Chapter Two
The shock rooted her to the spot. She hadn’t seen Cory among the vegetable bins or in the crowd assisting customers. When the heck had he popped up? How did he look now? It was warm out for October, so maybe he had on a tight T-shirt stretched across his muscled chest, sleeves short to show off his many tattoos. She’d seen them in pictures, poking out from clothes, and doubted he had any of them done in high school.
Don’t turn, she ordered herself. She wouldn’t turn into a pillar of salt like Lot’s wife, but at worst she’d melt into a puddle of girlish squee right there in front of the priest browsing the Gustafson Dairy booth, the one who presided over services at her parents’ church.
“Winnie?” Cory called out. “Hey, Winnie Segal, is that you?”
Winnie said nothing, kept her focus on the path back to her booth space. Her body heated and her heart thrummed at Cory’s acknowledgment, probably the first time he ever addressed her in public. By God, if the words sea cow came out of his mouth next she didn’t know how she’d react.
So she walked briskly away before it happened. Marcella would have a wilted salad for lunch for all the heat radiating through her hands, but that’s what you get when you forget to bring money to a farmers market.
***
“Winnie?”
Too many people, not to mention the displays, blocked his path. By the time he wove around table ends and eased past his parents’ customers—excusing himself all the way—to reach the open space between the Levane and Culpeper booths he’d missed her. It had to be Winnie Segal from high school buying lunch from Deborah—she hadn’t changed a bit since he left home.
Same shining dark hair and light voice, pretty smile. He had brought in a case of jarred preserves to replenish one table when he caught sight of her walking away. Why hadn’t she stopped? They could hear him all way in Richmond, he was certain. He considered the likelihood she didn’t remember him, despite his celebrity. Not everybody followed football.
Passersby slowed as they approached, and Cory knew it wasn’t necessarily because Dad’s tomatoes looked extra red and juicy and tempting today. He’d intended to keep a low profile his first weekend back home, and it seemed the ball cap pulled low over his brow served as a poor disguise. At the first gasp and clicking sound of a mobile camera he shook his head and, grinning, loped back to safety behind the displays.
“Hey, Deborah. Was that Winnie Segal here a minute ago buying something from you?”
His cousin kept her attention focused on bagging two salad containers. “And Winnie Segal is…?”
That’s right. She hadn’t gone to Coolidge and as such didn’t hang around this side of town in her youth. Cory eyed the tablet by her cash box and an idea snapped into action. “You finish with that. I’ll take the money. How much is it?”
“Two salads and two Diet Cokes, twelve even.”
The lady customer eyed Cory like he’d make an excellent side dish to go with her lunch. He took her credit card and ran it through the flimsy reader connected to the tablet, then turned over the screen after the charge cleared. “If I could get your autograph here,” he pointed to the X where she should sign, “and if you want a receipt e-mailed to you, type in your address.”
“Sounds weird from you, asking me for my autograph,” the woman said with a slight purr to her voice. She pecked out her e-mail, her long lacquered nail tapping with each character, and invited him to use it for more than the Levane Farms newsletter. A coy glance over her shoulder as she sway-walked away, tight jeans and chunky platform sandals, completed her attempt at seducing the big bad football star.
Deborah put a finger in her mouth and gagged her disgust.
“Jealous.” Cory nudged her.
“We should charge your wannabe groupies double. They probably won’t even notice the markup on all the food from staring at your ink and muscles.”
“That’s not ethical, cousin of mine, and neither is being too liberal with the family discount policy. Dad’s trying to run a business here, not cheat everybody in town.” Cory checked the menu of the credit card app and accessed the log of recent transactions. Sure enough, Winnie had indeed shopped here and now he had an e-mail address to try if he didn’t see her elsewhere at the farmers market. Deborah might argue this bit of espionage as equally unethical, but it wasn’t like he obtained this information for ill purposes.
He hadn’t seen Winnie in what, ten-twelve years? Since graduation at best. Cory hadn’t hung around St. Florence long after that sunny day in June when he and his classmates tossed their mortar boards high and left them in the gym for somebody else to claim. After a summer spent visiting family around the US it was straight to training camp at UVA. He’d expected to experience the first year of college football on the bench given his freshman status, with holidays and summers at home to catch up with friends. He never anticipated the senior quarterback’s injury halfway through the schedule would push him into the spotlight…and into the NFL draft before he graduated.
