CHAPTER NINE
A NYA
I was doing it again. Running away. No surprise.
I pushed my foot on the car accelerator, the lit-up buildings of Cincinnati behind me, the winding curves of the interstate ahead. What a night. What a business meeting.
No, that wasn’t what it was.
What the hell was it, then? I wasn’t sure what to call it. We weren’t friends, and we weren’t going to be friends. We weren’t doing business together, and we certainly weren’t dating.
So why had I confided in him like that?
Cringing, I changed lanes and sped the car up some more. The miles flew by, the city landscape blurring outside my window. Twenty minutes or so, and I’d be home, in my small cottage, the bizarre conversation behind me. I couldn’t wait for it to happen.
What in the world had compelled me to tell Robert about the mugging on the L? Nobody knew that—not my friends in Chicago, not my friends here, not anyone. It was a dirty secret I’d hidden away. I’d been so embarrassed by it, so shocked, and so ashamed. I was the one who wanted to move there. I was the one who insisted on doing things my way and on branching out to a new state and a new job after graduating from Kenyon College.
And I’d failed.
My job might have been fulfilling, but my life in Chicago was still mostly a disaster. No real friends. Nobody that was worth dating more than once. Nothing but the sinking feeling that my world was going to collapse under the weight of a cost of living that rose exponentially every year.
Then came the mugging. That goddamn mugging.
I still felt fear from it. Still harbored pain about how invisible I’d been to the people around me on the train. They had to know I was there. They had to see something. It was happening in front of them, for God’s sake. How could they not see I was in trouble; how could they not register the fear on my face? And yet, nobody had done anything at all. No one intervened. Nobody tried to chase after the guy when he made off with every valuable that I had on me.
I was the one to call the police. I had to report the crime. And I was all alone when they told me it wasn’t likely I’d ever see my stuff again.
I got a new wallet, a new laptop, and a phone. I was only missing a new Goyard tote, which I couldn’t afford. But truly, there was no replacing the first one—my mother gave it to me as a graduation gift. Telling her it was stolen felt almost as painful as the actual crime. No, it was better to keep the whole messed-up incident a secret.
And yet, I’d told Robert Kilgore.
That reality was still on my mind the following morning when I trekked over to Gwen’s house to check on her. Despite her age, she insisted on living in her home instead of moving into an assisted-living facility. “I’m not leaving New Burlington,” she said when I brought up the topic. “No one can make me.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. I cared about her, but I wasn’t her relative. I had no say in the matter.
That didn’t stop me from feeling a pang of sadness whenever I stopped by her house. That morning was especially tough—the grass on Gwen’s front lawn had gone from bad to worse in just a few days, with crabgrass taking over wherever real grass struggled to grow. Some areas were so high it sprouted seeds, the long stalks twisting in the breeze and making the home look shabbier. I parked the car in the driveway and made my way up the crumbling sidewalk to the porch steps covered in peeling paint. With each step, I calculated the cost of repairing the Victorian house that had once served as the home of a New Burlington founding family. Fixing it up would probably cost one hundred thousand dollars or more, and that didn’t include hidden problems I was sure would pop up once someone exposed a wall or took a closer look at the plumbing. These kinds of homes were always money pits.
And deeply unsafe for sickly women in their eighties.
Pushing that thought aside, I rang the doorbell on the side of the front door trimmed in leaded glass. When nobody answered it, I pushed the handle set and the door swung open. My breath caught in my throat. This isn’t a good sign.
“Anybody home?” I called as I stepped across the threshold. “Gwen, are you there?”
“Is that you, Anya?” Gwen’s voice was faint and coming from the back of the house.
“Sure is.”
I pushed the door shut and rushed through the foyer, then the short hallway. I was headed to the kitchen at the back of the property. At least Gwen had listened to me six months earlier when I pleaded with her over the holidays to move most of her life downstairs. The large house had one bedroom on the first floor, and even though she didn’t consider it the main bedroom, she agreed with me when I told her she didn’t need to be going up and down the winding staircase anymore.
Now, I found her sprawled on the kitchen linoleum, just out of reach of her cane, a chair, the small table, and the cabinets.
“Oh my God,” I exclaimed as soon as she came into view. I rushed to her side. “How long have you been down here?”
“Not too long.” She grasped my hand and winced as she tried to push her body off the floor with the other. “I tripped on the kitchen mat while I was making coffee.”
“Are you hurt?” I asked as I pulled her to her feet, my eyes making a visual assessment of her condition. No obvious cuts, good, no bleeding, good...
“I’m okay. Just can’t move the way I used to.”
“Let me get you something to drink,” I said as I led her to the nearby Formica table and matching chairs. Once she was settled, I crossed to the sink and took a glass from the overhead cabinet. I filled it with water and took it back to her. “Are you sure you’re not in pain?”
