How (Not) to Fall in Love(21)
“Oh, I don’t know, Pam. That’s a bit harsh.” That was Dee, mom of Ryan.
“She’s not half bad as a potential realtor,” Pam said. “But there is no way she’ll be able to earn enough to stay in their house. Or deal with all the debt. I heard from a very reliable source that Ty’s company is in real trouble.” She laughed. “And that odd little daughter. She could be halfway attractive if she put some effort into it, though she definitely didn’t get her parents’ looks, poor thing. But she just slinks around, not even making eye contact with anyone.”
“Ryan told me about the day her car got repossessed,” Dee said. “Poor girl. From the school parking lot, can you imagine? I feel sorry for them. They’ve had their world turned upside down, Pam.”
I hardly dared to breathe. Sweat freckled my arms and neck. God, Pam was a bitch. Just like her daughter.
Pam’s voice echoed off the stone walls. “Ty must have already paid this year’s tuition or else I’m sure Marilyn would have had to put Darcy in public school. I don’t know how long she can keep up this charade.” Pam pronounced the word: “sha rahd” like a Brit. I wanted to kick her in the teeth.
“Well, thank goodness for Darcy that she doesn’t have to switch schools right now, with everything else going on,” Dee said.
“True,” Pam said. “I’m sure it’s a comfort to have friends like my Chloe.”
My hands shook. I gripped the camera as if it could transport me to another world. I couldn’t listen anymore. I shoved the camera into my bag and texted Mom, my hands trembling. “Gotta go. C u @ home.” I retraced my steps back to the stupid King Arthur entry hall and slipped out the front door.
My truck had never looked so good. I jumped in and threw it into reverse, squashing a row of innocent fall mums as I backed down the driveway.
Before I knew it, I was on the highway headed for the cabin. Eventually the truck bounced down the rutted road that led to Camp Covington. As I turned off the engine, I noticed the for sale sign tied to the deck railing. Wow. Mom worked fast. I squeezed my eyes shut, resting my head against the steering wheel. Inhale. Exhale.
My phone pinged with a text. “R u ok? Where r u?” Mom. I sighed. I’d ignored my phone the entire drive but that hadn’t stopped her from blowing up my phone with texts and voicemails.
I jumped out of the truck and headed down the trail to our Stonehenge. The aspen trees were a symphony of yellow and orange leaves shimmering in the fall breeze, surrounding our small henge. I stood at the edge of the circle for a long time, just breathing. I took a picture of the henge with my cell.
Then I reared back and kicked the tallest stone. It was like knocking over the first domino in a long chain. It only took a few seconds for our henge to collapse in on itself. As I stared at the destroyed henge, it was my turn to collapse, sinking next to the fallen stones, sobs overtaking my body.
It was dark when I arrived at Tin Lizzy’s because I’d sat crying in front of the destroyed henge for a long time. Eventually I’d stumbled down the trail to my truck and texted Mom to tell her I was okay, but I’d be home late.
I parked the truck across the street and slid out of the cab to the sidewalk, where the cozy glow from the coffee shop drew me inside.
Jazz music hummed under the gurgle of the espresso machine. Charlie and Liz both played KJAZ, the local public jazz station, in their stores. The place had been empty during my afternoon visit, but now three girls about my age huddled around a board game, laughing and hugging coffee mugs to their chests. An older couple sat on a sagging couch next to a bookshelf, reading quietly and sharing a single mug of something hot and spicy-smelling. A circle of women sat around a table covered with baskets of yarn, knitting needles clacking. It was nothing like the frenetic Starbucks attached to Barnes & Noble.
I loved it.
A flutter rose in my stomach. Was I crazy to be here? Could I possibly work here and not totally mess it up? I could never work for Fake-Bake Pam, because it hurt too much knowing what she thought of my mom, and me. And working close to my uncle, in Liz’s cozy shop, was a job I wanted, not one being forced on me.
I heard Liz’s tinkling laugh before she emerged through a curtained area behind the barista counter with a cell phone pressed to her ear. She scanned the store quickly and her eyes lit up when she saw me. She murmured a quick good-bye into her phone.
“Darcy! I’m so happy to see you.” A few of the customers glanced our way, and then turned back to their activities. “Did you come back for that croissant?”
The open warmth of her smile felt like a hug. I took a deep breath and approached the counter. “Actually, I decided to apply for the job.”
She nodded as she dried a coffee cup with a dish towel. “I’ve had a couple of people apply,” she said, “but I’m still taking applications.”
I had competition? Uh-oh.
She tilted her head and examined me thoroughly. I blushed under her appraising gaze. “Let’s talk. But first you need something to warm you up. What’s your favorite drink? And remember, none of those foo-foo Starbucks concoctions.” She grinned.
“Uh…okay.” I hesitated. “Tea,” I said weakly. “Something with cinnamon, if you have it.”
“Of course I have cinnamon tea.” She handed me an enormous mug of steaming water and gestured to three brass racks overflowing with tea boxes. “Take your pick. Sugar and cream are on the counter against the far wall.”