Chapter 11
Eleven
Oliver
“Are you sure you want to withdraw the offer?”
Pete Hutchinson is the only realtor in town and approved my application to rent the only empty storefront on Main Street within thirty minutes of receiving my paperwork.
At the moment, we’re standing in front of the aforementioned storefront, where I was supposed to meet with him to finalize the lease agreement.
“I do. I decided it would be better to lease it to someone local.”
Pete leans in. “But if you move here, you’d be local. I can help you find a house to rent, as well.”
I think about that. “I do believe a woman named Skylar wants this place for a bookstore.”
Pete nods in recognition of that name. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but your credit score is better. Besides that, I know this girl, and I know she’s borrowed from every relation in town to come up with a deposit. I’m not sure she’ll make it a year.”
I’m not sure I like this guy, and I’m not sure I like that Iris’s friend will have to pay rent to someone with loose lips. But he’s the only game in town, and with situations like this, you have to play the long game.
This is going to hurt, but I have to do it.
“Pete,” I say, scrawling out a check. “Here’s what I was going to put down to secure the place. Apply that to Skylar’s application, won’t you?”
Pete takes the check and looks at me quizzically. “Are you sure about that? This is pretty unorthodox.”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Gee, I don’t know what prompted this, but that’s mighty generous. I’ll let Skylar know today that the place is hers. You must really like that girl.”
Uninterested in getting into lengthy explanations, I simply leave him with, “I really love the town, and I think I’ll be back.”
I walk away, knowing I have no reason to tell him any more than that. If I love somebody, it’s better to tell that person directly before informing anyone else.
When I return to the book booth and wonder where Iris went, Skylar is acting weird.
“She had a wedding dress emergency,” she says in a way that tells me she’s lying.
That’s fine. Whatever is going on with Iris, I’ll deal with that on my own. I don’t need to play games through Iris’s best friend.
Back at the house, all seems quiet. The sewing studio is dark and locked up tight.
The kitchen and living room are equally still and quiet.
No Iris. I head back to the carriage house to take a look at my finances, then I try to watch a movie, figuring I’ll head back out to the festival to partake in a beer flight tasting or two.
I make it about fifteen minutes into this movie before I become too restless for my own good.
Outside in the backyard, I hear the gentle, yearning sound of someone playing a violin.
I wonder if I’m dreaming it at first, then I remember some of the things that Iris told me about this neighborhood.
Maddie plays music every night at this hour, and all the neighbors come out, sit on their porches, and listen.
With Iris nowhere in sight, I head to the porch, where, in her true hospitable fashion, Maddie has a basket full of soft blankets next to the swinging rattan chair, and a small metal hutch with a dispenser of sweet tea.
Pouring myself a glass, I sit and listen to the music.
It’s so pretty, I find myself wishing Iris were here.
I must have royally screwed something up, but I don’t want to cross a boundary with her.
Maddie concludes her nightly music hour, and I decide that I have to cross that boundary after all. I head back into the house and call her name. No answer.
Then, I hear a notification on my phone that someone has sent me a message through the rental app.
When I check it, it’s a message from Iris. I blow out a breath and tap on the message.
Saw you on the doorbell cam. I’m out back by the fire pit if you want to talk.
That sounds strangely ominous and I get a sinking feeling in my gut.
Sure enough, I find Iris wrapped in a blanket, sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, in front of a small fire.
“Hi,” I say when I walk up.
“Hi,” she says softly, smiling up at me.
In the darkening twilight I can tell that smile is pasted on.
“What’s the brave face about?”
“I’m just in my feelings. Nothing to do with you. Don’t worry.”
Too bad. I am worried. I’ll make it my life’s mission to worry about Iris.
I scoot the next chair close to hers and have a seat.
“Want to talk about it?”
She blows out a long breath and pushes her hair back from her face. “My aunt said some stuff. Old family drama. I allowed her to make me spiral and I needed some time alone.”
I nod in understanding. I want to know all about it. I’m dying to know, in fact.
“What did she say to you?”
“You don’t want to hear all that,” Iris scoffs.
“My brother and I got left at a McDonald's along I-40 when I was four years old, and he was eight. Our dad was suing our mom for full custody, and she had a break from reality, you could say. And there was a lot of chemicals in her system contributing to that decision. Dad never let us see her again. Trust me when I say, I’m begging you to tell me about your trauma.”
