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Mouthwash gargled and knees no longer quaking, she headed out of town to cruise the countryside and clear her head. Del cranked the radio and sang along with Luke Combs. His bad luck had turned out for the better; maybe hers could, too.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
Twenty-five. Thousand.
How on earth were they going to come up with that kind of money? As Luke sang on, she wondered if she should buy a scratch-off ticket, too.
Del spied Isaac’s property up ahead and remembered the small mountain of downed shrubs she’d promised to come back and haul away. He’d texted earlier, his number unfamiliar but its message quick to clue her in: a picture of Louie with the words “Thanks for helping my human today, he’s not so good with power tools.” That had brought a smile amid an afternoon of fretting. Though she wasn’t exactly in the mood for socializing, seeing him and Louie might be a nice distraction to her looming dilemma.
And right about now, she could use a distraction.
She drove past his place and stopped at the shop to grab their ten-foot flatbed trailer, which was perfect for hauling this kind of spoil. But no sooner had she texted to say she was heading over than a new text from him pinged her phone.
Sorry, something came up for work. Need to postpone. Let me know when might be a good time this weekend.
Del sighed. So much for that distraction she needed so badly. Between the handsome hermit and his cute bulldog, they might have been able to keep her mind off the bookstore for at least a little while.
Isaac, she corrected herself, not “the handsome hermit.” If she’d learned anything this week, it was that his grouchy hermit routine was all an act. People who shunned the outside world didn’t come running out in the pouring rain to make sure teen drivers were unhurt. Or step outside with their adorable dogs to check on cleanup progress.
No, after watching him interact with Louie today, so gentle and patient, Del had concluded the man was more of a softy than some curmudgeon. Funny, she’d always had a thing for men who weren’t afraid to show their softer sides. And men with scruff on their face, a look he totally rocked. If he turned his ballcap around and wore it backward, though, the man would achieve the Del preference trifecta.
On an eyeroll, she climbed back into her truck. Daydreaming about Isaac wasn’t getting her any closer to saving the bookstore. She stared out the windshield, wishing for answers that wouldn’t come. Just beyond the meadow of wildflowers that separated Oak Barrel Farms from her father’s farmhouse stood a mammoth old tree. In the fading light of dusk, she could just make out two parallel lines hanging from one of its thick side branches, connected to a flat board suspended several feet off the ground. Her favorite childhood thinking spot: the Brooks family tree swing.
It’d worked for her countless times before; maybe it would bring her answers tonight.
She continued down Elm a short ways before pulling into her family’s long gravel drive, the feeling of home settling over her with every pop and crackle of stone beneath her tires. Rex looked up from his napping place on the whitewashed two-story’s wraparound porch, a sign that her father wasn’t on duty today and likely somewhere nearby. Del caught sight of him as she parked, down by the pond watching his new baby ducklings. He had his phone to his ear in one hand and waved a hello with the other.
If Fire Chief Stephen Brooks was on the phone, it was sure to be work-related. Her father hated phones—and technology in general—nearly as much as she did. Knowing better than to interrupt, Del waved back and headed for her tree.
The evening was still muggy, but a country breeze had picked up, keeping the mosquitos at bay while she hiked the short distance to her favorite oak. How many hours had she spent under this very tree, swinging slowly in breezes much like this, puzzling through whatever speedbumps life had put in her path? Thankfully, none before had come with such a monstrous price tag.
She reached for the swing’s ropes, lowered onto its familiar seat, and closed her eyes. With a push of her feet, she was off, the old oak’s thick branch above creaking ever so slightly as she coasted back and forth beneath it. As a young girl, she’d lean back, letting her long, auburn hair brush the ground beneath her. But those lengthy locks were long gone, as were those carefree days.
Twenty-five grand.
Where on earth were they going to find that kind of money? Del needed to come up with a viable answer soon, before Faye gave closing the store serious thought. She knew her aunt’s words held no teeth yet, but that Faye had dared speak them was worry enough. They’d never talked of closing before.
“Why’s my sweet pea look like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders tonight?”
Del opened her eyes to find her father approaching, his strides steady but slower than they used to be. She wasn’t the only one who had aged beneath this tree—
She halted that thought. Losing one parent had been traumatic enough; she’d never be ready to lose the other.
“Heya, Pops.”
He stopped a short distance away, mindful of the swing’s path. “Let me guess—you talked to Faye?”
She nodded, slowing to a stop but not yet ready to rise. Here, she felt comforted, supported. Besides, she’d come to the swing for answers and still had none. “We can’t lose the store, not like this.”
He looked toward the house, doing that thing with his lips that was somewhere between a purse and a pucker. It was his thinking pose, one that tended to precede carefully considered words of wisdom. “You know, when your mother first asked me to buy into that shop—”
“Simpson did an amazing job last night,” she cut in, refusing to let him go down the same path his sister had not an hour ago. “We’d have never gotten the tarps in place without him.”
Her father studied her for a moment. If anyone exceled at handling her boldness, it was Pops.
“Glad we could spare him for a few hours. Busy night, thanks to a few ill-placed lightning strikes and that wicked downdraft. Had to recruit extra help over at the park to make it safe again before daybreak.” Her father lowered himself onto the ground and turned his gaze to the sinking sun setting their evening sky on fire. “But that’s what this town does best—pulls together to help those in need.”
“Exactly, which is why there has to be a way to save the bookstore. Like, a town-wide fundraiser or something.”