This, that, and the other thing followed in the forms of playoffs, endorsements, and travel. That first Thanksgiving home at the Levane farm, which he’d looked forward to at eighteen, wouldn’t happen until next month. Instead of regaling the table with freshman foibles and grousing about term papers, he’d have a decade of sports gossip to contribute to conversation…and everybody would see his nice Super Bowl ring when he passed the potatoes.
In all that time gone, though, St. Florence stayed with him, and he thought of Winnie often and wondered what became of her. Some friends stayed in touch. The alumni association at Coolidge certainly did, as well as UVA even though he didn’t finish his degree. He tended to eschew social media personally because he chose to focus on his sport—also, his teammates tended to come under fire after rogue-tweeting. He wouldn’t embarrass himself like that, he swore.
However, he found it impossible to avoid. Early in his career an imposter set up a Twitter account in his name to trash-talk opposing teams, so after he got a lawyer involved he then hired a marketing firm that specialized in sports figures. He knew he had official pages and profiles out there, and some millennial in a cubicle monitored them, not unlike checking his fan mail.
Any news from friends and family came from e-mails and calls from his parents. It saved him many an hour spent otherwise in a cyber-sinkhole. Yet, his parents hadn’t known the Segals or Winnie. Was she happy now? Married with kids like nearly everybody in his graduating class? She obviously didn’t get very far, unless she had come to visit for the weekend.
A vibration at his hip broke his thoughts, and he checked his phone for the text. Devon Kneale, former teammate yet still a close friend, teased him about his readjustment to “livin’ in Mayberry.”
You’d love it here, you know. He added flower and corn cob emojis. You ought to visit next break. Devon still had a year to his contract and an uncertain future. The running back toyed with early retirement as well, given a nagging injury.
If your mom’s making those cookies, I’m on the next hayride in.
“Comedian,” he muttered and pocketed the phone.
“You have visitors.” Deborah gestured to a man and his young son, twinned out in Cory Levane Cougar jerseys, only the boy sported a painted-on ninja mask.
“Hey, Aaron.” Cory shook his old friend’s hand and clapped his shoulder. “Good to see you again. Dad said you took over the café. How’s that going?”
“Still busy, but I’m more co-managing it. Mom still gets up at four to get the biscuits started.” Aaron Oleson palmed a football and pointed it over Cory’s shoulder. “We have a table a few rows back. She bakes extra for the farmers market.”
“Is she here? I’ll go say hello.” Cory’s mouth watered for one of Mrs. Oleson’s sweet potato biscuits slathered with apple butter.
“Sissy’s running the booth today, but come by the shop. Mom’ll take care of you.”
Perk Me Up stayed closed on Sundays, but the day after tomorrow he was there. “Who’s this little fellow?” He smiled down at the boy whose eyes widened to the borders of his painted mask as he hid behind Aaron.
“This is your number one fan, Presley.” Aaron swept the boy up into his free arm, holding him on his hip. “We took a chance you might be helping the folks out today, after reading about you on the EPSN site.”
“Yeah, gotta love the information age.” Now that he’d retired from football, Cory hoped interest in him from the national media faded fast. Seeing as he rarely gave the tabloid press anything to say, he imagined ESPN had to reach to report something newsworthy about him. Hero goes home—the story writes itself.
“Presley, is this your football?” He took the ball from his friend and received a giggling smile from the boy in answer. “I bet you can throw this to your daddy from a hundred yards, huh?”
“No.” Presley buried his face in Aaron’s shoulder. Cory hoped that paint came out in the wash.
“Well, keep practicing, and one day I’ll be wearing your number on my back. You know, I was in Cub Scouts with your daddy and he always came prepared.” Cory held out his hand and, sure enough, Aaron had a metallic ink marker to use for signing the ball. It didn’t surprise Cory, either, to learn his friend the rabid Elvis fan had appropriately named his child.
“There you go, Presley. You hang onto that ball. It’ll be worth ten dollars one day.” He ignored Deborah’s snort in the background. “And I love your ninja mask, too. You get that done here?”