“Yes. I’m fine.” She motioned to the seat across from her at the table. “Sit down.”
I obliged, even though I was still on edge. Gwen was a widow. Her daughter lived in St. Louis, and her son ran an investment firm in Columbus. She didn’t see them often, despite her son’s urging that she move in with him a few years ago. The fact was, if something happened to her, it was going to fall on me to deal with it. I was the only person who checked on her regularly. Maybe weekly visits aren’t enough. Should I come more often?
“I don’t need more help,” she said as if reading my thoughts. She flashed me a smile—thin lips and craggy teeth but more than one hint of the woman she used to be. I’d seen a few old pictures in the living room, portraits from college, and a few with her husband. Gwen had been beautiful when she was younger and in a lot of ways she still was.
“I know better than to try convincing you,” I admitted.
She laughed. “That’s why I hired you, Anya. You’re smart.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m just... I know when to pick my battles and this isn’t one. You made that clear during Christmas.”
She nodded, and I knew she got the reference. But instead of bringing up one of the biggest arguments we’d ever had, she sifted through the magazines and mail in a haphazard stack on the table. She slid a glossy out of the pile. “Were you going to tell me?”
“About what?”
“This.”
She flipped the periodical, so I’d see it was the latest edition of New Burlington Living. This free monthly magazine relied on expensive advertising from local businesses and came in my mailbox whether I wanted it or not. When I first took over managing The Green Frog, I considered taking out some ads, but the prices were far too high for my taste. Since then, whenever it showed up, I threw it out without reading it.
Which was clearly a mistake.
“A new bookstore,” Gwen said as I took in the sight of Robert Kilgore gracing the front cover of that month’s edition. He stood in front of his business, in the middle of construction, wearing a pair of paint-stained overalls, holding a paintbrush in one hand, bracing against the window with the other. “Downtown Gets a New Read” splashed the headline in large yellow block letters. The smirk on Robert’s face topped it all off. “Looks like a lot happening in town these days.”
“Yes,” I replied around the lump in my throat.
She placed the magazine on the table between us. “Sounds like he has a lot of plans and a huge vision.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Have you met him?”
I gulped. More than that, I’ve spent time with him... “Yes, I have. He’s nice.”
The most meaningless adjective ever, it was a nonanswer to her question. Also, it was the about best I could do. I needed to keep my emotions in check, and I was afraid if I said more, I’d be off and running, things tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them— kind of like at the restaurant with Robert.
“Good to see people moving back here,” Gwen said, her expression unreadable, her voice flat. I wasn’t sure how to take it.
“The chamber of commerce has certainly wanted that,” I replied. “Look at all that’s happened with the Fourth of July parade.”
“You deserved first place last year. I know I only saw the photos, but what you put together with those students was amazing.”
“Thanks, Gwen. That’s kind of you to say. I reached out to a few of them this week.” My cheeks warmed at her praise. “I hope they’ll agree to do it again this year.”
“What’s the parade theme?”
“Lady Liberty.”
Her eyebrow shot up, adding creases to her weathered face. “That’s a fantastic choice. Lots of room for creativity.”
“I hope the AP art students will come up with some innovative ideas. They did so well with the historical reference last year.”
Gwen nodded, and then her expression changed into one I couldn’t read again. “You know, as far back as I can remember, there’s never been another bookstore in the New Burlington city limits.”
“Never?”
“Not even during the heyday of downtown, when we had the pharmacy and the grocery store, and all of that.” She flared her nostrils and shook her head a few times. “People had to drive to Eastside Mall if they wanted to go anywhere else besides The Green Frog.”
I snorted. The days of people going to that mall were long gone. I hardly remembered what going to one felt like, much less an upscale one with a bookstore and beyond. Now, the cavernous space was mostly a shell, anchored by a Walmart on one end and a clearance Dillard’s on the other.
“It’s going to be fine,” I said.
I didn’t know who I was trying to convince more—me or her. The truth was, we both wanted things to turn out okay for the store. I needed the job and wasn’t sure I’d find another one I liked as much as managing The Green Frog. She had to have the income. Being retired came with navigating constant landmines. One enormous medical bill could set a person like Gwen back significantly, and The Green Frog gave her the extra cushion she needed. Going without it would be devastating.
“I hope so,” she replied, her voice firm. “I’ve always been able to trust you, Anya. And if you say it’s going to be okay, I’ll believe you.”
I reached across the table and took her bony hand in mine. “The Green Frog has always managed to survive. This is only a new chapter for the store. And it’s going to be a good one. You’ll see.”
I sounded like I knew what I was talking about. Like I had a way to see the future. Like I was resolute and strong.
But I wasn’t sure I was any of those things. All I could think about was Robert’s smirk on the cover of the magazine. Why the heck did he have to come back to town now? And why do I have to keep noticing how good-looking he is?