“My gosh. I’m so sorry, Oliver,” she says, a hand over her mouth.
I shrug and wave it off. “She’s good now. Mostly. We’re working on our shit. So tell me. What’s your deal?”
Iris goes on to tell me about her own mother, who never told her who her daddy was.
How she has four siblings, from three different fathers.
How her mother hopped from one boyfriend to another until she finally hopped away from her family for good.
How her grandmother, whom she calls MiMi, raised her and her siblings, but her aunt carries on like the family martyr, taking on the care of her sister’s children.
About the disputed will after MiMi died, the bad blood that happened when everything went to Iris.
“I was a wild child, just like my Momma,” Iris says.
“I had a reputation. But MiMi said I needed the responsibility to help me rise to the occasion. Everyone else thought MiMi’s house should sell, and that I should split the profits evenly with everyone.
But no way I was going to do that to the house I grew up in.
This house was the only place I felt safe.
Every bad decision, every bad relationship, anytime I was used up and spit out by life, I ended up back here with MiMi.
I kind of feel like her leaving me this house was her way of trying to keep me tethered to the ground. ”
I hold my hand out, reaching for hers.
“That’s beautiful, Iris. I think your MiMi would be damn proud of you.”
“Except for one thing,” she says.
“What one thing?” I ask, leaning forward in my chair, needing to be closer to her.
“I still fall for the wrong men.”
I’m not the smartest at interpreting people’s meaning, so it takes me a minute to realize Iris is talking about me and not some recent ex who did her wrong.
But I’m not so dense that I soon remember how I left things earlier today.
“Remember this morning when I said I wanted to talk about last night?”
“Yes,” she says, staring at her feet and clutching the blanket around her shoulders. The crack of the burning wood punctuates her single word.
“I meant to tell you, I thought last night was special. I think you’re a phenomenal woman. And I want to keep seeing you.”
She looks over at me and smiles, but there’s pain in it. “You don’t owe me anything. I know this is temporary.”
“Iris.”
“I’m used to guys saying all the right things just to disappear later.
I know how you all think. You all think it’s easier and nicer to make me feel special before you fade into the background.
But the truth is, it’s nicer for you men.
It’s easier for you men. Well, I’m used to it.
I don’t need you to coddle me. Just tell me straight up you want to see me, but you also want to see other people.
Then we can tear the band-aid off, and you’ll be free to ask out Evelyn. ”
Now I’m confused all over again, but also angry—at the men in her life, not her.
“Who the hell is Evelyn?”
“From the bakery!”
Iris has pushed the blanket farther away from her face, and the scorn radiates from her.
“The bakery? I don’t…oh wait a minute…”
I think back to earlier today when I accepted a free sample from the bakery kiosk at the festival. The owner had recognized me from yesterday and called me over, and I didn’t want to be rude. Then, she kept loading me up with more free samples and actually tried to feed me.
I tell this to Iris. And I also tell her that half a dozen retirees were standing around with nothing to do but watch us and get ideas into their heads.
“She seems like a nice girl, but I’m not for her. I’m only interested in you, Iris.”
She stares at me for a long moment. “But you have to go back to Charlotte on Sunday.”
“Yeah, and that’s three days away. A lot can happen in the meantime.”
She looks away and stares at the fire. “I suppose it can.”
“Baby, you gotta spell it out for me. I can’t take a cryptic reply. Let’s have it. What else is on your mind?”
She sighs and then levels me with a fierce look. “A lot of people also saw you talking to Pete Hutchinson about the lease on Main Street.
Walton Porter at the brewery told Rowdy Fraser who told Ewan who told Maddie who told me that your brother is a contractor, and that you two came to town to buy up property and put in a Starbucks or something.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “A Starbucks? Is that what you heard?”
She sits up straight, all indignant and fiery and beautiful, looking like a wild witch in the firelight, about to issue a curse on my offspring. “That’s right, we already have a corporate-chain juice bar, and we don’t need corporate coffee!”
“Are you done?”
“No, I’m not, I…”
She cuts herself off when she gets a phone notification.
“Hold on…”
I wait patiently, and from the look on her face, I have an idea what she’s just learned.