“Everett Tanner, man, I haven’t seen you in a minute.”
“Hey, Cooper,” I say. “Bethany.” Cooper Tell’s family owns the tavern, and his older brother, Granger, was in my homeroom class almost every year in high school. His sister, Julianne, runs a podcast where she spills all the local secrets like some kind of small-town Gossip Girl. Bethany, Cooper’s apparent girlfriend and my old high school sweetheart, looks me up and down as she stands beside him, a possessive hand wrapped around the stars and stripes tattooed on his bicep.
“You still workin’the ranch?”
“Sure am,” I say, leaning a hip against the door of my truck. This is awkward as hell, especially because although Bethany’s hot-pink, pointy talons are lightly scratching the ink on Cooper’s arm, she’s standing there cocking a hip as she undresses me with her eyes. “Family business. You know.”
“I guess I do,” Cooper laughs. It’s one of those uncomfortable laughs designed to fill an awkward silence. There’s an elephant in the room with us here, and it’s wearing Grandaddy Smith’s old tan hat. “Well, I’ll see ya around, man.”
“Yeah, see ya.”
It was never my intention to cut ties with people in town. For a time, it hurt too much to visit. And then it just became easy to avoid. And the more I avoided the town, the more I avoided the people, too. And then it just became easier to not do the thing, rather than to just rip the Band-Aid off and put up with the two minutes of pain involved in actually doing it.
When Ruth told me she was flying out to Austin to see me instead of flying straight home from New York next week, I almost lost my damn mind there and then. I’ve been dreaming of oranges, of that sweet, summertime fragrance from our first meeting, and I’m desperate to breathe it in and pull her into my arms.
I started making a list of all the things I wanted to do—things to do to prepare for her visit, and things I wanted to do for Ruth.WithRuth. I want to give her flowers. I want to take her up to my favourite spot on the west ridge, where you can see almost all the way out to Austin on a clear day. I want to cook her Texas potatoes and sausage casserole, I want to sit with her and watch the moon paint darkness over the Texas sky sunset, and hold her hand as night brings out the stars.
There are a hundred thousand things I want to do with Ruth Bevan at my side, and already, I fear those hundred thousand would not be enough.
My first stop is to visit Old Man Alan. He’s owned his store on Main Street for at least fifty years now, and it’s been in his family for even longer. He must be in his eighties or nineties, but he’s sprightly as anything, and he greets me with a yelled “Howdy” from the back room as I step inside. The store is like a treasure trove: it’s one of those dimly-lit holes in the wall, cluttered to the brim with just about everything you could ever need but couldn’t categorise.
There are tubs of nuts and washers and bolts of all different sizes. There are reels of ropes and ribbons, packages of plaster and sand and cement, batteries, fabric offcuts, bundles of shredded paper for guinea pig bedding. Screwdrivers, pens, reusable water bottles. It’s always smelled a little like diesel and coffee in here, and searching for a diamond amongst rocks was one of my favourite activities whenever Dad or Grandaddy would bring me in.
I find a padlock that looks perfect to replace the one we had to cut on one of the tractor barns, and a pack of cable ties that look sturdy enough for some minor repairs at Mom’s house until I get a chance to take a proper look. I also grab three packages of rechargeable batteries, because there are never any around whenever we need them. Before I check out, I spot a reel of maroon ribbon, and it catches my eye because it’s the exact shade Ruth had painted on her fingernails last time we talked. I have no idea what I’ll do with it, but it reminds me of her, and I ask Old Man Alan to cut me a length of it before I hand over a couple of crisply folded bills from my wallet.
I drop my purchases at my truck before walking a few doors down to Skillett’s only barber shop. Through the window, I see one man inthe styling chair and no one waiting, so I shoulder my way through the door and take a seat. The barber’s face lights up when he spots me.
“Tanner! Nice to see you back in town, man. Gimme ten, and I’m with you.”
Henry Duquette’s easy manner and genuine greeting lifts some kind of weight off my chest. Henry is only a year or two older than I am. He inherited both the barber shop business and his name from his father, Henry senior, who—last I heard—was living a retired life of luxury with his wife somewhere in south Florida.
True to his word, Henry finishes with his last client within a few minutes, and after grabbing us both cold bottles of water from his mini fridge, I slide into the chair and stare at our reflections in the mirror.
“So, what are we going for? Buzz cut? Naked baby face?”
“Just tidy me up, Junior,” I answer with a laugh, kicking my foot back to catch his ankle lightly. “No naked baby faces.”
“You’re enough baby face even with this stubble, Tanner,” Henry says with a smirk, reaching for a spray bottle. He squirts cold water on my head and I try not to flinch as he dampens my hair. We fall into a companionable silence as he works, the only sound between us the light snips from his scissors and then the rasp of the straight razor he still uses. By the time he’s done, I look fresher and younger, and I don’t even need the hat to hold my curls out of my eyes anymore.
“Don’t be a stranger, Ev,” Henry says with a handshake. He tucks the two notes I hand over into his shirt pocket. “Your Grandaddy is missed around here, but so are you, dude. I mean it. It’s good to see ya.”
“Thanks, man.” I clap him on the back with a quick, quiet hug before leaving and turning left. Main Street is quiet for a Thursday afternoon. Red, white, and blue bunting crosses the street above myhead, zigzagging between lampposts and buildings, and there’s a faint flutter of vinyl in the breeze. The enormous wooden doors of Tell’s Tavern are wedged open, and the shouts of small-town retirees tumble out as they throw darts at a board. I walk slowly, leisurely; unhurried and with no specific place I need to be. The light breeze is cool on my face now that Henry has trimmed back my small beard into fashionable stubble, and I run a hand over my chin. It’s still plenty long enough, but it’s tidier now. Trendier.
I had him keep a little more length on the mustache, though.
I hope Ruth likes it.
I pass by Talia’s Boutique—a fashion store run by one of my sister’s high school classmates. The lights are on, and there are two women inside, holding dresses up against each other. The Yellow Rose of Skillett, a flower shop run by Savannah Townley, has buckets of fresh blooms spilling from the open door across the sidewalk. Savannah’s family has lived in Skillett since it first came to existence, and most of them are Sheriffs or doctors or lawyers. But Savannah never cared much for school. She defied the family trades, got her degree in agriculture, and opened Yellow Rose. She rents a small chunk of land from Jody’s family, where she grows her flowers and a handful of fresh herbs.
Ellison’s Bakes is closed on Thursdays, so I’m not surprised to see the windows dark, but I am shocked when I see nothing but darkness in the windows of Golden Glam next door. There’s afor rentsign in the window, and a little of that weight comes back, settling on my shoulders again. Some businesses thrive in small towns, but it’s always hard to watch when they don’t. Golden Glam was a beauty salon, and Mom always said they did a great job—if a little overpriced.
I’m sure someone will take over the unit. There’s always been a waiting list for businesses to get themselves a storefront on MainStreet. Most of the ones here today have been open for years, or the units have changed hands within the same family over the generations.
That’s the kind of small town Skillett is.
And that’s the kind of place—the family, the community, the everyone-knows-everyone’s-business—I grew up in.
I haven’t spent much time in town lately, and I never thought I missed it, until now.
