The Feel Good Factor(8)

“That’ll be a relief for you, considering your last renter.”

I cringe, remembering the deceptively sweet Cassidy. “But that also means I need your help finding a new tenant until then. I haven’t had one for a few months, and I could use the extra income till I know what’s going on with the promotion. Can you find someone who won’t baby-talk on the phone to his or her significant other every single night?”

“It wasn’t just the baby talk, if memory serves.”

I do my best to try and forget all the things I overheard Cassidy telling her boyfriend she wanted him to do to her. And, evidently, all the things he did to her over the phone. Though in retrospect, it could have been worse if her boyfriend lived locally instead of dialing in from the other side of the state.

“Exactly. So you’ll find me someone I’ll hardly ever see, hear, or smell? Someone I barely realize is sharing space with me?”

“Piece of cake.”





5





Derek





After my Saturday-night shift, I head to my sister’s home, crashing on her couch as quietly as I can, hoping this temporary living situation doesn’t last much longer. I love my sis, and she’s the only reason I’m in Lucky Falls. But she has three kids, including an infant, and I cannot handle sleeping on a couch much longer.

My greatest love, besides family, is a fancy-ass mattress, the kind that’s smart enough to conform to your body. I slept on one once in a hotel, and it was heavenly.

This couch? It’s hell on my back, and my back is kind of important to my job.

I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable, searching for a position that won’t radiate pain down my neck. Somehow I find one, then drift into the land of Nod.

But not for long.

At three in the morning, a shriek awakens me. I bolt upright and head for the baby’s room.

My sister, Jodie, is right behind me, rubbing her eyes.

“I got it,” I tell her as I scoop up little Devon.

My sister yawns canyon-wide. “No, I’ll take care of her.”

But I give Jodie the heave-ho, shaking my head. “It’ll be my pleasure.” I know how hard it is for her, with her husband overseas for a year, a first grader, a four-year-old, and an infant. Our parents are gone, and that’s why I’m here. We’re close, and I want to do what I can for her, especially when she needs it most.

“You’ve got a crazy day at the farmers market tomorrow. Your bread waits for no one. Get some sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

I pat the baby’s shoulder. “Please. I’ll take care of this perfect little angel.”

“I’ll find you a place soon, Derek. I promise.”

“I know, I know. I’ve asked around at work too. Got a few leads. Finding a rental in this fancy town is harder than differential calculus.”

“Fortunately, you were good at math.”

I smile, send Jodie back to bed, and warm up a bottle as Devon grabs my finger. “You’re going to be fine, sweet pea. I’ve got your favorite drink right here.”

Devon cries again, but it’s softened to a mere whimper. She knows the food is coming. I rub my forehead against hers. “I promise. Would Uncle Derek lie to you?”

She coos at me and grabs my beard with her chubby fingers.

I bring her to the couch, give her the bottle, and pop the new Stephen King book open on my phone as my little niece sucks down her food.





*



When I wake at the crack of dawn, I have a wicked crick in my neck.

“Morning,” my sister says, cheery as can be as she heads into the kitchen, tucking her brown hair into a neat bun. Molly, her four-year-old, follows behind, hopping like a frog.

“Ribbit, ribbit, Uncle Derek,” Molly says, jumping her way to the kitchen.

“Morning.” I pull the covers back over my head as dark-haired Travis bounds down the stairs and into the room.

“Hey, Derek,” says the six-year-old with the gap-toothed grin. “Want to go play basketball?”

“Travis, give him a break,” Jodie calls out to her son.

“Later for basketball, okay, buddy?”

“Okay,” he says, seeming a little sad we’re not playing now, and a little happy we’ll do so later.

I hear Jodie start a pot of coffee. She returns to the living room and bends over the couch. “Thanks for helping last night. You’re a godsend. By the way, have I ever mentioned that a local cop works the face-painting booth at the market?”

I sit up straight, my thoughts zip-lining to one particular officer of the law. “Why are you telling me this?”

She wiggles an eyebrow. “She’s just your type.”

I throw off the covers, get in the shower, and head to the market.





6





Perri





Some girls can never have enough butterflies.

They want them in emerald green, in sapphire blue, in candy pink.

A platoon of three-, four-, and five-year-olds skip and jump around the market with painted butterflies on their faces, courtesy of the local police department booth, where residents can learn about our community initiatives and not be freaked out by cops, thanks to face painting and lemonade.