6. For The Good Of The Town
Chapter six
For The Good Of The Town
Jack
Iload the bag into the truck and shut the passenger door harder than necessary.
It's the wind.
Definitely the wind.
Not the fact that Claire Monroe was standing in aisle four with a basket, a mouthy attitude, and that same look in her eyes like she's trying to pretend she isn't bracing for something.
I climb into the driver's seat and stare straight ahead for a few seconds.
Reset.
That's all I need.
A mental reset.
Dusty sneezes from the passenger seat.
"Don't start."
His ears perk up.
A knock sounds against my window.
I turn to find Renee Holloway, Tidehaven's town council president, standing beside my truck like the universe summoned her specifically to make my day more complicated.
The wind tugs at the collar of her rain jacket, but her hair doesn't move out of place. Nothing about Renee moves out of place.
I roll down the window.
"Renee."
"Jack." She gives me a polite nod. "Stocking up?"
"Managed to get the last loaf of bread."
"Impressive."
"I thought so."
Her gaze shifts toward the darkening sky.
"You doing your pre-storm rounds?" I ask.
She nods. "Nearly finished. I'm taking note of the obvious hazards before they become tomorrow's meeting agenda."
"Or someone gets hurt."
"Exactly." Her attention returns to me. "Which is why I need your help."
My shoulders stiffen. "What happened?"
"I need you to check on the Monroe house."
I stare at her.
Of course she does.
Renee lifts her chin in the direction of our neighborhood.
"That porch swing is one good gust away from becoming a weapon. Either it flies into the dunes and takes out half a fence line, or it swings back hard enough to break the window and ends up inside the house."
I continue staring at her.
Maybe if I don't respond, she'll forget what she was saying and move on.
She doesn't.
"It needs to be secured," she continues. "Would you agree?"
Unfortunately, I do.
"Of course."
I exhale through my nose.
"But Claire Monroe is in town. I'm sure she has it under control."
Renee puts one hand on her hip.
Never a good sign.
"Storm season doesn't care about grudges, Jack."
"I didn't say anything about a grudge."
"You didn't have to."
I lean back against the seat.
Renee continues before I can defend myself.
"I'm not here to relitigate your personal feelings about the Monroes or that property dispute between your families. If that swing comes loose and causes damage, the town gets involved, and I don't have time for porch swings."
"Neither do I."
"Good. Then we're in agreement."
I frown.
That isn't what I meant.
"If you don't want to fix it, that's fine," she continues. "But I need you to at least knock on Claire's door and make sure she secures it herself. Tell her I sent you if that makes you feel better."
I open my mouth.
Then close it.
Claire literally just told me to leave her porch swing alone.
Granted, knocking on her door under direct orders from the town council president is different from showing up with tools and fixing things she didn't ask me to fix.
Technically.
I have a feeling Claire won't appreciate the distinction.
Assuming she even opens the door.
Renee is still looking at me.
Waiting.
"I just—"
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel.
"She's not particularly happy with me at the moment."
Renee's eyebrows lift.
I immediately regret saying it.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing."
Her expression doesn't change.
"I fixed her landing."
"Did she ask you to?"
"That's not relevant."
"Jack."
"It was a safety hazard."
Renee closes her eyes for a second.
I decide not to mention that I may have slightly overstated the urgency of said hazard.
"Anyway," I say, "she probably won't even open the door."
Renee frowns. "Then knock louder until she does."
I stare at her.
"Or secure the swing yourself."
"I'm not sure—"
"And while you're at it," she cuts in, "maybe clue her in on why you treat her so poorly."
My jaw tightens. "Renee."
"Maybe she'd come back to Tidehaven more often if her neighbor was a little more neighborly."
She gives me a look that makes me feel like I'm twelve years old and she's caught me eating an entire bag of cookies before dinner.
“I don’t treat her poorly.”
Renee gives me a long, skeptical look. “Jack, you glare at that woman every time she comes within fifty feet of you.”
“I don’t glare.”
“You absolutely glare.”
“That’s just my face.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve seen you talk to other people.”
I shift in my seat. “Fine. Maybe I haven’t exactly been welcoming.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“But I don’t treat her that poorly.”
Renee raises an eyebrow.
I sigh. “Okay. I could probably be a little more neighborly.”
“There we go.” A satisfied smile crosses her face. “Was that so hard?”
“Yes.”
I reach for my keys before she can find anything else wrong with my behavior. “I’m on it. For the good of the town.”
