Chaos and Control(18)

Preston turns and starts flipping through the M section. He stops when he gets to Metallica.

“It’s not that easy, Wren.”

“I don’t understand,” I admit. “It’s just dinner.”

Preston walks away without a word, and I stare at his retreating form until he heads into the storage closet.

“You’re pushing too hard,” Bennie says, appearing next to me.

“Maybe he needs to be pushed.”

“Not like this. Give him space. This isn’t someone to be conquered and left behind in the wake of Tornado Wren.”

My eyes become slits as I level her with my stare. As much as I love her, I hate when she tries to dissect my life. I don’t want to be looked at that closely.

“Is that what you think I am? A tornado destroying everything in its path?”

“Wren, that’s not what I—”

“Screw you, Bennie.”

I stomp my way to the front of the store and push through the doors. The warm air hits me like a blow to the chest, and I push against that, too. I walk over to Main Street just to put some distance between me and Bennie. It’s always been this way between us. We know how to push each other’s buttons. We’ll blow off some steam and then be fine tomorrow. It’s the Wren and Bennie way.

I walk through town and make my way over to The Haystack. It’s not open yet, but I find Coach out back receiving a beer delivery.

“Hey, Coach,” I say, giving him a wave.

He signs a paper and hands it to the delivery guy. “Hey there, Wren. We don’t open until four, sweetheart.”

Coach grabs the top box and disappears through the back door. I shrug, grab the next box, and haul it inside after him. He’s surprised by my gesture and gives me a grin.

“I’m not here for a drink. I’m here for a job.”

“Oh, really? You got any experience?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the cooler door.

“I’ve worked a few places in New Orleans, Austin, and up in Chicago. I think I can handle this crowd.”

Coach chuckles and pushes off the wall. “I don’t doubt that. Man, you really have been everywhere, haven’t you?”

“Not everywhere, but lots of places.”

“Did you find what you were looking for out there?”

I think about his question and shake my head. “I’m not sure what I was looking for, but I found a lot of good stuff and some bad. I found backroads and superhighways, rednecks and drag queens. It was the best and worst experience of my short life.”

Coach’s eyebrows lift high on his tan forehead, reaching for his salt-and-pepper cropped hair. “I’m not sure about hiring Reverend Hart’s baby girl to work in this kind of dump.”

He steps outside and lifts another box. I follow quickly.

“Well, Bennie mentioned you needed help,” I say.

He drops the box on a stack in the storage room and turns. “Bennie? Well, if Bennie sent you, I guess you’ll do.”

I smile and make a note to ask Bennie about her connection to Coach. It definitely seems like there’s something more than a small-town friendship going on.

“Great. When do I start?”

“Come back Thursday night. Six o’clock.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“See you Thursday, Wren. Tell Bennie I said hello.”

“Will do.”

I spend the rest of the afternoon meandering through town, visiting old haunts. When I reach the cemetery, I know I’ve gone too far. Even in the light of day, that place creeps me out. I make an about-face and cut through the park to get back to the store.

When I catch sight of the old water tower, a smile lights up my face. Sawyer and I used to dare each other to climb to the top when we were kids. Once I worked up the courage to go the first time, it became a regular spot. I would climb the shaky ladder and sit along the edge of the railing, looking out over Crowley. It was my thinking spot, the place to be alone with my dreams of escaping this town. Every hope I had for adventure and every ounce of courage were summoned at the top of that tower.

I step beneath the ladder and stare up at it. It looks different somehow, higher and more dangerous. I know the tower hasn’t changed, so I chalk my new outlook up to life experience, being older and wiser. I grab the rail above my head and climb onto the first step. The metal shakes from my movement, and I seriously rethink what I’m about to do. Instead of chickening out, I force myself onto the next step and the next. Halfway up, my arms begin to shake from the effort, but I push forward, never looking down.

At the top of the tower, I duck under the rusty railing and hop onto the platform. My chest heaves from the climb, but the air up here feels cooler and less suffocating than on the ground. The sun is just setting, and the picturesque town of Crowley is painted in a golden glow. It’s all Norman Rockwell and apple pie. The light over Bennie’s place is still lit, and I can barely make out a figure in the front window.

From here, I can see the railroad tracks on one side of town and nothing but farmland on the other. As the sun disappears altogether, the street lamps pop on, eventually lighting Main Street like an Americana runway. Flags on every storefront and welcome mats encourage visitors to come in and stay a while.

I glance at the metal tank behind me and notice that the word Crowley has almost disappeared. The fading letters, once black against the metal, are nothing but peeling and flaking paint. I grin at that.