Presley had said his piece. Aaron laughed and cuddled his son. “Winnie and Marcy Segal have a booth in the back.”
“Oh yeah, I remember them from high school.” Cory wanted to sound casual but interested. Nice to catch up on more classmates, yeah sure. All the while, his palms sweat and he wiped them on his jeans.
“So do I, but I don’t think it’s mutual.” Aaron shook his head. “We let Pres get his face done every few weeks, but they act like they never met me before. High school wasn’t that long ago.”
“Well, you know, memories do funny things in time.” It was such a nice day, everybody having a good time, little Presley happy with his football. Cory wasn’t about to spoil the moment by reminding Aaron how he hadn’t been all that gentlemanly toward the Segal girls…
“Of course, my wife takes him more often, so they’re more used to her, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“The kids love it, and they do nice work over there, but this stuff is a B to get off.” Aaron laughed. “One time I just let Pres go to Sunday School looking like Iron Man. He was popular that day.”
“Hey, are they busy over there right now?” Deborah came up with a stack of sandwich boxes. “Trevor wants to get his face done.”
Cory looked to where his cousin’s son crouched in the far back corner of their booth. His father had to work and couldn’t take care of him today, and it left the boy here with a few comic books for entertainment. Poor Trevor had to be bored out of his skull, forced to sit among the grown-ups and unable to run amok like the other kids.
“I’ll take him, Deb.” Cory helped her stack the express lunches, setting aside two when Aaron gestured for them.
“Now’s the time to do it.” Aaron pointed in the direction of Winnie’s booth. “They weren’t very busy a while ago.”
Cory felt his back pocket for his wallet, an instinctive move, and thought about how much cash he had on him. Surely enough for whatever superhero Trevor wanted to emulate. “It’s on me,” he told Deborah, and bade Aaron and his son farewell as they left. “I’m causing plenty of a distraction here.”
“Yeah. We certainly don’t want a huge crowd in front of our business.” Deborah rolled her eyes but shooed him away. “I owe you one, cuz. I really appreciate this.”
Not a problem. Deborah did him the favor by bringing her son to work. Trevor provided the perfect foot in the door to a conversation with Winnie, something he hadn’t accomplished before he left home. Throughout high school, they’d only had two classes in common—Spanish and art—and she excelled in both while he barely scraped the B-minus range. Beyond that, they ran in different circles and at best exchanged nods and short greetings in passing. She always seemed to be looking away when he stole glances in the cafeteria or at the gym during pep rallies.
He crouched beside Trevor and read a comic panel over his shoulder. “Hey, pirates.” He whistled. “That looks like an exciting story.”
Trevor shrugged. “I read it already.” For his age, the boy had quite a reading vocabulary. Cory didn’t doubt his young cousin knew the longer words in the speech bubbles.
“I was going to walk around the market for a bit, and I thought maybe you’d like to have Miss Winnie give you a makeover—”
Ah, the magic words. Trevor sprang from the ground, uncoiled like a spring shooting for the sky, and cried out with glee. His reaction brought a number of amused stares, and Cory laughed it off. “Okay, fella. Before you knock over the tomatoes.” He took the boy’s hand, and they slipped out the back. By the time they got to the Two Chicks, Two Palettes, a pair of children occupied the chairs with another three in line.
“Dang it.” Cory almost let out a saltier curse but kept his tongue in check with all the little ears listening. It appeared Winnie and Marcy were working on complicated, full-face designs for their current customers. What if the next kids wanted the same thing? He didn’t mind hanging around Winnie’s booth for a while—all the better for him to strike up a conversation—but if they closed before Trevor got his temporary ink, he didn’t look forward to escorting a crying child back to his mother.
The kids ahead of them looked older, certainly old enough to wait their turn unattended. While they studied the menu board and discussed favorite designs, he watched Winnie at work. The young girl seated in the raised director’s chair opposite her kept her eyes closed as Winnie applied a shade of orange to her lids and forehead. The tiger face looked almost complete, and Winnie moved quickly and silently to perfect the painted-on whiskers and “muzzle.” For a finishing touch, she added touches of glittery makeup to give the girl sparkle.
