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But between Ryan being out sick and Marla starting maternity leave sooner than expected, I wasn’t able to get off work as early as I’d hoped.
In any case, I clean up my desk, drop off hand written instructions to my deputies, and say my goodbyes to everyone at the station.
“All right, everybody. I’m off. Hold down the fort until I get back.” I grab my jacket from the hook by the door. “And, Mendoza, keep an eye on our swing set vandals. We need to keep the parks safe for the kids.”
“Will do, boss!” He salutes me. “Let your hair down and have some fun, Deputy Chief Westbrook!”
“Take lots of pictures, sonny,” someone calls out.
“Enjoy the much needed time away, sir,” comes another voice.
With a smile and a salute, I head out into the light rain. On my way back to my place, I stop by Grammy’s shop. The second I step through the door of The Wildberry Bakery, I get a warm greeting from Grammy’s regulars.
“Deputy Chief Westbrook! Can I buy you a coffee?” a friendly patron asks while shaking my hand.
“Oh, maybe next time, Mr. O'Connor. I’ve got to get my last punch on my rewards card,” I say with a chuckle. No matter how many times I tell this guy that I get my coffee here for free, he offers to buy me a cup whenever he sees me.
An older lady tries to usher me to the front of the line. “Come, come, deputy. You can cut ahead of me.”
I politely decline. “Well, that wouldn’t be fair, Miss Parkway, and we both know it.” She just laughs.
This is one of the reasons I feel lucky to call Honey Hill home. The people. Yes, I have a big family, but most days, it feels like this town is my family, too. Everyone knows each other. People still hold doors open for their neighbors and they make you feel like part of the community.
Heaven knows I needed this extended support system in the difficult months following my divorce.
I make small talk with everyone in the bakery until I move up to the front of the line. Grammy beams when I place my order.
“Are you sure you don’t want to drive up to the wedding with me? I’d let you pick the radio station.” I waggle my brows.
She chuckles softly as she packs up my goodies. “No, no. I’ll drive up with Jasper.”
I huff, offended. “You’d turn down a ride with the town’s chief deputy sheriff? To ride with that scoundrel?” I ask jokingly as I take the coffee she hands me.
She pats her wrinkled hand on mine. She leans in conspiratorially. “I want to show up to the wedding in style, and Jasper’s going to drive his new sports car. The black one with the loud engine.”
My head wags from left to right. “You really are a thrill seeker, Grammy.” I lean over to kiss her cheek.
“It keeps me young, boy.”
Hearing her say that brings a smile to my face. Grammy is such a strong woman, a pillar of Honey Hill. In the five decades since she opened The Wildberry Bakery, it has been one of the cornerstones of this town.
But even the strongest of people have their vulnerabilities and Grammy has never been good at admitting to her own. It wasn’t until the woman nearly burned down her house in the middle of family dinner a few months back that she admitted to us that she has been gradually losing her eyesight.
Ever since then, my siblings and cousins and I have been extra protective and vigilant when it comes to her. Grammy says that we’re overbearing, but deep down, she knows that we’re only looking out for her.
I say my goodbyes and rush home with my to-go coffee and freshly baked muffins. I leave it all in the Jeep while I jog up the concrete pathway to my brown house.
My welcome mat is brown, too. So is my kitchen. And my couch. Not that I have an overwhelmingly strong preference for the color brown. I guess I’m just not the interior design type. My life is lacking in a woman’s touch and it shows.
I dart inside, change out of my uniform, grab my already packed duffle bag.
Finally, I hit the road.By now, the rain is coming down in sheets. I blast the heat to keep the cabin warm.
As I drive out of town, the oldWelcome to Honey Hillsign rattles violently from across the road. It looks ready to come loose and fly into an unsuspecting traveler at any moment.
“Thompson, you freaking hairy ball sack,” I curse under my breath, wondering how the hell the sitting mayor can just keep ignoring all the town’s maintenance needs.I make a mental note to submit another complaint to the mayor’s office. Or to table this issue at the next town council meeting.
A bitter laugh escapes me. There I go, always thinking I know better than our town government. That I coulddobetter than our current town government.
