Intent(8)

“Cabins must be very popular here. His home looks almost as nice as this one.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” Her Southern accent just became exponentially more pronounced with her declaration, and I can’t help but smile in admiration.

“By all means, show me, then.”

By the end of the tour, I’m certain that I’ll never want to leave here, and I begin to scheme for ways that Marcia will let me work from home. Well, I’d actually work from her home, after I research the validity of a squatter’s rights claim. Martha has shown me how to operate every high-tech appliance, the sauna, the pool, and the extensive entertainment system.

“Here are the keys. Make yourself at home and let me know if you need anything at all.” As I take the keys from her, she grasps my hand in both of hers and squeezes lightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

With what I can only describe as the pure essence of Martha’s personality after spending the past hour with her, she bounds down the steps and is gone before I can reply. Laughing, I shake my head and begin unloading my luggage and hauling it into the house. By the time I’ve sorted through the disaster contained in my suitcases, I realize I haven’t eaten all day. And for the first time in quite a while, I actually feel like I can eat without getting sick.

As I drive through the middle of downtown Oak Grove, a sudden pang of jealousy hits me at how happy everyone seems to be. Families stroll together down the main street leading through town, window-shopping at the small shops that line the sidewalks. Most small-town kids dream of leaving and making it in the Big Apple, and here I am, dreaming about leaving the big city to live the simple life.

When I spot a small diner just up ahead, I pull into a parking spot right in front of the door. This would never happen in New York City. Never. The bell above the door dings as I walk in and the cashier-slash-waitress looks up at me as she refills a customer’s glass. “Just have a seat wherever you’d like, hon,” she says with a sweet smile. She’s a petite brunette in her early twenties. She’s gorgeous with her big, expressive brown eyes, sun-kissed skin, and a kind smile.

I slide into a booth facing the windows and watch the cars and trucks slowly drive by. No one seems to be in a mad dash to get to where they’re going, they don’t look like they’re agitated with life in general, and there are no horns blaring in aggravation. I’m lost in my musings when the waitress appears beside me to take my order.

“You must be new here.” There’s no judgment in her voice, just mild curiosity. Before I answer, my eyes drop to her slightly protruding belly and I realize she’s just a few months pregnant. That pang of envy just escalated to a stabbing pain in the center of my chest. “Spring is a perfect time of year to visit here. The temperature isn’t too hot or too cold; it’s just right.”

After I manage to tamp down my feelings of inadequacy, I smile and nod. “I am new here. Actually, I just got here a little while ago. I’m just visiting until the end of summer.”

“I’m Tara Wilbanks. Welcome to Oak Grove.”

“Thank you, Tara. I’m Layne Elliott.”

“If you like to swim, you should do the inner tube race on the river in a few weeks. Everyone has a blast out there. It’s just for fun, but the money from entry fees goes to help the county children’s home.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“And it’s a great excuse to stare at Ace Sharp without his shirt on,” she giggles and waggles her eyebrows animatedly. “I shouldn’t say that too loud,” she says conspiratorially, her mouth partially hidden behind her order pad. “If my husband hears me, he’ll pout at me for a week solid.”

Twist that knife in my chest. No, really, I’m beginning to enjoy the pain.

“Aren’t men the biggest babies?” I try to play along like I normally would.

“They are, girl!” she exclaims with a laugh. “If they had to go through a quarter of what we women have to go through, they’d end up rocking in a corner somewhere.”

We laugh together at the visual when the dinging bell draws both of our eyes to the diner door. An older couple walks in, and it’s obvious that they’re regulars because Tara immediately prepares their drinks without asking. The man walks toward what is undoubtedly his every-day table because Tara sets their glasses down just as they reach it.

“The usual today?” Tara asks.

“You know us too well, little girl,” the man replies jovially. “It’s almost like you’re stalking me, trying to steal me away from my wife.”

“Aww, I can’t believe you’re on to me, George,” she teases. “So much for me ever being a spy. I can’t get away with anything.”

“Honey, I can guarantee you one thing,” his wife starts with her finger pointed at Tara. “You’d bring him back.”

The trio bursts out into laughter, and it’s clear there’s a lot of history between them. Tara looks up and inclines her head toward me. “George, Louise, this is Layne Elliott. She just got into town today.”

George’s and Louise’s heads simultaneously turn to my direction. Confusion covers their features for a moment, as if they couldn’t fathom why an outsider is here without their permission. A bit of my previous bravado returns, since I was never one to back down from a challenge before, and I raise my hand to wave at them.