Suddenly, I’m in the shadow of the blonde customer’s peppy presence, her very sophisticated perfume wafting over me. “Did you say handsome? I didn’t even think to ask what theguyclimate is like here.”
“Sadly, I wouldn’t really know,” I tell her.
This makes her brows pinch together in confusion, but before she can ask for more details, Jeanine pipes up. “There’s about a handful of eligible bachelors.” She shrugs and squishes her lips indifferently. “New in town?”
Her head bobs daintily in the affirmative. “Yeah. Name’s Lauren.” She gives us both a casual wave.
“What brings you to Ironvale Ridge?” I pluck a regular sourdough loaf as well as one almond poppyseed, a favorite of mine.
“I’m the new assistant chair of the community center.”
“That’s impressive,” I note, letting Jeanine ring me up. Lauren doesn’t look much older than I am. “Well, welcome.”
“Thanks,” she says sweetly. “I’d really like to make some friends. Can I give you my number? No pressure!” She’s quick to hold a hand up. “I’ll leave it to you if you decide you want to hang out?—”
“Yeah, sure.” I smile, not actually hating the sound of hanging out. I fold the paper she writes her number on and stuff it into my back pocket.
After she journeys on to the next tent, George ambles around the tent partition. “Jeanine, are you and Cliff around tonight?” He plants his hands on his lanky hips and cocks an inquiring eyebrow at her.
“No, actually,” she sighs tipping her head and looking sorry, “we’re headed up north after I wrap up here today. Everything all right?”
He waves a hand. “Oh yeah. The cable is out at my house again, and the Crushers are playing the Whitecaps tonight. Was going to see if I could bribe your husband with beer to let me watch with you guys, but no worries.”
A memory from the far back of my mind slides to the front and cycles through my thoughts. One of George and my granddad yelling at a baseball game on the TV, beers in hand while steaks sizzled on the grill. Even as a little girl that element of normalcy brought comfort, and I realize how long it’s been since George has been over. What does he do for company without my grandparents around?
“George?” I call after him and hurriedly stuff the bread into my bag . “Do you want to come over? I can put the game on at my place,” I offer.
He looks down, his bright blue eyes a shade darker now, like he’s trying to believe what I’m suggesting. He seems to sober and pastes his smile back in place. “Aww, Molly girl, you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no trouble.” I shake my head. “I haven’t had anyone over in ages.” I’ve had no one over, in fact—ever. I almost feel like if someone were to visit me and see I’m still existing at Clover Hill, I might stop feeling like I’m a ghost.
George stares at me as if he’s taking my words and putting them together like a puzzle until the message is clear, though the press of his lips tells me he’s not totally convinced he wouldn’t be imposing.
“I can make you fix one of the creaky boards of the back deck if you’re going to be that much of a stubborn ass about it.” I lift a casual shoulder, and his features immediately relax, like he’s been on board the whole time.
“Fine.” He gives a decisive nod before turning and ambling back to his tent. “I’ll see you at six, you little pain in the ass.”
Four hours later,my deck is in ship shape, and George has polished off one of his own venison burgers. He now sits in Granddad’s old recliner with a cold lager in his hand, happily screaming at my living room TV.
“No, dive! Dive, you pussy!” He barks at the screen like the players can hear him.
I leave our dishes to soak in the sink, and I chuckle. I don’t know the first thing about baseball, but the white noise is comforting, and having someone else in the house is an added bonus.
“Guuuggghhhh,” George grumbles comically as the game wraps, letting his head drop and wobble against his chest in despair. “Just couldn’t help blowing it, could ya? Sons of bitches.” He clicks off the TV and gets to his feet. “I should hit the road,” he announces, coming to meet me in the kitchen and setting his half-full beer bottle on the counter. “Be a good kid and finish that for me.”
“No sweat.” I dry my hands off on a towel. “Are you okay to drive?”
“You bet, kiddo. It’s a straight shot across the overpass.” He cruises his finger ahead of him to demonstrate. “Thanks for having me. If you’ve got anything else around here that needs fixing, let me know before the next game,” he quips.
“Might take you up on that,” I murmur, walking him to the door. “And thanks for coming over.”
He slows his gait to face me. “Is it hard? Living out here on your own?”
I take a moment, not because I don’t know the answer but because it’s hard to admit. “Yeah, it can be hard, but I get by okay,” I assure him.
“Well obviously. You catch and clean your own fish, you bake…”
I smile contentedly at the compliment but don’t feel ready to tell him that just because I know how to survive doesn’t mean I’m perfectly okay on my own. I don’t want to be needy at a time when I have to learn to care for myself. Besides, my grandparents were determined to raise me to feel happy and safe, and I won’t let them down just because they’re gone.
