Chapter 16
When Ben woke up the next morning and remembered there was no coffee in the house, he knew he needed to make a trip to the
grocery store. He’d laid awake for hours the night before, thinking about how nothing on this trip so far was going according
to plan. He hadn’t accomplished a single thing except chaos. He needed to go through the house, meet with the Realtor, and
more than anything, he needed to sell. But all he could really think about was Mylie. God, she made him feral.
He couldn’t act on it. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, act on it, he told himself, for the same reason he couldn’t act on it ten years
ago—he was leaving. That was a cop out, and he knew it. For one thing, he’d been too shy and immature to even consider some of the things he was fantasizing about right now, at this absurd hour in the morning. But he’d always known there was
something between them. He’d known, and for the sake of both of them, he’d let it go.
It was proving more difficult this time around. For one, they were both adults. There wouldn’t be any fumbling around the
bedroom... if they even made it as far as the bedroom. He’d wanted so badly to pull her up there last night. Would have if she hadn’t left
when she did.
Back to coffee. If he wanted his brain to work, he had to find coffee.
Coffee was how he’d gotten through college. It was how he’d managed to write his thesis. It had been there for him during late-night study sessions and early-morning exams. It was his constant in life, and yes, Mylie had been right—he’d had coffee nearly every day since sixth grade. It was a habit he and his mother had gotten into after his father died. He’d never grown out of it.
Ben stumbled to the shower, dressed, and headed out the door, trying to remember where exactly the grocery store was. He wasn’t
amused when he parked and got up to the door to find that little Town & Country market was closed.
He looked down at his watch. It was nearly nine a.m.
“We don’t open until eleven,” a voice behind him said.
Ben turned to look at an elderly woman wearing a red vest and matching lipstick. She was smiling at him and pointing to the
locked sliding glass doors.
“Oh,” Ben said. “Okay, thank you.”
“Church and all,” the woman continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I take myself to the early service, but not everybody is
an early bird like me.”
“Do you know where I could get some coffee?” Ben asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
She squinted her eyes and tilted her head to the side before she said, “Hmm, I think you can get some at the Cracked Egg.
It’s just down the street to your left. You can’t miss it.”
He sighed with relief. “Wonderful.”
“Buncha nondenominationals over there,” the woman replied. “They go to church whenever they feel like it. I’m a proper Baptist,
you know.”
Ben decided this probably wouldn’t be the best time to tell her that half of the Baptist women’s coalition had been in his
front yard yesterday auctioning off their eligible daughters. Instead, he said, “I appreciate the help, ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” the woman said. “Oh, aren’t you sweet. The kids these days don’t know how to be polite. I’m glad someone raised you right.”
After he said goodbye to the older woman, Ben made his way over to the Cracked Egg. It wasn’t a restaurant he remembered from
his years in Clay Creek. Most of the restaurants in town closed for the season and didn’t open until the tourist season, in
June, but there were always a few small mom-and-pop-type places that stayed open year-round for the locals.
The Cracked Egg was on the outskirts of town close to the marina. When he pulled into the parking lot, Ben realized that this
place had once been a boating repair shop. He wondered how they’d managed to turn it into a restaurant, but if they had fresh
coffee, he guessed it didn’t really matter.
It was crowded for a Sunday morning, but he found an empty stool at the counter and sat down. A harried-looking waitress appeared
in front of him a few minutes later.
“What can I get ya, hon?”
“Coffee, please,” Ben said.
She looked at him, pen poised on a small pad. “That it?”
“For now, I think,” Ben replied. “Thanks.”
“Hey,” the waitress said. “Don’t I know you?”
Ben looked at her. They were around the same age. She had red hair and a face full of freckles. He realized who she was at
the same time she recognized him.
“Ben Lawrence!”
“Melissa Miller!”
“Well, it’s Melissa Sutherland now,” Melissa said, grinning. “I’ll be damned. It is you. I heard you were back in town.”
While Ben often thought that Mylie was his only real friend in Clay Creek, that hadn’t technically been true. He’d had a few friends, especially by the time he got to high school. Melissa had been one of them. They’d been in math club together, and even though Melissa was a year younger, they’d nearly always found themselves in the same advanced placement classes. That was why he was surprised to see her behind the counter of a diner taking orders.
Melissa narrowed her gaze at him and said, “You’re judging me.”
“What?” Ben shifted on the stool. It was suddenly uncomfortable. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Melissa replied. “You’re wondering how the smartest girl in school ended up waiting tables at a greasy spoon.”
Goddamnit.
“I have a master’s degree in English,” Melissa said, pointing her pen at him. “I teach at the college in Rockbridge. My aunt
owns this place, and I help her out on the weekends.”
