18. Ending Kevin For Real
Ending Kevin For Real
Falon
The morning starts a little bumpy. First, there is a bug in my boot.
It isn’t a spider. I need to clarify, because a spider would require burning the boot. This is just a Montana beetle. A fat, lost bug.
I retrieve my boot from where I'd thrown it after finding the bug inside, then shake the beetle out onto the porch. Noted.
After that, I turn to the usual Montana routine. I start splitting some wood to start stocking up for winter.
That’s when the ax handle comes off on the second swing, clean off.
I pulled the ax back, felt the handle come loose, and saw the head drop into the dirt at my heels.
The handle stayed in my hands. I stare down at the useless stick, then at the ax head in the dirt, and think, okay.
So this is how the day’s going to roll. Alright.
I can roll with this. Just have to make a few minor adjustments for the day, that’s all.
I prop the handle against the woodpile, leave the ax head for later, and go inside to make coffee. Coffee usually fixed everything, or at least it helped.
While the water heats, I sit at the kitchen counter and write a short list of today’s errands.
Pick up the plant order from the garden center.
Drop off the donation bin at the church.
Grab Bo’s prescription refill from the pharmacy since he’d mentioned it twice and forgotten about it both times.
Stop by Ethel’s for the pie Mom requested, since Dad had a good PT report, and dessert is the Williams family's love language.
It is a short list, and I should be home by ten-thirty, max. See, easy morning.
Bo left over half an hour ago and was still out running when I left. I make a mental note to grab him fries from Ethel’s. His stay-home prize. It softens the blow when I tell him Dad’s field sprinkler broke and I’ll need his help.
With only three errands and my list in hand, I leave the house and make it all the way to the post office before I opened my water bottle. The cheap, worthless plastic twists as I took the lid off, spilling water on my jeans. Yep, just another rolling moment.
Next up is the garden center, only a few blocks from the post office, so I head over.
I park the truck, and when I got out, I see that Michael is behind the counter helping his dad, which always makes me smile. He is ten years old and helps out on weekends for some extra cash to fix his motorcycle. He looks up when I came in, and his face brightens.
“Miss Falon.” He comes around the counter. “Okay, so here’s the thing. I have good news and some not-so-good news.”
Apparently, the universe was bent on testing me today. “Okay, Michael, hit me.”
“The good news is, half your order is right here.” He points to a flat of herbs near the window.
“And the not-so-good news?”
“The not-so-good news is,” he drops his voice to a whisper and leans in slightly, “I put the rest of your order somewhere really safe. I just have to remember where that was.”
I press my lips together, then chuckle. “Okay.”
“I swear, Miss Falon, I’ll find them today. Can you come back tomorrow?” He glances toward the back of the store, where his dad is moving bags of mulch. “And if maybe you didn’t mention to my dad, just until I find them. That would be?—”
I put my fingers to my mouth and pretend to zip them closed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo.”
He exhales. “See ya.”
Finished at the garden center, I get back in the truck, check it off my list, and set my sights on the church. Sister Patty meets me at the side door, seeing me coming through the window.
“Falon Williams.” She smiles widely. “Bless your heart, we’ve been waiting on this one.”
“Sorry it took me so long.” I hand over the donation bin. “It got away from me.”
She waves that off before I finish saying it. “Honey, it got here. That’s what matters.” She peeks inside at the cans of food and the blankets, humming in appreciation. “I’ll make sure these go to the Hendersons. They just had that rough patch with the roof.”
“Perfect.” I turn to go.
“Tell your mama I’m praying for you guys and your daddy’s leg,” she calls after me.
“I will. Thank you, Sister Patty.”
With the church stop done, I had the pharmacy next. Lucky for me, it is right across the street.
The bell above the door dings when I came in, and Dawson looks up from behind the counter.
“Aw, Miss Falon Williams.” He greets me with a smile, already reaching under the counter.
“Falon,” he says, setting the prescription bag on the counter with both hands, “boy, am I glad to see you. I have called that man three times.”
“I know. He mentioned it twice last week and once yesterday. I’m sorry. Men, what are you going to do?” I tease, since Dawson's wife always says the same thing when Dawson is late.
“That’s what the wife keeps telling me.” He pushes the bag toward me. “And Falon, Bo’s lucky to have found you.”