Marcy he remembered from high school, and if he could guess, he’d say she hadn’t changed an iota. Where Winnie tended to keep quiet, either face down in a book or over a sketchpad, Marcy prattled on, presumably in love with the sound of her voice. She chattered merrily as she worked on the young boy in her chair, talking with him about Halloween and school.
Despite the perceived lack of concentration due to her yakking, Marcy finished first and helped her child from the chair. “Another satisfied customer. Have a look at that.” She handed the boy a mirror, and he beamed at the angry red bird design covering him. She straightened her chair as he bounced away. “Okay, who’s ne-hay…”
Marcy’s gaze panned the length of his body—nothing he hadn’t seen before in multitudes of football groupies. “Well, hi there, mister football hero. Win, look who’s come by to say hello.”
Winnie turned slowly toward him and offered a more subdued smile in greeting. “How are you?”
“I’m good, ladies. Nice little operation you have here.” He noticed the umbrellas they used didn’t cover much ground and wondered if Winnie needed help with procuring equipment. They didn’t seem to hurt for business, though.
Marcy reached for Trevor, but he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I believe they are ahead of us,” he said. He’d never played the star athlete card once during his career to get into an exclusive club or restaurant, and like hell would he skip ahead in line at a face painting booth.
Marcy backed off but hadn’t yet acknowledged the next in line. She fawned over Trevor. “Is this your boy? I didn’t know you were a daddy.”
Cory glanced at Winnie, who’d just finished the girl’s tiger face. The other woman winced, no doubt embarrassed by her cousin’s behavior. He sensed by the people slowing around their booth—people without children to have painted—that Marcy’s attention might cause an unwanted mob. He couldn’t leave Trevor alone to wait his turn, either.
“Trevor is my cousin’s son. Deborah. You probably don’t know her, since she didn’t go to school with us.” Cory told Trevor to hang in line, and he stepped closer to Winnie’s workstation. “You don’t mind if I stand here, do you? It’s, uh, shadier.”
“Oh, no. It’s fine. Parents don’t usually hang around, though. We’re basically a safe space here.” Winnie fixed her gaze on her paints and brushes before gesturing for the next child in line. “I’m sorry I don’t have an extra chair.”
“I’m good to stand, and I’m not a parent or married, so I guess I’m the exception to the rule.” He laughed a bit, sounding awkward. Hell, he’d come off as downright goofy wanting to stress his bachelor status. Winnie nodded again and looked away with a smile he interpreted as pained before focusing on her next young customer.
“I was worried we’d get here too late. Trevor wanted to get his face painted today, but we’ve been slammed. I only just managed to get some time to bring him over.”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” Marcy called from her station. She sponged a clump of white on the face before her and spread it around. “We don’t leave until we’re sure everybody who wants their face done is served. Sometimes we’ll go half an hour over if it’s busy.”
“That’s nice of you,” he said, more to Winnie. “I’ve been admiring y’all’s work around the market today. I seem to recall you did well in art class back in high school.” Winnie brightened at that, encouraging him. “Do you, uh, do this full-time?”
Winnie cut her eyes to him very briefly. She had a thin brush poised in the air, clumped with black for outlining, and held it away to avoid a painful eye-poking. “Oh, no,” she said, and returned to her human palette. “This is just a sideline we do for extra money. I—”
“Winnie does graphic design for just about everybody in town. About half the state, too.” Marcy clutched a five-dollar bill in her paint smudged hand and jammed it down the pocket of her smock. She waved for the next child in line but never lost her patter. “Anything you want done: websites, signage, logos, drawings of your kids…but you said you didn’t have any.” She wagged a finger at him and grinned. “How about a sketch design of a commemorative coin to celebrate your retirement?”
“What?” He had to laugh at that. It wasn’t the first time somebody pitched licensed merchandise, but of course Marcy kidded him. Right?
Winnie’s reaction hinted at a joke, but from what he remembered of Marcy in high school, she came off as the enterprising type. Not necessarily a get rich quick schemer, but a gal with more ideas than sense.
“I see you’ve met my marketing team.” Winnie crooked her head toward Marcy then resumed painting.
Cory checked on his cousin’s son. Trevor had clearly inherited the Levane shy gene, for he rarely volunteered anything unless around close family. He studied Marcy’s face painting menu board with an awed expression, gazing at the array of photographs. Cory imagined the boy had come with a particular face in mind but now had second thoughts on seeing what the Two Chicks could do.
