Chapter Four
Anthony
Did this tiny woman just call me Suits? I watch her help herself to the passenger seat of my impeccably clean rental car. Unbelievable. Of all the women to land as a next-door neighbor during my stay here, I have this one. Five feet of gutter-fixing, mechanical-maintenancing woman.
Why are we riding together to a local store as if this is some school field trip?
“Can I come, too? Please, please, please?” The daughter is jumping up and down beside me, and Charlotte waves her into my backseat, scooting her seat forward so Felicity can squeeze behind.
“Come on, sweetie.”
Does Casey’s have rides and arcade games or something? I don’t understand why this is such a big deal. But I give up the fight and take position behind the wheel. When I start the car with the keyless ignition, I give an extra rev of the engine just because. A low sound of delight mewls in Charlotte’s throat, and something about it makes me take a longer look at her.
I’ve always liked women with flawless fashion and long hair. Charlotte Alden has neither. Not by a long shot. Her jeans appear to have avoided the laundry for weeks on end, and her boots don’t even deserve donation to a thrift store. Her baggy T-shirt hides any shape she may or may not have, and her hair, while a pleasant color, ends above her shoulders and surrounds her head in choppy layers.
I admire her plucky personality, though. Kinda like my mom. The women in my sphere tend to be the more helpless, whiny, damsel-in-distress types. Their biggest crisis is lipstick wearing off their lips in the middle of a gala. Not falling to the ground and getting hit by a gutter. I can’t believe she got right back up and carried on.
“Where to, fearless leader?” Did I really say that? My face feels warm, and I can’t remember the last time that happened. How dumb can I be? Iowa is causing shrinkage of my brain cells already.
“Go north, then we’ll bear northwest when the road splits.”
What kind of answer was that? “Left or right?”
“Oh.” Her face splits into a smile that nearly blinds me. Well, she’s got the smile going for her. “Right out of the drive, left at the split.” The smile relaxes into a teasing grin. “Sure do things differently here than in Atlanta, huh?”
All I do is grunt and nod. Atlanta feels like a different planet right now.
“We have two parks in town.” Charlotte gestures across the road as I make the right onto Rodeo Road. “This one’s got a pond, and it’s stocked with fish. Do you like fishing?”
I give her a long look over the rim of my glasses. “Do I look like I fish?”
Her lips pucker enough to reveal irritation. “Just making conversation. It’s what we do here.”
Now she thinks I’m rude. Maybe I am. But I didn’t ask for a tour of this place. I’m hoping I don’t have to stay here long enough to need to know my way around.
We pass a row of houses on either side in silence. On the right at the end of the street is a farm and feed supplies store. The parking lot is full, the entry door wide open. How come that’s open and the pharmacy isn’t?
“That’s your ‘left.’ ” Charlotte wiggles her fingers like air quotes, pointing to where another street cuts left at an odd angle. We cross Circus Street, and I look down the road…or up. That direction must be north, where my mom is. “Take your next left.” Charlotte’s lilting voice cuts into my thoughts. “Iowa towns are a lot like a grid. But we have a few odd roads here in Red Rock Place.”
She’s got that right. But I’m used to navigating a major metropolis.
“I think I can handle it.” We turn left onto the same highway that I noted earlier goes to a lake. But we’re heading in the opposite direction, toward the middle of town.
“As you can see, we have Family Dollar, Wanda’s Ice Stop—best ice cream you’ll ever taste—down that-a-way is the VFW, the prime location for any sit-down shindig in town. And here.” She holds up her hand as if she’s the waitress in the bar we are passing. “Is Casey’s.”
I pull into the nondescript parking lot of a convenience store. Front and center are gas pumps. “You brought me to a gas station?”
“Technically, you brought me. But wait.” White teeth flash, her lips parted in eagerness. I feel an odd sensation in my middle. Farm girl’s not so bad on the eyes. From the neck up.
Wait a second. What am I thinking?
“Why are you so mad?” Charlotte asks.
I’m glaring at her, aren’t I? I’m only mad at myself. “I’m not,” I grunt and climb out of my new ride. Felicity skips ahead and holds the door for us. She’s sweet and quiet as far as kids go.
“Hi, Butch,” Charlotte calls out the minute she steps foot inside the store. It looks small from the outside, but I can tell with one eye-sweep Charlotte spoke the truth. It’s going to have everything I need and then some. “This here is Camila’s son, Anthony.”
“Oh, yeah.” A bow-legged mid-fifties man wanders from behind the counter and offers me his hand. I might need a new one by the time he’s finished. “You’re that big-time lawyer in Georgia, aren’t you?”
Before I can answer, three elderly women surround me. One puts her hand on mine, the other puts an arm around me. The third one steps right into my bubble and pats my cheek. “Your mama is the sweetest woman to ever live in Red Rock Place. Oh, honey, your heart must be a plowed field right now.”
I don’t answer since I have no clue what that even means. Charlotte beckons more customers to join us. I’m being mobbed. What is going on?
Finally—possibly at my look of sheer terror—Charlotte loops her arm through mine and pulls me out of the melee.
“They have pizza here—and wings. Breakfast. Soft drinks. Donuts. You name it. And, as promised.” She tugs me to a stop in front of a shelf of medications. “Painkillers.”
