Chapter 6
Ben fumbled with the keys to the house and cursed under his breath. He couldn’t see anything. He should turn on the flashlight
on his phone. But it was late, and he didn’t want to bother anyone who was already in bed, or who might be, as he knew from
experience in this little town, watching him.
Getting to the house had been pure muscle memory. He hadn’t even had to plug the address into his phone. One minute he’d been
on the highway, and the next he was parking in front of the house where he’d spent many of his formative years. When he tried
the third key and couldn’t get it in the lock, he started to think maybe he should have gotten a hotel for the night.
Was that a dog barking? Was there a feral dog in his house?
He started to turn around, and that’s when the light on the porch buzzed on, leaving him so startled he froze where he stood.
“You’ve got three seconds to tell me what you’re doing here” came a voice from inside the house. “Then I’m going to start
shooting.”
Ben blinked furiously, trying to adjust his eyes to the light. He could see the front door was cracked just a little, and
the barrel of a shotgun was nearly in his face.
“Don’t shoot,” he said instinctively. “I’m just trying to find my keys.”
“Just get in your car and go,” the voice continued. “Get on out of here, and there won’t be any trouble.”
Had he heard that voice before? Ben squinted and tilted his head to the side in a futile attempt to see. “I own this house,” he said. Which was technically a lie, but it was true enough.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Nope.”
Now he was starting to get frustrated. And confused. Why was someone in the house? As far as he knew, it hadn’t had a renter
since the previous summer. Wouldn’t the Realtor have told him if she’d rented it for the season? Then again, he hadn’t seen
the for sale sign in the front yard when he pulled up, and Courtney told him she’d placed it that day when he told her he was making the
trip earlier than expected.
Oh. No.
Realization dawned too late. He was at the wrong house.
And if he was at the wrong house, a house that could easily be mistaken for his house, then that meant...
“Ben?”
The door cracked open an inch wider.
“Ben, is that you?”
In the distance, he heard sirens. Great. This was just great.
“Uh, hi?” He said, sounding just as ridiculous as he felt. “Mylie?”
“Oh my God. It is you!”
The door flung open, and Mylie was standing there barefoot, holding a shotgun, and wearing the flimsiest excuse for a nightgown
he’d ever seen.
“I uh, I got the wrong house,” he said, finding his voice.
She stared at him, not moving, not even blinking.
“Do you maybe want to put the gun down?” he asked. “I’d prefer not to get shot.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Mylie said. She shut the door and then opened it back up again without the gun. “I thought you were trying to break in.”
“I mean, I kind of was,” Ben replied. He tried and failed to keep his eyes from scanning her body as she stood there. God,
how long had it been? Ten years? He’d missed out on this for ten years? She looked like Mylie and yet, not like Mylie. A woman stared back at him.
The sirens grew louder, and Mylie winced. “Shit, Granny called the sheriff. I forgot.”
Ben couldn’t help but grin to himself at the mention of Mylie’s granny. In fact, he was a little surprised the old woman hadn’t
come out already. Of course, if she had, he’d probably already be dead.
“You weren’t supposed to be here until next week,” Mylie continued. “I mean, that’s what I heard at least.”
“So, the word’s out, I guess,” Ben replied. He couldn’t decide if he should get closer to her or back away slowly with his
hands out. He remembered Sheriff Oakes. He was just as likely to shoot as Granny.
“Looks like it.”
Two more women appeared behind Mylie. One of them, Ben recognized as Granny. The other, he knew, had to be Mylie’s baby sister,
Cassie. Wow, it really had been ten years.
Granny shoved past Mylie and stalked out to where Ben stood, a black eye mask shoved half-way up her forehead.
“Well, Benjamin Lawrence, as I live and breathe,” she said. “So, it was you, and not a rabid raccoon making all that ruckus.”
“I’m sorry... ma’am,” Ben replied, remembering at the last second he needed to use the Southern manners his grandfather
taught him. “I got the wrong house.”
