Page 154 of Where Roads Lead

“You know I come to mow the lawn every now and then.” He sighed, as if he was tired of explaining simple concepts to the strange new girl.

“Does the grass even grow in November?”

“Nope.” He grinned cheerfully. “But Will pays me every two weeks anyway, God bless him.”

“Why?”

“I just think he likes helping people out.” He shrugged, opening my fridge to pull out a soda. “God knows a lot of us in this town need it.”

Yeah, I could see that. Everyone needed Will. Even I needed him, pathetic as it sounded for someone who’d only just met him.

But what did he need? And how could I ever give it to him if I was a broke, penniless, washed up writer without a career, or even a plan going forward?

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, sitting down at the kitchen table across from me. “The two of you surprised me, but now I sort of see how it makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Will’s always been such a rigidity, uptight type of guy, you know what I mean? And you seem, well…no offense or anything, but kind of flighty.”

I groaned.

“But I think you’re good for him because of that.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I don’t think it would’ve done him any good to end up with a girl too much like himself.” Then he laughed at the idea. “Hell, imagine that. A girl like himself would’ve just brought him down. Not you, though. You bring him…”

“What?” I leaned forward, desperate for confirmation.

“Well, you liven him up a bit. That’s all.”

“Thanks.” I huffed half-heartedly.

“Except now,” he said, frowning as he looked me over, “you don’t look so cheery now. What happened?”

“I’m failing at life, Wayne, if you must know.”

“Cheers to that.” He snorted, taking a sip of his Coke. “Join the club.”

“That wasn’t encouraging,” I groaned. “I thought you might tell me something like, ‘No, Elsie, your life isn’t falling apart. You’re perfectly fine, and fun, and so young and full of time!’”

“If you say your life is falling apart, who am I to tell you otherwise?”

“I’m just feeling hopeless because I’m broke. I guess my mother was right about money being able to buy happiness.”

“Money is freedom.” Wayne nodded along, more focused on the condensation on his soda can than my words.

“Do you have any suggestions for me, then?” I asked, because yes, I really was that desperate.

“Uh, sure.” He nodded. “Maybe ask Will if he’ll pay you to mow someone’s yard. Just not this one. I have dibs.”

“I don’t have money for next month’s rent, Wayne. I hardly think a yardwork gig is going to be my salvation.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “that’s all I got.”

“I’m chasing a pipedream, Wayne,” I admitted, resting my head sideways on the table as I lamented over my woes to my unofficial landscaper. “I thought I could be a writer, but now I realized that even if I finish this stupid manuscript, no one is ever going to want to read it.”

“No one, huh? It’s that bad?”