But I’m not giving up. “Then why the secrecy?”
“Because this town treats everyone’s business like a spectator sport, and I’d like to figure this out without commentary from the peanut gallery. Without anyone giving me advice. Without the guys at the hardware store making jokes. Without everyone watching and waiting for me to screw it up.”
He’s not wrong. Privacy in Cedar Ridge is about as nonexistent as Rita’s impulse control.
He heads out but turns back at the doorway. “And Callie? Don’t go spreading this around.”
“Who would I tell?”
“Those McCoy boys you’ve been spending time with, for starters.”
My face heats up like someone turned on an internal furnace. “I’m not… I don’t… tell them... stuff.”
“Good. Keep it that way. Some things should stay private. Some things are just for us to know.”
After he’s gone, I stand in the kitchen processing it all. Dad’s dating someone. Secretly. Someone who makes him comb his hair and tuck in his shirt and watch romantic movies. Oh, and hum Elvis like a lovesick teenager.
“This town’s turning into a soap opera,” I tell Rita through the window. She’s standing on top of the chicken coop, surveying her domain like a small, determined queen. The chickens are circling below, ignoring her.
My question is, who’s Dad dating, and why does it need to be such a secret? This is Cedar Ridge. The only secrets that get kept this carefully are affairs, crimes, and Mrs. Patterson’s barbeque recipe.
If Dad’s going to keep secrets, I suppose I can, too.
The next morningat the diner, I’m nursing my second cup of coffee and trying to wrap my head around Dad’s secret romance when Mrs. Delaney appears at my booth as if summoned by the mere thought of gossip. It’s like she can smell it. Uninvited, she slides in across from me with the determination of someone who messes with lives for entertainment.
“Callie, dear! Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
“It’s raining, Mrs. Delaney. It’s been raining for three hours.”
“Rain is lovely. Very romantic. Makes people seek shelter in... intimate places.” There’s something about the way she says “intimate” that makes me look at her more closely. She’s a little more dolled up than usual. Not to the extreme, but she is wearing lipstick, not the usual tinted chapstick she claims is for medical purposes. And her hair’s been recently styled, not her usual “I stuck my finger in a socket and made it work” approach.
“Speaking of intimate places,” she continues, leaning forward conspiratorially, “did you know your father’s truck was behind the pharmacy after hours last night?”
I nearly spit coffee across the table but manage to turn it into a choking cough instead. “Behind the pharmacy?”
That’s teenage make-out territory. Nobody over twenty goes behind the pharmacy unless they’re up to something they don’t want witnessed.
“Very curious,” Mrs. Delaney says, but there’s something in her expression... is she blushing? Is Mrs. Delaney, queen of destroying other people’s secrets, actually blushing?
Wait.
Wait a minute.
The lipstick. The new hair. The way she said “intimate” like she had personal experience. The way she’s blushing while talking about my dad’s truck behind the pharmacy...
Oh. My. God.
Before I can process this horrifying possibility, Jesse appears at our table. He must have been in a neighboringbooth because I didn’t see him come in, or maybe he teleported, which wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen this week.
“Behind the pharmacy?” He grins at me with unholy glee. “Scandal runs in the family, doesn’t it?”
Mrs. Delaney’s expression shifts from gossipy to stern. “Jesse McCoy, you behave yourself. I could say the same about your father. That incident with the Widow Martinez last spring?”
Jesse’s grin vanishes like it was never there. “That was a misunderstanding.”
“Mmmm-hmmm. A misunderstanding that required new landscaping, an apology bouquet the size of the state, and three sessions with the Methodist minister. Very expensive misunderstanding.”
She pats my hand with her perfectly manicured fingers, a new manicure, I notice, romantic pink instead of her usual bland beige. “Remember, dear, there are no secrets in Cedar Ridge. Everyone’s business becomes everyone’s entertainment eventually. Some of us just... control the narrative better than others.”