“And the safety of you and your neighbor,” she adds.
“Yeah. That too.”
I turn the key in the ignition, and thankfully, Renee takes the hint. She gives the side of my truck one final tap before heading toward the store.
I watch her go, then glance over at Dusty. He’s already looking at me with the kind of quiet judgment only a dog can get away with.
“Don’t.”
His tail thumps once against the seat.
I shake my head and pull out of the parking lot, already imagining how this conversation is going to go.
Claire Monroe is going to kill me.
***
I watch Renee disappear into the store, then sit there for a moment with my hands gripping the steering wheel.
“For the good of the town,” I repeat under my breath. “And if all else fails, Renee Holloway can help get the restraining order lifted.”
Dusty makes a sound that's either a huff or a judgment.
Probably judgment.
“Don't even start.” I turn the key in the ignition. “I'm being civic-minded.”
I pull out of the parking lot and head toward home. The wind bumps against the truck just hard enough to remind me it means business.
The plan is simple.
Knock on Claire's door.
Relay Renee's message.
Leave.
That's it.
I'm absolutely not doing this because the thought of Claire alone in that house during the first real storm of the season makes me uncomfortable.
That would be ridiculous.
I turn onto our road, and the Monroe porch comes into view.
The swing jerks hard in a gust, one side lifting before the chains snap it back into place.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Yeah.”
I should've dealt with that first.
Instead, I became so fixated on the landing that I ignored the one thing on the porch actually trying to become airborne.
I sigh.
“This should be fun.”
I park at the edge of my driveway and kill the engine.
Dusty immediately sits up, looking far too excited about whatever comes next.
“This isn't a field trip.”
I grab his leash anyway.
If nothing else, he can serve as a buffer between Claire and me.
A furry distraction.
Maybe a character reference.
If I'm lucky, all three.
Nothing I bought needs refrigeration, so I leave the bag in the truck. The sooner I get this over with, the better.
Dusty and I cross the yard and climb the Monroe porch steps.
Again.
At this point, I've spent more time on Claire's porch in the past two days than I have on my own.
I knock and wait.
Dusty sits politely beside me, his tail sweeping slowly across the boards.
My attention shifts to the swing.
Another gust sends it jerking sideways.
I feel a fresh wave of irritation.
Mostly at myself.
Claire was right.
Not about everything.
Let's not get carried away.
But the porch steps probably would've survived another storm or two. The swing, on the other hand, is making a strong argument for immediate intervention.
When the weather is calm, it doesn't look particularly dangerous. Crooked, yes. An eyesore on an otherwise orderly porch, definitely. But not something I'd expect to become a projectile.
Now, with the wind catching it every few seconds, I can picture exactly how this ends.
With a splintered porch swing in my yard.
Or through one of Claire's windows.
I shift my weight and look between the swing and the front door.
If she doesn't answer, I can secure it myself.
Renee practically gave me permission.
And the way I see it, a direct request from the town council president should override Claire's very specific instruction to leave her porch swing alone.
Probably.
The lock clicks.
Finally.
The door opens, and Claire appears with her arms crossed.
She looks like someone who was already having a perfectly miserable day and has just discovered it's about to get worse.
I can relate.
I don't bother with hello.
“Renee Holloway sent me.”
Claire's brow furrows. “The town council president?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I point toward the swing.
“She stopped me in the parking lot and told me to either make sure you secure that thing or secure it myself.”
Claire's mouth opens.
Then closes.
She looks at the swing like it's personally betrayed her before turning back to me.
“You've relayed the message. You can go.”
I stare at her.
“I can handle my own porch swing,” she adds.
I nod once.
Like I believe her.
I don't.
She notices.
Her eyes narrow.
“I can.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You didn't have to.”
A gust catches the swing again, making the chains groan.
I gesture toward the darkening sky.
“I think Renee's intention was for you to secure it before the storm.”
“Thank you for the clarification.”
“You're welcome.”
She rolls her eyes.
“I have rope, Jack. I know how to tie a knot. I'll do it.”
I stare at her.
Claire stares back.
Beside me, Dusty shifts his weight like he isn't sure whose side he's supposed to be on.
Another gust hits the side of the house.
Dusty's ears perk up.
Claire's attention moves past my shoulder toward the sky.
And there it is.
I see it this time because I'm looking for it.
For one brief second, her entire body goes still.
Not startled.
Braced.
