Roots and Wings (City Limits #1)(8)

“Can’t complain. I saw Dean last night at The Tap. He was having a good time.” The wink that Rhonda and know-it-all BethAnne shared wasn’t missed.

“That’s good. The shop was busy yesterday. He deserved a little fun.”

“Are you ever going to date that boy? You know he’s been waiting around years for you, Mutt?”

Rhonda finished bagging up BethAnne’s things and gave her the total.

“He’s like my brother. It would be a little strange,” I said. All the while remembering that BethAnne married a guy who was her stepbrother for a time. Paul’s dad was BethAnne’s mom’s second husband. “Sorry, you know what I mean.”

Rhonda’s eyes lit up. I’d hit a nerve. I meant no offense, but it was too easy and I knew it would shut BethAnne up. I found the ones who gossiped the most had the most skeletons in their closet. And BethAnne had a walk-in’s worth of bones. Literally.

Judging by the cherry red cheeks and the scowl, she had taken offense. She quickly loaded a cart with her bags, not saying another word until she was walking out.

“Have a good day, Rhonda. Mutt.” In her fluster to leave, she banged the corner of the cart off the side of the brand new automatic doors they’d just installed. Those things were never going to last.

“Well, you sure got her all worked up,” Rhonda warned. “You know she’s sensitive about Paul.”

“Sensitive? If she doesn’t like the taste of her own medicine, that’s her problem. I heard her making fun of Lesley the other day when she was at Diana’s for lunch. You tell me how sensitive it is to make fun of a person with disabilities, through no fault of their own. BethAnne can just deal with whatever she has coming to her.”

Lesley was Coach Fry’s daughter. At games, she’d cheer alongside the cheerleaders and everyone in town loved her. She had Down syndrome, but don’t underestimate her; she was smart as a whip, remembering every move of every game she’d ever been to. Plus, she adored everyone. And if my dad hadn’t told BethAnne to shut her pie-hole that day in the restaurant, I would have.

My grandpa always used to say, “God don’t like ugly, Mutt.”

Sometimes I thought he was ugly, but if I ever got too far out of line, I was quickly reeled back in. Thinking back on it, my grandfather was kind of a hypocrite. He was the first one to call me Mutt after all.

I wonder if God half likes half ugly? Because I think that’s what Grandpa was.

“Oh, that’s just BethAnne. You can’t let her get to you. So how’d the hot dogs go over yesterday? Did you have enough? Your dad was worried when he ordered them.”

“We ran out about three. So it was just enough.”

“Good. I’ll make a note of it for next year.”

As she bagged up my things, I had her keep separate the items I was dropping off at Vaughn’s. Then I got lost thinking about how handsome he was. BethAnne was a busybody, but she was right. He was fine.

That train of thought skidded to a halt as Rhonda said, “Earth to Mutt. Fifty-nine, seventy-two.” I blinked a few times to regain my focus and handed her my debit card.

“You feel okay, honey?” Rhonda asked.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking. I’m fine. Thanks, Rhonda.”

“You’re welcome. See you later,” she said. Seeing I could manage all of the bags myself, she stepped away from the register and started restocking the movie wall.

There weren’t too many bags, so I hauled everything without a cart to the truck, then ran back in for the milk and case of water.

Lewis, the owner of the boat dealership, honked and waved at me as he drove by.

That’s what Wynne was like.

Everyone knew everyone.

For the most part—except for election years, which were brutal in a small town—everyone was friendly and welcoming. People waved, or at the very least, lifted their index finger off the wheel, as they drove by.

If someone needed help, the town had a benefit.

If someone was sick, we’d rally around them until they were feeling better.

It was a great place to grow up, but at times it was smothering. You literally couldn’t take a shit without someone knowing it and three others smelling it.

Forget Facebook or Twitter, social networking in Wynne was actually social. The men—or the local Liar’s Club, as I liked to call them—met every morning at Diana’s to talk over town happenings. Who hadn’t mowed their yard. Who bought a new truck. High school sports, crops and the weather.

The women had the grocery store and the hair salon where they’d solve all the world’s problems, and still have time to set up all of the singles within a twenty-mile radius.

However, small town living was a double-edged sword, and oftentimes you had to take the good with the bad, keep your chin down, and take care of business. I’d like to think I did all of those things.

My truck roared to life, and I silently made a note to have Dad look at my exhaust. It was normally on the loud side, but it was getting obnoxious. I could barely hear the radio, so I turned it up.

I didn’t know if I was a country music fan or if I simply didn’t know much of anything else, but that’s what I listened to. I mean, I didn’t have a choice, there was only one station in town and that’s all Sunny played.

If I had to exclude Dean and my dad, Sunny was probably my best friend. Her mom was my babysitter when we were little and we always got along. Of course, we were as different as night and day, but that’s what made her fun.