Chapter Six
At Last!
“I’m bored.”
Bennie closes the register and turns to face me.
“You could go help those customers,” she offers, motioning to a couple inspecting some furniture pieces.
Preston approaches the couple and gives them a cautious, practiced smile. I can’t hear what they say, but the woman giggles and takes a step toward Preston. The guy holds his hand out to shake, and there is a fleeting look of panic before Preston holds up his palms and flips them back and forth as if offering them up for inspection. The guy nods and tucks his hands into his pockets.
“Maybe you need to find a job or something to fill your time,” Bennie says, interrupting my observation.
“Preston has my job. And my apartment.”
“Bitter, party of one,” she points out with a raised eyebrow. I’ve been calling it the bitch brow ever since I learned that word. “You’re the one who left, Wren. Speaking of Preston, did you say something to him? He’s awfully quiet today.”
“He’s always quiet. Why do you assume I did something to offend him?” Another sideways glance from Bennie, and I offer my best innocent smile. “We kissed last night. I think he’s still processing.”
Bennie’s eyes widen, and she slumps into her chair behind the front counter.
“Wren,” she starts, but doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to. I know she’s concerned, about him, about me, about how messy this could get.
“It’s cool, Bennie. We’re both adults. Now, what can I do in this town to earn some money?”
The couple leaves without buying anything. I watch Preston sort through a new box of inventory for the third time this morning. He’s wearing another plaid shirt with pearl snaps, and instantly, my mind goes to how easy it would be to peel that thing from his body. One hard tug and it would open right up.
“What about Millie’s?”
“What? No. I can’t deal with smelling like french fries.”
“Coach is looking for part-time help at The Haystack. The kids in Franklin like to come party here during the summer, so he’ll need backup.”
“A bartender? That seems right up my alley.”
“Unless you drink all the profits. What about bar tending is right up your alley?”
“I did it a few times over the years while traveling.”
“Who would let an underage girl tend bar?” Bennie asks, seeming offended.
“You’d be surprised,” I answer. “I mean, I wasn’t employed at the fanciest places. It’s a great way to meet new people, and you get paid in cash every night. What’s not to love?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Coming home smelling like skunky beer and cigarettes?” Bennie says, throwing a crumpled up paper at my head.
I hop off the counter and pick it up, smoothing out the wrinkles. “What is this?”
“Coffee Call started doing an open mic night for poets and musicians. I don’t think it’s very popular.”
I laugh and study the paper. “Mrs. Lovett still own the place?”
“Yep.”
“Can you imagine the old bag reciting poetry? Roses are red, violets are blue…”
“I fart in church and stink up the pew,” Bennie finishes.
I burst into a fit of giggles and fold myself over, hands on my knees.
“Is that true? Please, tell me that’s true,” I ask when I get my breath back.
Bennie mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.
“What’s so funny?”
I spin to find Preston standing on the other side of the counter. He looks from Bennie to me and back to her.
“Old ladies passing gas in church,” I say.
He looks horrified and turns away. “Sorry I asked.”
I follow him down the aisle and fall in step beside him. “I’m going to cook dinner for us tonight. Come over.”
Preston stops and turns away. “It’s Wednesday,” he says with his back to me.
“Do you not eat dinner on Wednesday?” I put my hand on his shoulder, but his muscles stiffen. I retreat, tucking both hands into my pockets.
“I eat.”
“So what’s the problem?” I wait patiently as he blows out a breath and turns to face me. His slate eyes seem to glow in the sunlight that filters through the front windows. Preston’s gaze drifts to my mouth and stays there. It makes me a bit paranoid that I’ve got something on my face. I lift my fingers to my lips and swipe at them.
He clears his throat. “I eat breakfast for dinner on Wednesdays.”
“So, I’ll cook pancakes. I love breakfast for dinner. We’ll have bacon, well probably turkey bacon, and fruit, and lots and lots of syrup.”
“I can’t make it. Sorry.” His words are cold and forced.
“What? Why? Are you mad at me?”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Of course not.”
I know Preston lives by routine, but I want to urge him out of his comfort zone just enough to let him see that he can be flexible.
“Can’t you change your schedule just for one night?”
Preston turns and starts flipping through the M section. He stops when he gets to Metallica.
“It’s not that easy, Wren.”
“I don’t understand,” I admit. “It’s just dinner.”
Preston walks away without a word, and I stare at his retreating form until he heads into the storage closet.
“You’re pushing too hard,” Bennie says, appearing next to me.
“Maybe he needs to be pushed.”
“Not like this. Give him space. This isn’t someone to be conquered and left behind in the wake of Tornado Wren.”
My eyes become slits as I level her with my stare. As much as I love her, I hate when she tries to dissect my life. I don’t want to be looked at that closely.
“Is that what you think I am? A tornado destroying everything in its path?”
“Wren, that’s not what I—”
“Screw you, Bennie.”
