Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Cara
Hayden Reilly is back in town and I know I shouldn’t care, but I kind of do. A lot.
It takes me five minutes to drive from our house to my tiny little storefront shop on the main street of Sumac Falls. Usually I walk because walking is free, but I’m already running behind due to the conversational bomb Gin dropped on me. And it’s supposed to rain later in the afternoon.
Five minutes is a long time to focus on not thinking about Hayden Reilly, and I fail miserably. I know he’s been home before. I haven’t seen him, of course, but people are always talking in this town and sometimes they’re talking about Hayden being home to see his mother and brother.
Because my best friend, Mel, made me pinky swear many years ago I’d never look him up on the internet, I don’t know how much he’s changed over the years.
I always thought he was the hottest boy ever born in this town, and I know I wasn’t alone in thinking that.
But it’s been seventeen years since I’ve seen him and I can’t help but hope the years have taken a toll on his looks.
I try to be a kind person, but when it comes to the boy who stood me up on homecoming night and broke my heart, I can be petty.
He’ll probably leave town before I see him, anyway. He’s good at that.
I try to put him out of my mind as I roll past Pampered Pets.
Ironically, it’s the second business from the end of the long, red brick multi-unit building called the Gamble Block.
I don’t get a family discount on the rent, though, because my grandfather sold it to somebody else before I was born.
There are four blocks on my side of the street and five on the other.
Some are red brick and some are gray. There used to be five on each side, but the Reilly Block—built during the family’s flush years, and the only one not constructed from brick—had been on the far end. It burned in the winter of 1946.
Over the years, some vocal members of the Reilly family have claimed a Gamble must have lit the match, of course, but the fire department said the upstairs tenant was trying to keep warm with an open fire in a cast iron pot and overdid the flame.
They’d demolished what was left of the building and eventually the town took the property for unpaid taxes.
Then they planted grass on the lot, plunked down a couple of wooden benches, and called it a park.
I find a parking spot behind the row of businesses, in a lot designated for people who work on the main street.
Thanks to an SUV the width of a tank on one side and a car who thinks the parking lines are more like suggestions on the other, I have to hold onto my door to keep it from banging the SUV while I suck in a breath and squeeze through the opening.
Sumac Falls wanted to keep the main street parking for visitors and customers, which is great, but they underestimated how much space the business owners and employees would need—and how big vehicles have gotten over the years.
It’s another reason I try to walk whenever possible.
I pause, as always, in front of Pampered Pets Grooming to savor the little jolt of pride and happiness I still feel every time I see it.
I bartered three grooming sessions with a Dachshund-owning artist who painted a variety of cartoon dogs and cats on my front window, happily galivanting around the name of my business.
She even painted little paw prints on the glass door, and I’m smiling as I unlock it and pull it open.
This is my happy place. It’s all mine, for better or worse. There’s no drama, other than trimming the nails of a dog who thinks it’s being murdered. And thanks to alleged pet dander allergies, Gin never comes here. Other than pick-ups and drop-offs, it’s just me and the town’s furry friends.
If I lived in an apartment or even a tiny starter house, the business would probably make me a comfortable living. But I don’t. I live in a giant money pit with a mother who thinks working part-time for her friend the florist means she’s doing her part to keep our house standing.
My phone chimes with a message from my client.
brENDA ECCLESTON
Found the collar. Leaving now.
CARA
I’m here. See you soon.
With at least ten minutes to kill—maybe more if they weren’t actually in the car, but still chasing Peaches around with the recovered collar—I send a message to my sister.
CARA
Did Mom tell you Hayden Reilly is back in town and also wants to buy the house?
I set the phone on the counter because Georgia’s a nurse in a very busy emergency department in Portland, Maine. Sometimes she responds right away, but more often than not an hour or more will pass between each message in our conversations.
Not only does she respond right away, but she calls. That’s rare. “Hey, Georgia.”
“He’s back? Have you seen him? Why does he want to buy that shitty old house? Is he going to burn it down? Did you see the offer? Did Mom’s head explode?”
I laugh at the barrage of questions. “Take a breath. I haven’t seen him and I didn’t see the offer, but Mom isn’t going to sell it to anybody, never mind a Reilly. And I doubt he’d come back and buy our house just to burn it down.”
A familiar growl of frustration vibrates through the phone. Georgia doesn’t have a lot of patience when it comes to our mother. “I’m tempted to burn the place down myself.”
“If you do, we’re coming to live with you and Tony. Both of us.” Her husband is a graphic designer with flexible office and work-from-home hours. And they have a studio apartment. It’s a good threat.
“Why don’t you just leave?”
I’ve lost count of how many times she’s asked me that. The first time was the day after I graduated from high school, and I think we’ve had maybe three conversations over the years since then that haven’t included my least favorite topic.
“I can’t,” I say for the umpteenth time. Because she left first and now I’m stuck here.
“Yes, you can. Just throw some stuff in your car and start driving.”
I laugh, even though that’s basically the dream. “Have you seen the price of gas? I’d be lucky to make it to the state line.”
“I won’t give you a dime for that damn house, but I’ll send you a bus ticket to get here. Or gas money, if your car’s in any better shape than the house.”
“Barely,” I confess. It probably isn’t going to pass inspection in September, even with Mel’s husband—the town’s mechanic—giving me a wife’s-BFF discount.
I won’t start losing sleep over that until mid-August or so, though. The things that keep me up at night make for a long list, so worries have to wait their turn.
“I know it’s hard to leave,” Georgia says, her voice softening. “But it’s worth it.”
I want to. But I don’t feel like I can, and we both know I won’t. “If I go, she’ll be alone in that house and it’ll crumble around her.”
“Or maybe she’ll be forced to do something about it.” Georgia’s voice goes hard again. “And her life choices are on her, not you.”
“She’s our mother.”
“Which means she should have cared more about us than about that town and a bunch of gossipy shit and a promise she made to Dad when he was barely conscious. She doesn’t deserve you, Cara.”
She’s not wrong, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge that truth out loud. Luckily, I see the Ecclestons’ SUV doing a slow drive past the window, looking for a parking space.
“My client’s parking now, so I have to run.”
“Do whatever you have to do to get her to accept Reilly’s offer,” Georgia said in her stern big-sister voice.
“Sure, because I’ve had so much luck influencing her in the past.”
“Cara, I’m serious. I know our family and the Reillys don’t get along because there’s nothing better to do in a small town but nurse grudges you can’t even remember the origin of.
And I know Hayden Reilly is an asshole. But you might never get an opportunity like this again—an offer on a house with a value that’s dropping faster than a smartphone depreciates at this point.
This is your chance, so do whatever it takes. ”
My client is about to walk through the door, so I promise her I will and get off the call, even though I have no idea how to keep that promise.
She’s not wrong, though. I have to do whatever it takes or all of my tomorrows will look just like my yesterday. And yesterday sucked.