“I’m sorry,” Ben replied. “You’re right. I was judging you.”
“I know,” Melissa said. “I’m just as smart as you are, Mr. Fancy Pants.”
“You’re smarter than I am,” Ben admitted. “You always kicked my ass in mathletes.”
Melissa laughed. “That’s true.”
At the back of the diner, there was a loud crash and a round of cursing. Ben craned his neck to see a booth full of men scrambling
to pick up the pieces of a shattered plate of biscuits and gravy.
“Cleanup on aisle eight!” one of them quipped.
Melissa shot them a look, and the man immediately paled. “Sorry, Missy! We’ll get it taken care of!”
“You better!” Melissa yelled. “I ain’t bringing you another plate until that floor is spotless!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“They’re all drunks.” Melissa poured Ben a cup of coffee and then leaned on the countertop with her elbows. “They come in here every Sunday, hungover and stupid.”
“Sounds awful,” Ben replied.
“They’re harmless, mostly,” Melissa said. “Except when he’s with them.”
A man was walking toward the counter with the remnants of the plate, bits of gravy sliding off the jagged ends onto the floor.
“You’re making a mess!” Melissa said when the man dropped the plate unceremoniously on the counter.
The man wiped his hands on his jeans and said, “I reckon you better get a mop.”
If looks could have killed, the man would have been dead. Melissa put her hands on her hips. “Maybe you should get the mop.”
“I don’t work here,” he replied, turning around to walk back toward the booth.
“Well,” Melissa called after him. “From what I hear, you don’t work anywhere.”
Ben watched the man stop in his tracks and turn around. He sauntered back over to them, a sneer on his ruddy face that Ben
recognized immediately. The man was Robbie Price.
The diner was silent.
Robbie leaned over the counter and said, “I think it’s best if you mind your own business, Missy.”
Melissa still had her hands on her hips, but she looked less sure of herself. “Oh yeah? Or what?”
“Or that bitch Mylie Mason won’t be the only one in town with problems she can’t solve,” Robbie replied. His tone was low
and cool, but his fists were clenched tight at his sides.
“You really wanna get yourself sideways with the Masons?” Melissa asked. “Come on, now, Robbie.”
Robbie sniffed.
Ben set his coffee cup down onto its saucer, careful not to spill any of the precious liquid and stood up, forcing Robbie to take notice of him for the first time. He towered over Robbie by at least three inches, and Ben looked down at him, a polite smile plastered on his face.
“Do we have a problem here?” he asked Robbie.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Robbie replied. “Little Ben Lawrence. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Ben was surprised at how old Robbie looked. It was clear his football-playing days were long past him. His face was sallow
and his eyes red-rimmed. Most of what he had left by way of bulk pooled in his midsection like a flat tire. He didn’t look
like he could be knocked over by a feather, but he was no match for Ben.
And they both knew it.
“Hey, Robbie,” Ben said. “It’s been a long time.”
Robbie looked over at Melissa and then back at Ben. He took a step back from the counter and released his fists. “I ain’t
cleanin’ this mess,” he said, finally. “Georgie can do it.”
“You tell him the mop is in the back,” Melissa replied.
They watched him skulk off to the booth, and Melissa let out a long-held breath. “See what I mean? He’s still causing trouble
wherever he goes.”
Ben took a sip of his coffee. “Is he making trouble for Mylie?” he asked Melissa.
“He’s gonna do his dead-level best,” Melissa replied. “But don’t worry. Everybody in town loves Mylie. Besides, Robbie’s a
blowhard. Always has been.”
That didn’t make Ben feel better. He wished Mylie had never hired him, favor or not. He might not look like the old Robbie, but he sure as hell acted like him. Years ago, Robbie had been a bully, there was no doubt about it, but it had been in high school, when he’d started drinking, that his behavior got worse. It was clear now that the drinking had never stopped.
“Don’t go judging Clay Creek by Robbie Price,” Melissa said, refilling Ben’s cup. “And don’t go thinking you’re better than
the rest of us, either.”
“I don’t think I’m better than the rest of you,” Ben replied. “I lived here, remember?”
“Mmmhmm,” Melissa said.
“I’m not here to stay,” Ben said. “I’m just here until the house sells.”
“House or not, you’ve got ties here you can’t break,” Melissa replied. “And sooner or later, you’ll figure that out.”
“If you say so.” Ben looked back over to the booth where Robbie sat, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly still fuming.
“I’m smarter than you, right?” Melissa asked him.
Ben sighed. “Since you’re so intuitive, what am I going to order for breakfast?”
Melissa touched her index finger to her nose and said, “One order of country fried steak and eggs, coming right up!”