His glare was razor-sharp as a rush of people scrambled to the bar, ordering another round of drinks. The waitress was being flagged by nearly every table. Peter clapped a hand on Cal’s shoulder—which Cal instantly brushed off.
The bar was so loud that after I set down Cal’s empty glass, I had to lean in close and speak into his ear. “Spend a little of that money. Let everyone in town know that you’re rich. That’s what you’re good at, right?”
His shoulders slumped. For a split second, he looked miserable.
The room was a riot of rowdy, happy people. And Cal looked hurt.
Hurt by me.
I hopped off the stool, slung my purse over a shoulder and marched out the door. As I stormed the blocks home, I couldn’t tell who I was angry at. Cal? Or myself? That wounded look of his was stuck in my head for the rest of the night.
Damn him. Damn this guilt.
Maintaining my guard was nearly impossible when I felt bad for that man.
I really hated Cal Stark.
-
Dear Diary,
* * *
Cal told the whole school that my dad was his gardener today so every time one of his dumb friends walked by me in the hall, they made this lawnmower sound. A bunch of them started doing it in the cafeteria at lunch and it was so loud and it was so annoying and it was horrible. I cried in the bathroom. Dad came to pick me up today and he could tell I was upset but I lied and told him it was because I didn’t score a hundred percent on my math quiz. He’s going to help me study later even though I did get a hundred. I hate this stupid school. I just want to quit. I know Mom wants me to have this opportunity and that Benton means I can get into a good college and probably get a scholarship for my tuition. But what’s wrong with community college? What’s wrong with managing the Coffee Cup or being a gardener? I just want to go to a regular school and be a regular kid. And forget Cal Stark ever existed.
* * *
N
CHAPTER FIVE
CAL
The Calamity hardware store had exactly two camping chairs. Red and green. I picked the green one because it had cupholders in each armrest. Part of me had been tempted to order a chair online and have it shipped to the motel, but if I was going to live in Calamity, I might as well spend my money at the local businesses. Even if that meant I had to go out in public.
The hardware store wasn’t huge, but after breezing through the aisles, there wasn’t much they didn’t have. Building supplies. Camping and outdoor gear. Clothing and shoes. Even a toy section.
I’d picked up a foam sword for Elias.
“This all for you today, Cal?” the clerk asked as I carried my haul to the register.
“Yeah.” I didn’t ask how he knew my name. I didn’t ask if he’d been one of the many I’d met at Jane’s on Monday. I just dug the wallet from my pocket and shoved my credit card into the reader.
“Sure was generous of you to cover the tab at Jane’s the other night.”
“Yep.” Not only had I been swarmed with people who’d wanted to shake my hand, I’d also had the pleasure of paying Jane over eleven hundred dollars, plus a twenty percent tip. All thanks to the generous Nellie Rivera.
“Anything else for you today?” he asked.
“Nope.” I took the receipt from his hand, tucked my chair and the sword under an arm, then strode out the door. I’d managed to make my morning stops without seeing many people. With any luck, I’d be back in the Winnebago before I spotted another soul.
Marcy had come through like a champ with the RV. She’d stocked it with essentials, food included. She’d cleaned it top to bottom. And she’d made sure I had Wi-Fi and a streaming stick for the small television in the bedroom.
I’d been holed up inside for the past four days. It felt like an epic waste of time to have spent days watching movies, but what the hell else did I have to do?
Going anywhere in public was a risk, but this morning, I’d had no choice but to brave the grocery store or face starvation. I’d gone there first, loading up on enough food to last me the week. And then I’d gone to the hardware store, walking through the door a minute after they’d opened at seven. If shopping this early meant I didn’t have to interact with many people, I’d gladly wake up an hour earlier than normal.
The only productive thing I’d done this week was exercise. Every morning I’d go for a run at dawn, then do calisthenics on the floor of the RV. Eventually, I’d have to find a weight room. I’d probably try yoga at The Refinery and hope it would loosen the strain in my lower back. But for now, I’d pop a few pain pills each morning and avoid human interaction whenever possible.
I was hiding.
Just like Nellie had predicted.
My Land Rover was parked on the street, the black paint gleaming compared to the dusty Chevy truck parked three spaces down. My car had arrived yesterday from Nashville, and being behind the wheel gave me a sense of freedom I’d missed over the past week.
If Nellie did chase me out of town, at least I’d have wheels.
The motel’s parking lot was full as I drove past. Guests had streamed in last night for the first weekend in June, and as Marcy had promised, the place was packed. Luckily, I bypassed it all and eased down the alley to park beside the Winnebago.
It didn’t take long to haul everything inside and unload my groceries. While I brewed another pot of coffee, I unpacked my chair, taking it out of the case and ripping off the tag. Then I set it up outside next to the camper’s door.
My makeshift patio.
Montana had a lot of positives from the sprawling mountains to the big, blue sky. There were a hell of a lot fewer people in the state than anywhere else I’d lived. And the lazy summer mornings with birds chirping, the sun shining and a fresh breeze were hard to beat.
I settled into my seat, coffee mug in one hand, and Nellie’s diary in the other. If I hadn’t been watching TV these past four days, I’d been rereading her journal. This was the sixth—or seventh?—pass.
She’d had more diaries in that box. What did the other years say about me? Too bad I hadn’t thought to snag those too.
Reading her thoughts, her struggles, had become an obsession. It had taken football’s place. Instead of overthinking practices or replaying mistakes I’d made in a game, I’d fixated on this little book.
Sipping my coffee, I flipped it open to the page I’d read last night. The entry was from the lawnmower day. I’d long forgotten about that day, but after reading this entry, I could practically hear the noise from the cafeteria.
There was a lot in this journal that irritated me, but this entry pissed me right the fuck off. Because I hadn’t done anything wrong. Nellie had blamed me, like I’d done something malicious. When all I’d done was tell the truth.
There’d been a girl in Spanish class who’d been gossiping about Nellie. She’d been snickering that Nellie’s dad was unemployed, so I’d corrected her. Told her that Nellie’s dad was a gardener and that he worked at our place.
Just me sharing facts. Except Nellie had assumed I’d done it to spite her.
How could I have known it would become this thing through the school? Maybe my crime hadn’t been telling everyone to shut up.
“What are you reading?”
I flinched at the voice and my coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug. My glare flew to the woman at my side who was staring over my shoulder in an attempt to read Nellie’s diary.