The only word I can think of to describe the expression on Lynn’s face when she climbs my front steps and takes a quick look around is awe. It confuses the hell out of me.
“Wow, this place has a ton of potential. Did you buy it, or are you just renting?”
If potential is what she sees when she looks at my sagging porch—almost half of the spindles on the railing either missing or barely hanging on, the slightly off-kilter front door, and overgrown flower pots—who am I to convince her otherwise?
“I bought it, but I’m questioning that decision now. Not sure how long I’m going to stay.”
A man steps out of the truck, and she waves him over before turning back to me and whispering conspiratorially. “Ahh, it’s not so bad if you can deal with the scowls in church. They’re skittish about newcomers. But, if you don’t think H-Wood is the place for you, the best advice I can give you is to get out now while you still can. This town sucks you in like quicksand. Only the quicksand is people. And the people are either old or mean. Or both.” The man steps onto the porch and takes off his ball cap when he shakes my hand. “My husband, Adam,” she explains with a proud smile.
“Nice to meet you, Adam.”
“He’s the muscle behind this operation, and I don’t even have to pay him.”
“Lucky you,” I say.
With Adam’s help, we get everything unloaded in record time, and the little gray house finally begins to resemble a home. A sparingly-furnished home, but it’s a start. I’m exceptionally proud of it. Lynn finished everything with a pale-gray stain that gives it an aged look yet keeps the interior looking bright. Stopping at the new entry table, she steps back and plants her hands on her hips.
“Here you need a big mirror on the table, with either two lamps or two vases on either side. Cotton stems. Or roses, if you’re more into the romantic look.”
I squint my eyes, trying to adopt her vision. “Dead roses, maybe.” Lynn just regards me with curious amusement.
“Where did you move here from?”
“The city,” I answer vaguely, though it’s not hard to guess that I mean Nashville.
“Do you know anyone out here? How did you even find us?”
Truthfully, Heronwood found me. I took an aimless road trip west, and the town appeared out of the pines so suddenly I nearly had to slam on my brakes to avoid passing it up entirely. Once I realized where exactly I was, thanks to a proud, weathered sign, I had already made it to a crossroads at the town square. There were a couple of moms pushing strollers laden with kids, and men in heavy work boots congregating outside the hardware store. No karaoke bars or music museums in sight. It was the kind of place that made you want to be a part of it, though what I desired most was anonymity.
For fear of being regarded as insane, I go with a more simplified version. “I Googled ‘charming towns of Tennessee.’ ”
Lynn nods, straightening her bandana. “Well, charming could be our town motto. Along with backstabbing. Wouldn’t that look good on a billboard?”
It surprises even me when I let out a genuine chuckle. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the strong urge to laugh, but Lynn is so casually blunt when she makes her jokes that it’s unavoidable. She just blinks at me.
“I’m not sure I know anyone with your sense of humor,” I say in explanation.
“There’s more where that came from. This place gives me plenty of material.” She makes for the door, then pauses. “So you really don’t know anyone here?”
“Not one person,” I admit. I find it difficult to deflect her questions as easily as I did Mr. Kirkwood’s. She’s like a human lie detector.
She gives me a small smile and nods her head once. “Well, you have my number. Let me know if you need help with anything. This town may be small, but it’s chock-full of snakes. Just keep your eyes open, okay?”
I nod, though I’m a little doubtful that my facial expressions aren’t betraying my inner concern. I’m not sure anyone can take such an ominous warning so casually.
Lynn is halfway through the door when she stops and pops her head back in. “You know what? No. I’m not going to do the half-assed-neighbor, ‘call me if you need me’ thing. Meet me for coffee tomorrow at Brewser’s. That’s if you’re not too busy.”
The mantra I gave myself when I left Nashville comes to mind. Work. Home. Focus on yourself. Work. Home. Focus on yourself.
It was my intention to move out here for some self-imposed rehabilitation of the soul. It wasn’t supposed to be permanent, and to make that aspect easier I accepted that I wouldn’t try to make any friends. But as of now, my future is looking pretty dark and lonely, and Lynn kind of seems like the light at the end of the tunnel. Or the sunshine forcing its way through the blinds of a dark room when you’re hungover.
“My schedule is crystal clear,” I say with a sigh.
“I thought so,” she says, and then she’s gone.