“I’m not so sure. Our difference seems even more fundamental than theirs.”
Inside the laundry room, he handed her the basket of clothespins. “Here you go, North Korea.”
“Why don’t I get to be South Korea?” she asked.
“Because you’re the one in the wrong.”
“I...” But he was already gone, stealing her chance at a zingy comeback. The door to his house shut behind him.
Later, she discovered that she did not enjoy wrestling wet fabric onto clotheslines. When she saw people in movies pinning and unpinning clothing, it looked meditative, at the very least.
The breeze slapped her in the face with a sleeve.
This was not meditative.
Also, did he expect her to hang her underwear out here in full view of him? No thank you. Yet, if he didn’t spot any underwear, would he deduce that she didn’t wear any?
After a good deal of internal debate, she decided that hanging her underwear in full view was the greater of two evils.
She drove her damp lingerie back to the cottage and draped it over every available surface. Her panties hung from the mantel like depressed Christmas stockings. A bra sagged from her armoire’s doorknob.
She might be detoxing, but she’d recovered her mind enough to ascertain that Mr. Australia was wrong about this.
Clotheslines stunk. Clothes dryers were the bomb.
Genevieve Woodward is renting my guesthouse,” Sam told his friend Eli Price the next day.
Eli’s chin swung in his direction. His eyebrows rose. “She is?”
“Yeah.”
Sugar Maple Kitchen’s usual rush hour noises surrounded them.Conversation, cutlery tapping against plates, ice water pouring into glasses. They sat side by side on two of the stools that lined a portion of the bar.
“You know who she is, right?” Eli asked. “Genevieve?”
Trouble waiting to happen.“Judson and Caroline Woodward’s daughter. A Bible study author.”
“And?” Eli prompted with an expression that told Sam he expected more.
“That’s all I know.”
Eli was a fighter pilot stationed at Ricker Air Force Base. They’d met at the gym soon after they’d both moved to town. Eli had been raised in Montana, Sam hadn’t. Eli had dark blond hair, Sam didn’t. Otherwise, they were close in age, size, and athleticism. They’d become friends over weekly games of pick-up basketball. They’d often gone to Cubby’s to play pool or to The Junction for fried chicken or Pablo’s for their Taco Tuesday special. Eli had invited Sam over to watch the NFL a few times. Sam had invited Eli and Eli’s girlfriend, Penelope, over to watch his footy team, Hawthorn, play the greatest game on earth—Aussie Rules football. Eli drove to The Kitchen once or twice a week to eat breakfast.
“Genevieve is one of the Miracle Five,” Eli said. “There’s Genevieve and her sister, Natasha. Sebastian Grant, Ben Coleman, and Luke Dempsey. Genevieve’s the youngest. Sebastian and Ben are a year older. Natasha and Luke are a year older than them.”
Sam’s brain spun. He’d thought he’d been doing well to pair Gen with the correct parents.
He’d moved to Misty River after the town’s successful rebranding as a tourist destination for city residents interested in a mountain getaway. He often struggled to grasp connections between people that everyone else had no trouble grasping. Likely because he spent so much time alone on his farm.
He’d been a teenager living on his stepdad’s station when the earthquake in El Salvador had become worldwide news. Shortlyafter arriving in Misty River, he’d learned that the Miracle Five were hometown kids. Amazingly, the five of them had survived a catastrophe that a tremendous number of people hadn’t, and their story was a point of pride for everyone who lived around here. The Miracle Five were a part of Misty River’s heritage, just like mining for gold and land lotteries.
At the smoothie shop down the road, a framed newspaper article about the Miracle Five hung on the wall next to the cash register. One of the floats in Misty River’s Fourth of July parade always commemorated the Miracle Five. Miracle Five Childcare’s logo depicted cartoon kids walking hand-in-hand toward the sun.
Sam knew the basics of the Miracle Five story, but he’d never had a reason to research its details. The whole thing seemed more removed from him than from those who’d lived through it here in Misty River.
It wasn’t removed from him now.
He stared at Eli, thinking about an adolescent version of Gen, trapped underground by an earthquake.
