Bet on It (6)

As a teenager, Walker had been tall and gangly. He’d had no idea what to do with his long limbs, so he had simply carried them around with a begrudging sort of acceptance. He’d spent most of his adolescence trying to remain invisible—folding into himself, keeping his head down and his eyes ahead. It hadn’t worked—not after he’d become so prone to public panic attacks that he got pitying, but judgmental, looks everywhere he went.

He was thirty now—broader, bulkier, and less attached to his own shadow. Therapy and Zoloft had reduced his number of panic attacks by a whole hell of a lot. But he wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t free from his issues and never would be, not completely. But he was much more secure than he’d been. At least, that was what he’d thought until he’d gotten back to Greenbelt and found himself accosted by reminders of a past he’d done his level best to avoid.

But he wanted that fucking cobbler. And the only thing that stood between him and those warm summer peaches was Louise Smith. A woman who was decades older but had spread rumors about his life like they’d been in the same graduating class.

“I heard Wally Abbott’s no-good daddy got him strung out on meth young. That’s why he can barely go a month without freakin’ out like somebody’s about to kill him.”

“Somebody said when that granny of his finally took him from Benny, Wally tried to fight her. You know, like, physically.”

“That boy ain’t right in the head. Both of ’em fucked him up so bad, he never stood a chance. Poor thing.”

Louise, like his Gram, had a whisper a few decibels short of quiet. Unlike his Gram, she used hers to shit talk anybody she came across—even innocent, struggling kids. Walker had never liked her. He’d outright hated her at one point. Now all he wanted was to get away from her.

Just … not without having his cobbler in hand first.

“Yeah,” he answered, flashing her a smile so as not to display his disgust. “I’ll take two slices of that peach cobbler. To go.”

She nodded, already opening the glass case. “You want ice cream with that?”

“No thank you.” He and Gram had just bought a pint of Blue Bell French Vanilla, and house-made scoops would melt on the way back.

She was efficient as she spooned two slices of cobbler into a couple of small plastic containers and walked them the few steps to the register. Walker was pleasantly surprised that the price of his favorite dessert hadn’t even gone up a whole dollar. Their exchange halted when she narrowed her eyes at him. He narrowed his right back, his mouth pinching at the corners.

“Well, I’ll be good godd—” she stopped herself, putting a hand on her chest and giggling. “Wally Abbott, is that you?”

There were a thousand things he wanted to say, not a single one nice. Go fuck yourself was at the top of the list. It sat right there on the tip of his tongue, itching for him to spit it out, but he held back. His Gram had raised him better than that, and she would have been mortified to hear that he’d said something like that to Louise. And like any Southern boy worth his salt, he made it his business to offend his grandmother as little as possible. He was already on thin ice with her as it was. So he choked the words down but made a point not to appear too friendly.

“Yep,” he grunted. “I go by Walker now.”

“I had no idea you were back in town, Wally,” she said smiling, and he grit his teeth hard. “I know your poor granny had that bad fall. You here takin’ care of her?”

“Yep,” he answered.

A silence stretched between them, and Walker reveled in the awkwardness that settled on her face.

Louise cleared her throat. “Well, how’s she doin’?”

“She’s healin’ up well.”

She released an exasperated breath that briefly lifted her bangs away from her face. “How long are you in town for again?”

She was fishing for information. He didn’t know if it was for gossip or her own curiosity, but he didn’t plan on giving her shit.

“Until I decide to leave.” He slid exact change across the counter and picked up the containers. “You have a nice day, ma’am.”

He kept his head held high as he walked out, but he couldn’t keep the satisfied smirk off his face. He hadn’t given her the dressing down he’d wanted to, but he sure as hell hadn’t given her what she wanted either. That was enough for now.

The plan was to take both pieces of cobbler to Gram’s place and eat one in front of the TV. He’d save the other for later—for when he really needed some peace. With the level of simmering tension that he’d been feeling since he’d been back, that time was coming sooner than later.

The early June sun had moved higher in the ten minutes he’d been in Minnie’s and beat down on his arms, making the short hairs stand on end. He took a pause right there in the middle of the parking lot, closing his eyes and tilting his face up towards the sky to feel the heat more intimately. Once he was sufficiently warmed, he opened his eyes. And he saw her.

He’d parked his black pickup near the back of the parking lot where there were very few cars. There was still an open spot on either side, but in one space over to the left was a little lime-green sedan. And leaning against the closed trunk was Aja Owens.

Walker had never been good at remembering names. He often had the same trouble with dates and appointments. They all took a little extra work to lock down. Normally that meant he had to catalog things in his phone the second they became set in stone. Names were a different matter. He had to employ a specific amount of brain power to keep them in his head. He usually tried to turn them into a song or make them rhyme with something. It was a lot of work—work that he didn’t have the energy to do with most people he met.