The boy ahead of him in line murmured something, and the two began a conversation. Trevor was fine for now, so he turned his attention back to Winnie. Only Marcy had it in her head to hold court.
“So, Cory, whatcha got planned for your long retirement? Thinking about a second career as a sportscaster or coach?” Marcy nodded at her board. “We do a fair number of cougar faces during football season.”
“We could have used your talents at the stadium. Fans like to show up painted and wearing crazy outfits,” Cory said. The talk came easier, and that relaxed him. He understood Winnie couldn’t give him her full attention, but she’d nod to acknowledge him. He now had to segue this into an invitation for coffee and he’d be set.
“I’ve seen the games on TV,” Marcy said. “Sorry to say we don’t paint full torsos like some of those people do. That’d take all day and cost too much.”
Yeah, some Cougar fans tended to cross lines, showing up to games stripped to the waist, their chests bright with the team colors and black letters drawn to spell out the team’s name. He saw Winnie fail to suppress a smile and said, “I take it you’re not into football?” Or football players, Lord forbid.
“Don’t take it personally. I never really followed the team.” She glared at Marcy after a loud snort interrupted her. “I watch so little TV anyway. I’m usually reading or drawing, or working on a project.”
He watched her hands dab and brush paint on skin. No wedding ring. No guarantee, however, she spent every night alone with her thoughts and art. “That’s cool. Anything special you’ve done lately, something I might have seen on a billboard?”
“Nothing that grand. My last project was a series of book covers for a romance author living in the Outer Banks.”
He envied Winnie. Her career path allowed her variety and flexibility. Not to say he’d ever been unhappy playing football, but sometimes the routine of early practice and playing in inclement weather irritated him. He made few choices on his own with regards to game plans, though managed to control his public image.
“Sounds nice. I’ve always wished I could have been more creative. Lord knows I tried in English with Mrs. Daley when she made us write a story for our midterm.”
Winnie put the finishing touches on the child in her chair, waited for official approval, and called for Trevor to join them. She patted the seat. “What can I turn you into today, sweetheart?”
Trevor bared his teeth. “I want the pirate face, like Jack Sparrow.”
“Nice. My first pirate this month.” Winnie beamed and plucked a black pot from the array on her table. “We haven’t had much call for pirates lately. I’m sure they’ll trend again when another movie comes out.” She looked up at Cory as she talked, but suddenly turned away as though shy. Cory thought it cute, like for a moment she’d forgotten she was talking to him and not a random parent.
“Pirates are his favorite. I was reading one of his favorite books to him the other night, and he loves the comics.” Cory folded his arms and it reminded him of something worth sharing. “He was telling me I should get a pirate tattoo to go with the rest.”
Winnie glanced away from Trevor for a moment, long enough to appreciate the vintage-styled, arrow-pierced heart covering Cory’s lower bicep. The whole image raised eyebrows when people studied his ink, but interestingly few people asked about its meaning.
“I want to get a pirate tattoo,” Trevor said, his eyes closed as Winnie applied black to one lid to shape the eye patch design.
“That’ll have to wait, son.” Cory cringed. His mother didn’t need to hear such talk. She’d point to him as an influence. “I think you’re better off reading about pirates than having them printed all over you.”
Winnie bit her lip like she wanted to say something. It caught his attention, but Trevor piped up again before he could say anything.
“I’ve read all my pirate books. Cory, can you write one for me?” Trevor craned his head back, but faced front again when Winnie nickered at him to keep still.
“You’re going to end up with an eye patch on your chin.” She laughed.
Marcy, now free of customers, dragged her chair closer to watch. “Hey, maybe that’s what you should do for your retirement, is write children’s books.” Her elbow dug into her knee as she rested her chin on her palm. “All kinds of celebrities are writing picture books now.”
“I’m not a celebrity. I’m an athlete,” Cory said. “One who didn’t finish college and didn’t exactly ace high school English.”
“Like you need a degree and straight A’s to write a book. Most celebrities aren’t highly educated, anyway. It’s their name that sells books, and you’re a name.” Marcy sat up straight and swatted Winnie’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “And you’re an artist, so you can illustrate. The two of you can work together!”