I stomp my way to the front of the store and push through the doors. The warm air hits me like a blow to the chest, and I push against that, too. I walk over to Main Street just to put some distance between me and Bennie. It’s always been this way between us. We know how to push each other’s buttons. We’ll blow off some steam and then be fine tomorrow. It’s the Wren and Bennie way.
I walk through town and make my way over to The Haystack. It’s not open yet, but I find Coach out back receiving a beer delivery.
“Hey, Coach,” I say, giving him a wave.
He signs a paper and hands it to the delivery guy. “Hey there, Wren. We don’t open until four, sweetheart.”
Coach grabs the top box and disappears through the back door. I shrug, grab the next box, and haul it inside after him. He’s surprised by my gesture and gives me a grin.
“I’m not here for a drink. I’m here for a job.”
“Oh, really? You got any experience?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the cooler door.
“I’ve worked a few places in New Orleans, Austin, and up in Chicago. I think I can handle this crowd.”
Coach chuckles and pushes off the wall. “I don’t doubt that. Man, you really have been everywhere, haven’t you?”
“Not everywhere, but lots of places.”
“Did you find what you were looking for out there?”
I think about his question and shake my head. “I’m not sure what I was looking for, but I found a lot of good stuff and some bad. I found backroads and superhighways, rednecks and drag queens. It was the best and worst experience of my short life.”
Coach’s eyebrows lift high on his tan forehead, reaching for his salt-and-pepper cropped hair. “I’m not sure about hiring Reverend Hart’s baby girl to work in this kind of dump.”
He steps outside and lifts another box. I follow quickly.
“Well, Bennie mentioned you needed help,” I say.
He drops the box on a stack in the storage room and turns. “Bennie? Well, if Bennie sent you, I guess you’ll do.”
I smile and make a note to ask Bennie about her connection to Coach. It definitely seems like there’s something more than a small-town friendship going on.
“Great. When do I start?”
“Come back Thursday night. Six o’clock.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“See you Thursday, Wren. Tell Bennie I said hello.”
“Will do.”
I spend the rest of the afternoon meandering through town, visiting old haunts. When I reach the cemetery, I know I’ve gone too far. Even in the light of day, that place creeps me out. I make an about-face and cut through the park to get back to the store.
When I catch sight of the old water tower, a smile lights up my face. Sawyer and I used to dare each other to climb to the top when we were kids. Once I worked up the courage to go the first time, it became a regular spot. I would climb the shaky ladder and sit along the edge of the railing, looking out over Crowley. It was my thinking spot, the place to be alone with my dreams of escaping this town. Every hope I had for adventure and every ounce of courage were summoned at the top of that tower.
I step beneath the ladder and stare up at it. It looks different somehow, higher and more dangerous. I know the tower hasn’t changed, so I chalk my new outlook up to life experience, being older and wiser. I grab the rail above my head and climb onto the first step. The metal shakes from my movement, and I seriously rethink what I’m about to do. Instead of chickening out, I force myself onto the next step and the next. Halfway up, my arms begin to shake from the effort, but I push forward, never looking down.
At the top of the tower, I duck under the rusty railing and hop onto the platform. My chest heaves from the climb, but the air up here feels cooler and less suffocating than on the ground. The sun is just setting, and the picturesque town of Crowley is painted in a golden glow. It’s all Norman Rockwell and apple pie. The light over Bennie’s place is still lit, and I can barely make out a figure in the front window.
From here, I can see the railroad tracks on one side of town and nothing but farmland on the other. As the sun disappears altogether, the street lamps pop on, eventually lighting Main Street like an Americana runway. Flags on every storefront and welcome mats encourage visitors to come in and stay a while.
I glance at the metal tank behind me and notice that the word Crowley has almost disappeared. The fading letters, once black against the metal, are nothing but peeling and flaking paint. I grin at that.
The climb down the ladder is much scarier than the climb up. On the way up all you see is blue sky, while on the way down, the ground looks too far away. Once my feet hit the dirt, I dust off my hands and give my old water-tower friend a wave. I have a feeling I’ll be back.
By the time I return to Vinyl, the shop is closed. The windows in Bennie’s apartment are illuminated. I hate where I left things between us and need to make amends. I was never good at being mad at her.
“Bennie, I’m back.”
I close the door behind me and immediately recognize the sound of Etta James singing “A Sunday Kind of Love.” The soulful smooth voice floats through the apartment and floods my head with memories of slow dancing in this kitchen with my big sister.
There’s a note on the fridge pinned beneath a dinosaur magnet. I pull it down and smile at Bennie’s familiar handwriting.
Wren, let’s not fight anymore. I’ve missed you too much. There’s Fruity Pebbles in the pantry. Catch you on the flip side. Bennie.
I find Bennie asleep on her sofa. She looks so small curled up into a ball at one end. Taking the crocheted throw from the back of the couch, I cover her and leave her to sleep. It must suck getting old and being tired all the time. Instead of the dinner I planned to cook, I fix myself a bowl of cereal and take a seat at the kitchen table. It’s still breakfast for dinner.