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Chapter 27
Franklin
Months of living out my retirement off the grid had caught up with me. I’d moved to the insignificant town of Lockwood, South Carolina, where Bertha successfully delivering her calf was considered front page news, and where Nexcom and Franklin Kincaid didn’t exist. Being far removed from everyone and everything came with its perks, but also a substantial emotional cost. I was lonely. Even more lonely than I’d already been before.
I was tired, too, and felt every bit my age as I hauled my weary body beyond the lake cabin walls to the quaint coffee shop less than a quarter mile down the road. The bell chimes hanging above the door tolled as I entered.
“Well, if it isn’t the town’s favorite Debbie Downer.”
I peered over my shoulder, then back to the elderly man wiping his hands on his apron behind the counter.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” he confirmed. “You’re not usually in here this early. We’re barely open for the day.”
I couldn’t sleep and had started my trek here before the sun had fully risen.
“I know what you want,” he said as I’d been about to order my usual. “You’re the only person I know who orders tea in a coffee shop.”
“It’s on the menu,” I said.
“Because we’re nice people, but no one actually orders it. Take your favorite seat with the view of the lake, and I’ll bring it right over.”
Did I have a favorite seat? And if so, how did he know? I could only vaguely recall ever seeing him here before. Definitely not enough for him to know what my usual or favorite anything was. Without thinking, I headed for the booth I always sat in—answering my own question—but then thought better of proving him right and took a different seat instead. I scowled as he laughed while working on my order.
“Lexie will be pissed that she missed you,” he said, dropping off a steaming mug of coffee and standing there expectantly with his arms crossed. “Go on. Try something new.”
“Lexie?” I asked, since it seemed keeping my head down and flying below the radar wasn’t in the cards for me today. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but I sniffed the contents of my mug, appreciating the toasty scent of hazelnut.
“She’s the young lady who always manages to draw the tall straw in the fight to serve your table.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, they all want to serve the town hermit.” His chuckle made his facial wrinkles more pronounced. I chose not to join in on the fun, especially when it was at my expense. He sobered and cocked his head at me. “Son, you moved to a friendly town, but you aren’t all that friendly, now are you?”
“Then why are they all fighting to serve me?” I asked, stirring sugar into the coffee I hadn’t asked for.
“Ha! Aside from your looks? I’m guessing it’s because you tip well. Lexie was able to clear her light bill with the hefty tip you left her a couple days ago. Maybe today I’ll earn enough for that fancy car I’ve been wanting.”
“Don’t count on it,” I said, taking my first delicious sip and stubbornly withholding a groan.
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t hurt to dream. I suppose when you’re deficient in one area, you try to make up for it in other ways. But think of how much money you’d save if you just smiled instead of leaving your whole bank account on the table.” His laughter followed him as he limped back behind the counter.
I wanted to tell him it did hurt to dream, but that would have required me to speak, something I tried to do little of.
“I suppose when you’re deficient in one area, you try to make up for it in other ways.”
I mulled over that and the other flashbacks it conjured up.
“You can’t connect with them because of your own issues, so you find someone who can give them what you lack.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Oh no? So you’re not gifting me to him? Like you gifted him Selene?”
The next sip wasn’t taken carefully, and so it scorched the inside of my mouth. At least it took my mind off of the more severe pain overtaking me. That was until another memory of Leland telling me what I didn’t want to hear infiltrated my mind.
“You think that if you’re unhappy, then that means you’re paying for everything you’ve ever done wrong. Your suffering isn’t a gift, Franky.”
Leland’s voice continued to berate me and then my father’s voice took a turn.