“But—”
Dawson raises his hands, “I’m just saying.” But he is smiling. He pulls out a notepad and slides it across with the bag. “Make sure he reads the updated dosage. It changed slightly.”
“Will do.”
“Good. Oh, and ah, Falon. Can you do me a quick favor?”
“For you, Mr. Dawson, Anything.” And I would. The man was as old as water and as sweet as honey.
“You aren’t by any chance going by the diner today, are ya?” he asks, looking a little sheepish.
“I sure am, and even if I wasn’t, I would for you.” I play-flirt, and he smirks. “Could you drop this here check off?” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded check.
“My tab’s been sitting there since February, and the missus has been mentioning it for weeks.” He slides it across the counter. “I keep forgetting.”
I tuck it into my wallet. “Consider it done.”
He points at me. “You’re good people, Falon Williams.”
I laugh and start toward the door, pausing only when the display of necklaces on the endcap catch my eye. I am not a necklace kind of girl, but the heart locket is nice.
“Silver’s your color,” Dawson says from behind me. When I turn around, he is writing something down, but I can still see the smile he tried to hide. He was not as sly as he thought he was, but I let him have this one.
Besides, that was a small town. Everything ran on handwritten tabs, playfully flirty old pharmacists, and a ten-year-old who couldn’t find your plants.
I was still thinking of old man Dawson when I walked into Ethel’s a few minutes later. The bell above Ethel’s door had barely stopped moving when Lila appeared from nowhere, zeroed in on me, and gestured for me to come sit at the counter.
I slide onto a counter stool, and she leans across it, voice dropping low, and cheeks already going pink.
“Phil asked me out,” she squeaks out, smiling from ear to ear.
“You mean, Phil from the accounting office. On Hazel Street.” My smile matches hers, inch for inch. I grab her hand across the counter. “The Phil, who always orders the egg white omelet?—”
“Yep, that’s the one.” She shrugs, and her energy is contagious.
We both make a kind of quiet-ish squealing sound that makes a couple of heads turn. Mae Hutchins looks over from two stools down with both eyebrows up.
Lila sobers fast, smoothing her apron, composing herself back into waitress mode. “I’ll call you later. I just had to tell you. It’s all thanks to your advice.” She is already moving down the counter, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed.
“No, it was going to happen sooner or later, but I’m sure glad it was sooner.” She and Phil have been dancing around that for months; someone had to give them a little nudge. I’m just glad it worked out.
Ethel comes out from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She looks at me. Then, at Lila’s retreating back, she shakes her head slowly.
“Kids,” she says. Then, without missing a beat: “What can I get ya, sweetie?”
I hand her Dawson’s check. “Coffee, please. And I’ve got a pie order whenever it’s ready.”
Ethel glances at the check, nods, tucks it into her apron pocket, and sets a hot mug of coffee in front of me.
“It’ll be a minute, cook’s in a mood today.
He burned the first eggs of the day, and now he thinks the universe is against him.
” I gape at her and laughed. I knew it wasn’t only me who had mornings like that.
Poor Terry. I know exactly what he is going through.
I wrap both hands around my coffee and breathe in its heavenly scent. So far, besides the plants, which were innocent enough, nothing had gone genuinely wrong.
I pick up my mug, feeling a little confident my day had turned around, ready to take the first sip, when Kevin slides onto the stool beside me. His cologne permeates the air around me. I refrain from wrinkling my nose. He needs a new cologne. Vinegar and alcohol are not his scent.
I should have known. The morning warned me, and did I listen, no. I did not.
My stomach tightens, the way it always does with Kevin.
He folds his hands on the counter as if we were about to discuss world hunger.
“I think we need to talk about where we stand.”
I set my mug down. “Okay.”
“Because I feel like we’ve been going in circles.” He looks serious. “And I think some of that is my fault for not being clear and fumbling the ball a little.” He turns toward me slightly. “Falon Williams, I want to take you out on a date and date you.”
My heart tightens. He means it. Kevin is a bit of a hot head, but when I stopped answering his call, I thought he got it. He didn’t.
“Kevin.” I keep my tone even. “I appreciate you being straight with me. But we’re just not the same people.”
His eye twitches, and he sets his jaw. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I pick up my mug, “I’m not really sure we’re even compatible, like in a relationship. Now, Evy, she likes you. I see you together every now and then.”
His silence is tense.
“Is this about Bo Gates?” His tone is strained.
I set the mug down. “Now, Kevin?—”