Don't Let Go(17)

“Shit,” I said, my voice quivering on the word as I hit the lock. “Crazy,” I muttered, starting the car so the heat would blast through the vents. It wasn’t all that cold, but I needed the heat and the noise to calm my blood down. One day at a time, I told myself.
My cell buzzed.
Where are you? From Ruthie.
Currently on a fast track to the loony bin, thanks, and you?
On my way, I texted back. Where I would stay from now on. Either the store or my house. Safely tucked where I could see people coming.

? ? ?

“We need a night out.”
I was shelving newly arrived books and arranging the new releases up front on the display table, listening to Ruthie sing along with the eighties music she’d set up at a ridiculously low volume with an iPod station in the middle of the store. Away from the wall to avoid Johnny Mack’s cane. So far, so good. But the day was young.
The day might be, but I felt ancient. Like I’d lived three days before ten o’clock. Starting in the store late didn’t help me, either, as I was accustomed to arriving at eight and having all my busy work done before the store ever opened.
“Did you hear me?” Ruthie said, moving some books around in my wake.
“I heard you,” I said, stacking more titles on the table. “We have that stupid party, don’t we? The Chamber thing?”
“It’s a meeting.”
“It’s after hours and requires a change of clothing,” I said. “That’s a party.”
She made a huffing sound. “Whatever, that’s not till next week,” she said. “I’m talking like tonight.”
I sighed. “I’m just not up for that right now. I don’t need—”
“Are you crazy?” she said, picking up the books I laid out and rearranging them with plastic boxes and easels. “It’s exactly what you need. Get out and live a little.”
“I have Patrick for that,” I responded, digging back in the box and smiling at an older gentleman carrying around an old used copy of a Jackie Collins novel. You just never knew.
“Out—being the pertinent word,” Ruthie said. “Someplace not in your house.” She put down her props for a moment and pulled a hair clip from the mammoth pocket of her big black sweater. She twisted her hair up in two seconds and still managed to look adorable. “Come on, Jules, step out there with me. Eat, drink, talk to people who aren’t me or Becca. Or your boy toy.”
“And Frank’s fine with you stepping out and eating and drinking and talking?” I asked, eyeing her.
She scoffed. “Frank loves it when I go meet my clubs and committees. He gets to eat crap out of a box and chili out of a can.” She laughed and waved a hand. “He’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re swinging on a pole, Jules, I’m just thinking of something like the Grille over in Katyville. Good food, good music—”
“Oh, I love their baked squash and peppered pork chops,” said a woman standing nearby who I recognized as a regular from the courthouse. “And all their desserts are to die for.”
“Mmm, the blackberry cobbler,” Ruthie said, nearly salivating.
The woman sighed. “Now I have to talk my husband into taking me tonight.” She laughed and touched Ruthie’s arm.
“Well, maybe we’ll see you, Tess,” Ruthie said, shooting me a look.
“Tomorrow, okay?” I said, bringing her social endeavor to a halt. “I just want to get through the rest of this day and go home and watch TV in my sweats tonight. Maybe I’ll even find something Becca and I can watch together for once.”
“Nothing on Lifetime,” she said.
I frowned. “Why? I love Lifetime.”
“She hates it. Get on SyFy.”
I groaned. “I swear we aren’t related.”
Ruthie and the woman who was evidently Tess laughed and headed to the register with a couple of books. I watched them, a little envious of the easy way Ruthie dealt with people. She had that way of connecting, of being so likeable that people just wanted to be around her. I mean, I knew I recognized that woman, but I couldn’t have pulled her name out of the air if my hair was on fire and she owned all the water.
Ruthie was good at that. And she had something else, too. Watching her work the store, the customers, knowing what was right and how and when—it was a little like watching my mom back in the day. Ruthie had learned from the master. Why didn’t I?
A few minutes later, Ruthie looked at her watch. “Lunchtime.” She looked at me questioningly. “You want something from next door?”
I gave her a pointed look. “No.”
She tilted her head. “I’ll go pick it up.”
I opened my mouth to say no again and my stomach grumbled loudly. “Maybe McMasters still has some tacos left?”
McMasters Meats was a butcher shop up on the next block that also served breakfast. I didn’t hit it that often, but Becca did on her way to school. The bacon was to die for, along with the brothers who owned it, and right then that sounded wonderful. The breakfast tacos with bacon, not the brothers.
She gave me a lip curl. “From breakfast? Doubtful.”
Crap. “Okay.” Ruthie grinned and grabbed her purse from behind the counter, and I studied her. “You look too pleased. What are you doing?”
Ruthie frowned and did a little smirk, but didn’t meet my eyes but for a second. “I’m picking up lunch.”
“Don’t say a word, Ruthie.”
She looked at me like I was a loon. “What are you talking about?”