Like she's listening for something beyond the wind.
Then she blinks.
And just like that, the wall goes back up.
“Thanks for stopping by, Jack.” She folds her arms tighter across her chest. “I'll be sure to tell Renee you did an excellent job relaying her instructions.”
I exhale slowly through my nose.
I should leave.
I delivered the message.
Claire knows about the swing.
My civic duty is officially complete.
I can go home before she starts filling out the restraining-order paperwork.
And yet...
“Claire.”
Her eyes narrow like she resents the fact that I know her first name.
“Jack.”
“You can handle it.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“Your knot-tying skills are duly noted.”
“How generous of you.”
I raise my hands in surrender.
“Or we can secure it together and be done in five minutes.”
Her lips press into a thin line.
She doesn't answer.
“Don't think of it as me helping you,” I add.
Why can't I just leave?
“Think of it as door-to-door community service by order of Renee Holloway.”
The corner of Claire's mouth twitches.
Barely.
But I see it.
She wants to laugh.
She refuses on principle.
“If you want to argue about it, fine.” I point toward the swing. “But let's do that after it stops trying to take out your window.”
Claire looks at the swing.
Then at the sky.
Then back at me.
Something in her expression shifts.
I've won.
Not that this should feel like winning.
We're two adults arguing over a porch swing like we're competing for playground equipment.
“Fine,” she says through her teeth. “Wait here.”
She turns and disappears inside before I can respond.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
Dusty stands and sniffs near the door, his tail wagging like he's been invited in.
“Don't bother getting attached.” I give him a look. “Once this is finished, we're going back to ignoring her.”
His tail keeps wagging.
“I'm serious.”
The door opens again a moment later, and Claire steps outside with a coil of rope in her hands. She holds it out without quite meeting my eyes.
“Here.”
I reach for it, and our fingers brush as I take the rope from her. The contact is brief and completely accidental, but Claire pulls her hand back so quickly you'd think I'd shocked her.
For some reason, I notice.
I look down at the rope.
“Thank you.”
Mostly because my mother would haunt me if I forgot my manners.
Claire makes a sound that doesn't qualify as you're welcome.
Apparently, manners are only required on my side of the property line.
I get to work before Claire changes her mind and takes the rope back.
I loop it through the swing, secure the loose side, then anchor it to the nearest post. Dusty watches the entire process with enough concentration to suggest he's considering an apprenticeship.
Claire stays near the doorway with her arms crossed, but every few seconds, her gaze drifts toward the darkening sky.
I notice, even though I try not to.
More than once, I consider asking if she's okay, but I already know how that conversation will go. She'll insist she's fine, I won't believe her, and somehow we'll end up arguing about that too.
I've learned enough for one day, so I keep my mouth shut and focus on the rope.
“There.”
I finish the knot and give the rope a hard tug.
It holds.
Claire studies my work for a moment before giving a small nod that somehow manages to look like she's agreeing with herself instead of me.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
A flicker in the window behind Claire catches my attention. The lights inside the house dim, brighten, then flicker once more before finally holding steady.
Not a great sign, considering the storm hasn't fully arrived yet.
Claire notices too, and I catch the slight change in her breathing as she looks toward the window. It's subtle, but I'm paying enough attention to notice.
More attention than I should be.
The porch is secure, the landing is stable, and I've done everything I came here to do. It's time to go back to my own house and stay as far away from the Monroe property as possible until the sale is final.
At least, that's the plan.
“Thanks for your help,” Claire says, the dismissal in her voice impossible to miss. “Enjoy the weather.”
I can't tell if she's joking, and at this point, I'm not sure I want to know.
“If you need anything, you can—”
“I'm fine.”
The answer comes so quickly that I almost laugh. Of course she's fine. She always seems to be fine, even when everything about her says otherwise.
“Right,” I say, because clearly offering to help is only going to start another argument.
I head down the porch steps with Dusty beside me, but when I reach the bottom, I can't resist looking back.
Claire is still standing in the doorway, watching the darkening sky with that same expression I can't quite figure out. A moment later, she steps inside and closes the door.
I stare at the house for another second before shaking my head and turning away.
“She can do whatever she wants with the sale,” I mutter as Dusty and I cross the yard. “The porch is secure. We're done here.”
Dusty's tail thumps against my leg like he disagrees.
I look down at him.
“We are.”
He keeps walking.
I don't bother arguing.
Apparently, no one listens to me anymore.