“Clearly,” Granny said, folding her arms across her chest. Then, turning her attention to Mylie, continued, “Good Lord, child, go and put on some decent clothes before the sheriff gets here. I don’t want him arresting you for indecent exposure!”
Mylie looked down at herself and then up at Ben, who, despite himself, still couldn’t stop staring. She bit her lip, and as
Ben was internally begging her to please stop doing that , she turned just as Sheriff Oakes pulled into the driveway.
By now, they had quite the audience. The house down the street had its lights on, and they were all standing there, watching.
“What’s the problem here, Granny?” Sheriff Oakes asked. He shone his flashlight into Ben’s face, despite the light of the
porch. “This fella here bothering you?”
“Tell me, Sheriff,” Granny said. “Do you recognize this young man?”
The sheriff took a step closer to Ben and his eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” he exclaimed. “Benjamin Lawrence!
How in the hell are you, son?” He lowered his flashlight and stepped toward Ben and engulfed him in a hug. “I barely recognized
ya!”
Ben noticed that the man smelled slightly like bourbon and decided it was probably in his best interest not to respond.
“It was all a misunderstanding,” Granny said, once the sheriff released Ben.
Sheriff Oakes turned his attention to Granny. “I ought to give you a ticket for making a false call. Gettin’ me out of bed
at all hours.”
Granny cocked an eyebrow in the sheriff’s direction and said sweet as cinnamon, “And whose bed did you roll out of, Sheriff ?”
Ben choked back a laugh.
The sheriff’s face reddened. He pointed his flashlight at Granny. “We’ll keep this between ourselves, if that’s all right
with you, Granny.”
“That’s what I figure is best,” Granny replied. She looked at Ben. “Now, Benjamin, you must be exhausted. Nobody here will keep you.”
Ben looked past Granny to the doorway where Cassie stood, wide-eyed, but there was no sign of Mylie.
“She won’t be back out,” Granny said. “I’ll tell her you said good night.”
Ben cleared his throat, embarrassed to be caught out. “Um, thanks, Granny.”
“I’ll escort you over,” Sheriff Oakes said to Ben. “Don’t need any more calls like this tonight.”
“I heard you was comin’ back into town,” the sheriff said as they walked up the front steps of the right house. “But not until
next week.”
“That was the rumor, apparently,” Ben said dryly.
“You should have told someone you were early,” the sheriff continued. “So there wasn’t no surprises.”
“Who was I supposed to tell?” Ben asked, sliding his key into the lock. This time, the door swung open.
“I reckon you’re right,” the sheriff replied. “Seeing as how you don’t have family here at present.”
Ben nodded. “No, sir. I don’t.”
“We was all real sorry to hear about your mama,” the sheriff continued. “Real sorry.”
“Thank you,” Ben said.
“You be careful out here at night. If Granny don’t get ya, Fat Tony sure will!” Sheriff Oakes said, before waving goodbye.
Ben couldn’t decide if he was glad or worried that Sheriff Oakes hadn’t elaborated on exactly who Fat Tony was before collapsing into the dusty recliner in the living room. This had not been the way he’d planned... anything. He’d made a list. He had an agenda. He knew exactly what he was going to do each day in Clay Creek, and none of those days involved nearly getting shot by his former best friend in a see-through nightgown.
Jesus fucking Christ, that nightgown. He might never get to sleep.
It occurred to him that he really should have tried to reach out to her—to call her and let her know his plans. It had to have been a shock to see him standing there.
The very least he could have done was reach out.
But he hadn’t known how. It had just been so long. The few phone calls and emails over those first years dwindled, and then...
well, they’d just lost touch. After a while, he figured she didn’t want to hear from him anymore. This hadn’t been the way
he’d thought their first meeting would go.
Maybe in the morning, he’d wake up in Chicago and realize this had all been a bad dream. Somehow, though, he doubted it, and
if this was his first night back in Clay Creek, what would the rest of his visit bring?
He didn’t know. And for Benjamin Lawrence, PhD, not knowing was just about the worst thing he could imagine.