Haley throws a cheese puff in her mouth and leans over me. “I think he danshed with a hot chick and doeshn’t know how toashk her out.” The way she looks at me leaves no doubt it’s me she’s talking about.
I give her a friendly shove. “Shut up.”
Thankfully, someone pulls out tarot cards and the focus shifts away from me. The evening goes by real fast, and by the time we’re ready to leave, fat raindrops are falling, with the promise of far more. “Drive me home, will you, sweetheart?” Ms. Angela orders me. “I walked.”
“Of course. Wait right here.” I dash to my car and pull up to the boutique. By the time she’s inside the car, rain is pummeling the roof.
She’s still fumbling with her seat belt when she says, “I heard Noah on the phone with his lawyer. He kept saying he’d meet the condition. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”
I clench the wheel. So thiswasa trap. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“M-hm. Your nose pinches when you’re lying. Now tell me what you were talking about at the river.”
Jesus F. Christ. “Absolutely not!”
“Okay then, I suppose itwasall a bunch of boloney.”
“What? What do you mean? What was a bunch of boloney?”
She lifts her shoulders. “Nothin’,” she answers with the air of someone who has a lot to say but is miffed and waits to be begged.
“Aunt Angela,” I threaten, reminding her I’m family. “What was it?” I slow down to let Chloe cross. She’s running in the rain, but I’m not offering her a ride. I need to see this conversation through, and she’s almost at her car anyway.
“Oh all right.” Ms. Angela turns in her seat. “Did he tell you about the marriage clause? And don’t lie to me.”
How does she know?I sigh. “Yes, he did.”
“Alright then. I assume he asked you?”
Why would she assume this? Low-key anger mixed with disbelief take hold of me. “I turned him down.” Clenching the wheel, I make the turn on Winooski street, then slow down.
“And why would you do that?” Ms. Angela chirps as if I’d done the silliest thing possible.
I turn into her driveway, stop the car and look ahead, tears pooling.
“I’m not for hire,” I snap.
From the corner of my eye, I see her head jerk back an inch as if I’d slapped her.
When I was young—very young—Mom had a string of so-called boyfriends, who’d spend an hour or two at our apartment in Burlington. Some were nice and had candy for me, some made her cry. Some made her scream. When social services took me away, the other kids quickly clued me into the fact that Mom was a sex worker.
Aunt Angela got custody of me, then Mom eventually got married and regained custody. Her husband was worse than her string of ‘boyfriends.’ Long story short, why do I even need to explain this to her?
Softer, I add, “You of all people should understand that.”
She takes my hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It was such a long time ago… I didn’t think. I’m sorry,” she repeats.
I turn to look at her. “Why do you even care?” She’s always trying to be helpful to others, and I love her for it. I’m like her in this way. But there are limits.
She grunts. “He didn’t tell you everything, then. That’s so like him. If only he knew you better, he’d have explained,” she says, almost to herself. Then, louder, she tells me, “It’ll affect all of Emerald Creek. If none of the kids are married when one of them turns thirty-two, then Gail, Mac’s widow, takes over as executor.”
I blink, the words sinking in.
“She’ll sell everything—the mansion, the buildings. Developers are already circling like vultures. There’s even talk of knocking down Lilyvale for vacation cabins.”
My heart pounds harder, while she adds, “As for the store, it automatically becomes the property of the town, and since they can’t run it, they’ll lease it out to a chain. A new manager will be shipped in, and they’ll have to follow corporate orders. No more local sourcing. No more of Kiara’s chocolates and Haley’s wines and the Henderson’s ice cream and the King’s maple syrup.”
My jaw hangs open and my heart beats harder. “What?” The store was my happy place growing up. Me and my friends from school would buy candy by the piece from big glass jars, and Mrs. Callaway would always add more, saying things like“I heard you got an A on composition”or“great job scoring that goal”or“thank god for your beautiful smile.”Once, our Art teacher brought us to Lilyvale to teach us about perspective by drawing the mansion. I was instantly charmed, and I snuck back in several times after that, painting it in secret—my treasured escape.
