No stranger danger hiding behind the bushes or poised to jump out at me from behind a tree. Tired, my eyeballs sizzle under the sun’s glare thanks to strolling around the internet far longer than intended. I found nothing about The Book Boyfriendsapp. Then I tossed and turned for hours before finally falling asleep—only to have my dreams haunted by a dark-haired, tattooed love interest with a scar on his left cheek.
Dressed in my new Sunday best—charcoal cargo shorts and a billowy white top—I speed walk to my car, keys in hand and white purse dangling from the crook of my elbow. Winters are harsh here, but summers are lovely. Humid, sure, but not unbearably hot. Jason and I took one vacation, and that was for our honeymoon. We visited a tropical spot, some random island, and being away from the Appalachians taught me one thing: I’m a mountain girl through and through.
Roughed.
Built to last, as Gram likes to say.
Durable.
I’m not afraid of taking a tumble because I always pop right back up on my feet.
That’s why I didn’t crumble to dust after losing my parents and how I held Gram together when she began falling apart. Jason couldn’t break me, nor could his family intimidate me—much to their frustration.
I’m like a weed. Even if buried in shit, I’ll still thrive.
But today, I’m on high alert, and the first thing I do after sliding behind the wheel of my sensible silver Nissan Sentra is lock myself inside the vehicle. Then I connect my iPhone, and music blasts unapologetically from the speakers when I turn over the engine. I only lower the radio—slightly—finding it blasphemy to muffle Gayle’s “abcdefu.” Do I sing along badly on my way to Molly D’s diner? Yes, I certainly do, and I even keep the windows lowered because it’s seventy-eight degrees onthis lovely late June morning, and I want the wind in my hair as I drive through town.
Harley Cove is a quintessential small town. General store. Family-owned gas station. One big-box store, and trust me, no one wanted it here initially because the older folks were afraid it would put the mom-and-pop shops out of business. It didn’t, of course, and is now one of our major employers. Only one dental practice and one primary care facility for a population of roughly three thousand people. There’s a hospital one town over in Glendale. But mostly, we’re a self-contained, tiny haven of awesomeness where everyone knows everyone. It sucks that the Wembleys are such a large part of Harley Cove, but one takes the bad with the good, I guess.
The town sits in the shadow of the Appalachians, and on days like this, when the sky is so crisp a blue, I swear it’s like being on the edge of Heaven itself. As I drive by the Sleep ‘N Go Motel, I wonder where Mr. Stranger Danger disappeared to last night. Hopefully off a fucking cliff for scaring the bejesus out of me. Shame on a whole grown-ass man for participating in whatever cruel trick someone is trying to play on me. Well, the joke is on them because I’m not a fool. I won’t play along.
Hangry, I pull into the graveled parking lot, having to circle nearly the entire area to find a spot. Unlike The Crystal Room on the north side, which welcomes a more…upscale…patronage, Molly D’s is relaxed. Here’s where the ‘cool kids’ come on a Sunday. I weave around dusty pickups and sedans that have seen better days, and as I enter the diner, more than one head turns my way. It’s fine. Small town, remember? Folks are curious. I went from middle-class parents to dirt-poor grandmother to the wealthiest family in Harley Cove to a middle-class divorced hermit.
The frazzled hostess rushes over and grabs a menu from behind the counter. “Good morning, hon.”
“Hey, Mandy.” I eyeball the knot of gray hair piled atop her head. There’s a pencil sticking out of it, and when she instructs me to follow her, I watch the towering hairdo bob and weave.
“Here you go.” She places the menu on the freshly wiped table—it’s still damp. “You doing okay?”
Frowning, I nod. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” Her cringe says everything without saying a word. “Oh,” I mutter. “So, I was actually the last to find out.”
Mandy glances over her shoulder, eyeing the crowded diner of working-class Harley Covers who have thankfully returned to their food and conversations. Now it makes more sense, why the entire damn room was rubbernecked when I walked in. “You know how the Wembleys are, always running their mouths. Bragging about this and that. Especially Lydia. That woman told everyone her boy was finally getting hitched to theright one.”
Ouch.
“It’s all good. Really.” With a shrug, I open the menu. “I couldn’t be happier for them.”
“That boy did you dirty.”
I give her the fakest smile in the history of smiles. “No, Mandy, we grew apart.”
The standard answer—the one I’m instructed to give—slips easily off my tongue. It’s the one the Wembleys forced Jason to pay me a fortune to give people when asked why we divorced.
We grew apart.
NotJason is a disgusting cheater.
“You can go around telling other people that load of horseshit, but I grew up with Lydia Wembley. I remember her when she was Lydia Postwhistle. Even back when we were kids, she was a narcissistic sociopath who wouldn’t think twice about selling her own mother for a dime. That whole family is rotten right to the core. Lydia’s boy is no different. He’s cut from her cloth.” She waves over a young woman with lovely red curls that are pulled back in a ponytail. “Ana’s your server today.” Then she leans in close. “Between us, I think it’s shockingly disrespectful that Jason’s marrying that woman, but I’ll deny I ever said it.”
I sputter out a laugh, saying, “You and me both, Mandy, and I promise you, I’ll take this conversation to my grave.”
“You do that.” She pats my shoulder. “Oh, hon, you’re priceless.” Mandy steps aside so the server can approach the table. “Chin up, Charly. Karma has a way of biting people in the ass.”
As Mandy strolls away, the server recites the diner’s standard greeting. “Hi! My name is Ana, and I’ll be your server this morning. Can I start you with something to drink, or are you ready to order?”
I ask for coffee and a glass of water, and after Ana leaves, I scan the menu. Do I feel a few lingering stares? Absolutely. Do I pay them any mind? Absolutely not. Until one bold bastard takes it upon himself to slide into my booth, sitting his ginormous self across from me.
Of all the fucking nerve.