“That I need ASAP after that riot.” I pluck the largest bottle of acetaminophen from the shelf. “What was that?”
“The people that wanted to meet you?”
I nod and keep moving toward the case of refrigerated drinks, grabbing a gallon of water. Who knows where the tap water comes from here. In fact, I don’t want to know.
“That’s called Iowa Nice.”
“Iowa Nice?”
“Yep. We’re nice around here. Friendly, you know?”
Not really, but I nod along like I do. Friendly. Frightening. I’m beginning to think they are synonyms in this place. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“People love your mom.” Charlotte guides me back to the counter. The crowd has broken up. Maybe God hears me after all. “They want to love you, too.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I pay and wait in my car for Charlotte to return with Felicity. Felicity has a soft pretzel in hand when she opens the passenger door and begins to climb behind, and I can see crumbs raining down like a deluge.
“No food in the car,” I bark. Felicity freezes with one leg inside. Charlotte prods her into her seat, and I wait for her to take the pretzel out of the girl’s hand. Instead, she adds a slushy to her other hand.
“He means in his limousine back home.” Her eyes meet mine, and they are fierce. And blue. “Right, Mr. Lucio?”
I consider having my way. If it were my Mercedes, I would. But she’s right. This is a rental. I don’t have to be so fastidious. “Try not to make a mess,” I snap, frustrated that this woman is calling the shots—in my car.
Charlotte buckles, and as I begin to pull out of the lot, she points urgently. “Make a right. I’ll give you a tour.”
“I don’t want a tour.”
“I insist. Turn this way.”
I growl and obey. “Is this some Iowan form of kidnapping?”
“How should I know?” She’s all innocence. “You’re the driver. Go north at the light—ah, that is, make another right.” Do Iowans have a built-in compass in their heads?
Charlotte points out yet another church, an elementary school, Waffle Palace, another gas station, all the residents she knows by name—calling some over to the window to greet me—some nondescript eating places, an inn that makes me grateful for Aunt Doris, a community park, and on and on. I turn at all the places she indicates. After we’ve seen the entire town, we come out across from Hy-Vee.
“What exactly is Hy-Vee?” I ask, waiting to turn at the blinking light.
She is incredulous, her jaw dropping wide open. Are her lips naturally that pink, or is she wearing cosmetics? I see no trace of makeup on her face or eyes, so I’m thinking she’s just blessed with lips other women pay for.
Why am I noticing these details?
“You don’t have Hy-Vee in Atlanta? Where do you buy groceries?”
Strange name for a grocery store. “Kroger. Publix. Sprouts. Take your pick.”
“We don’t get to pick. We only have Hy-Vee.”
As I follow her promptings on the way back and gain my bearings, I wonder at the volume of traffic on the road at this hour in such a small town. “Why all the cars?”
“Hmm?” She seems thrown by my question. “They’re scooping the loop.” Her tone all but says “duh!”
Scooping the what? My face must say it for me.
Her beautiful eyes roll like I’m a lost cause. “Driving the town. What else is there to do here, do you think?”
“You mean to tell me people drive around town as a pastime?”
“Every day.”
I’m speechless.
I drop Charlotte and Felicity off in front of their house, and as I put my Mustang in reverse, I remember the whole reason I came over almost two hours ago. It’s nine at night now and semi-dark.
“The Wi-Fi?” I call through my side window as Charlotte herds her daughter toward her front porch.
“Oh, right.” She rattles off a long combination, and I search frantically for a pen and paper. None found, I open up a blank note in my phone.
“Again?”
She looks at me, expectant. “Ask nicely.”
Ask—oh my goodness. Do I look like a child? I clench my jaw. Why am I stuck with this woman as a neighbor? “May I please have the password again?”
“Oh, aren’t you polite? I’ll go slow just for you.”
Is she implying something derogatory about my intelligence? The teasing light in her eyes says yes, but I’m too tired to bite. I’ve been up since 3:30 a.m. Eastern time.
Once I get the password down, I thank her.
“So you know, the signal isn’t strong enough inside Doris’s house. It only works on the porch.”
Is she serious? I stare, waiting for her to slap her leg and declare it a joke.
“On windy days, it might not even work on her porch. But you’re always welcome to use my porch in an emergency.”
I find my brain functions after a long stretch of stunned silence. “You expect me to work on the porch?”
Her face turns as serious as a rock. “If you think I’ll invite you to work in my house, think again, bucko. No man but my brother has free rein in my house, and I intend to keep it that way.”
That said, she turns and marches into her house, slamming the door behind her. Unbelievable. I really am going to represent clients from a porch in Iowa.
“I see you’ve met our Lottie.” Aunt Doris’s voice hits me before I have two feet out of my car door. She’s planted in the driveway, both hands on bony hips. “Isn’t she a dear?”
“Charming,” I mutter, taking a wide berth around my aunt.
“Pretty too, don’t you think?” There’s just enough suggestion in her voice that I know what she’s after.
“Aunt Doris.” I pause on her porch and look down on her in the dark yard. She’s short, like my mom. “I’m not interested in any woman right now. Especially not one from Iowa.”