The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(19)

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CHAPTER FIVE





CAL





The Calamity hardware store had exactly two camping chairs. Red and green. I picked the green one because it had cupholders in each armrest. Part of me had been tempted to order a chair online and have it shipped to the motel, but if I was going to live in Calamity, I might as well spend my money at the local businesses. Even if that meant I had to go out in public.

The hardware store wasn’t huge, but after breezing through the aisles, there wasn’t much they didn’t have. Building supplies. Camping and outdoor gear. Clothing and shoes. Even a toy section.

I’d picked up a foam sword for Elias.

“This all for you today, Cal?” the clerk asked as I carried my haul to the register.

“Yeah.” I didn’t ask how he knew my name. I didn’t ask if he’d been one of the many I’d met at Jane’s on Monday. I just dug the wallet from my pocket and shoved my credit card into the reader.

“Sure was generous of you to cover the tab at Jane’s the other night.”

“Yep.” Not only had I been swarmed with people who’d wanted to shake my hand, I’d also had the pleasure of paying Jane over eleven hundred dollars, plus a twenty percent tip. All thanks to the generous Nellie Rivera.

“Anything else for you today?” he asked.

“Nope.” I took the receipt from his hand, tucked my chair and the sword under an arm, then strode out the door. I’d managed to make my morning stops without seeing many people. With any luck, I’d be back in the Winnebago before I spotted another soul.

Marcy had come through like a champ with the RV. She’d stocked it with essentials, food included. She’d cleaned it top to bottom. And she’d made sure I had Wi-Fi and a streaming stick for the small television in the bedroom.

I’d been holed up inside for the past four days. It felt like an epic waste of time to have spent days watching movies, but what the hell else did I have to do?

Going anywhere in public was a risk, but this morning, I’d had no choice but to brave the grocery store or face starvation. I’d gone there first, loading up on enough food to last me the week. And then I’d gone to the hardware store, walking through the door a minute after they’d opened at seven. If shopping this early meant I didn’t have to interact with many people, I’d gladly wake up an hour earlier than normal.

The only productive thing I’d done this week was exercise. Every morning I’d go for a run at dawn, then do calisthenics on the floor of the RV. Eventually, I’d have to find a weight room. I’d probably try yoga at The Refinery and hope it would loosen the strain in my lower back. But for now, I’d pop a few pain pills each morning and avoid human interaction whenever possible.

I was hiding.

Just like Nellie had predicted.

My Land Rover was parked on the street, the black paint gleaming compared to the dusty Chevy truck parked three spaces down. My car had arrived yesterday from Nashville, and being behind the wheel gave me a sense of freedom I’d missed over the past week.

If Nellie did chase me out of town, at least I’d have wheels.

The motel’s parking lot was full as I drove past. Guests had streamed in last night for the first weekend in June, and as Marcy had promised, the place was packed. Luckily, I bypassed it all and eased down the alley to park beside the Winnebago.

It didn’t take long to haul everything inside and unload my groceries. While I brewed another pot of coffee, I unpacked my chair, taking it out of the case and ripping off the tag. Then I set it up outside next to the camper’s door.

My makeshift patio.

Montana had a lot of positives from the sprawling mountains to the big, blue sky. There were a hell of a lot fewer people in the state than anywhere else I’d lived. And the lazy summer mornings with birds chirping, the sun shining and a fresh breeze were hard to beat.

I settled into my seat, coffee mug in one hand, and Nellie’s diary in the other. If I hadn’t been watching TV these past four days, I’d been rereading her journal. This was the sixth—or seventh?—pass.

She’d had more diaries in that box. What did the other years say about me? Too bad I hadn’t thought to snag those too.

Reading her thoughts, her struggles, had become an obsession. It had taken football’s place. Instead of overthinking practices or replaying mistakes I’d made in a game, I’d fixated on this little book.

Sipping my coffee, I flipped it open to the page I’d read last night. The entry was from the lawnmower day. I’d long forgotten about that day, but after reading this entry, I could practically hear the noise from the cafeteria.

There was a lot in this journal that irritated me, but this entry pissed me right the fuck off. Because I hadn’t done anything wrong. Nellie had blamed me, like I’d done something malicious. When all I’d done was tell the truth.

There’d been a girl in Spanish class who’d been gossiping about Nellie. She’d been snickering that Nellie’s dad was unemployed, so I’d corrected her. Told her that Nellie’s dad was a gardener and that he worked at our place.

Just me sharing facts. Except Nellie had assumed I’d done it to spite her.

How could I have known it would become this thing through the school? Maybe my crime hadn’t been telling everyone to shut up.