red sweater that makes his cheeks look extra rosy, his stubble unshaven.
His glasses are exceptionally good at hiding the pale freckles across his nose.
Dean finishes his toast and pulls out a 20-dollar bill. He places it on the table, takes one last swig of coffee and stands up.
“Come on, let’s go,” He offers me a hand that I gingerly take. Are we really going to walk out of here holding hands? I’m silently questioning it, but I don’t let go of his hand. He waves goodbye to Tracy and holds the door for me.
“What have you done with the real Dean?” I ask. This isn’t the man I’ve come to know. “Why are you being so sweet?”
“You won’t say that in a few minutes. We’re going on a short walk.”
“It’s freezing and snowing,” I say. “And you want to go on a walk?” He’s leading me on a short path near the road into a wooded area.
“I’m taking you somewhere special. It’s not far.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Here,” He answers.