“He’s the Pelion chief of police, like his father was many years before him.” She paused for long moments and I pictured them, backs to me, staring across the club to some place Travis Hale stood, perhaps chatting with another member. I envisioned that sure stance of his, the way he tilted his head just slightly when he was listening intently. The way he listened to me as if every word I said was important to him.
“The chief of police? God, he needs his own calendar, every month dedicated just to him. Hale, you said? Don’t they own Pelion?”
“Yup. And even more interestingly, every Hale generation has some scandal or another. The previous one was always wild,” she mused. “Hot as sin and guaranteed to burn you if you got too close. That’s what my mom said anyway. There are stories upon stories about them. Some people on this side of the lake called them trash, despite that their family owned Pelion, because they did whatever they wanted and didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. And then of course, all hell broke loose the minute Alyssa McCree showed up.”
I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot, trapped. If I stood now, I’d totally embarrass them in the midst of their gossiping.
At least that’s what I told myself.
It was definitely not because I was hungry to know more about Travis Hale and his family, not because through fate alone I was receiving answers to questions I’d never ask.
“Alyssa McCree?”
“Mm-hmm. She was Archer Hale’s mother. Archer owns the town now. And even though Archer and his wife, Bree, have gotta be rich, they still live in this tiny Lincoln log house, and Archer drives a rusted, old pickup truck that looks like it’s about a hundred years old. And despite his hot factor, Travis was humiliated in front of the entire town eight years ago when everyone found out Archer was the older Hale and Travis had to give up ownership of Pelion. He and his mother lost all their money and social standing.”
My stomach tightened. Travis hadn’t mentioned that part when he’d told me about his brother owning the town. But why would he? It sounded painful. And like none of my business. Obviously it was well-known town fodder though, and a sour taste filled my mouth at the coldhearted way the girl speaking had just summed up the situation I was sure held far more nuance, not to mention real human emotions.
“So,” the girl went on, “Travis is definite calendar material, but blue-collar calendar material. His ex, Phoebe, had plans to get him to run for mayor or governor. She said they’d be political royalty by the time they were thirty-five and live in the Buchanans’ neighborhood. But now that they’ve broken up, I’m doubtful he has those same ambitions. Honestly? I’m surprised they still allow him access to this club. Everyone’s still kind of embarrassed for him. And it’s not like he’s one of us anymore, that’s for sure. Especially without Phoebe. God, where is that weird smoothie girl who looks like she stuck her finger in a socket?”
I dug in my pocket, moving as little as possible as I pulled my earbuds out and stuck them in my ears, dropping the end in my pocket again as if there might be a phone there. I rose quickly and both girls, now turned toward the counter, jumped. I widened my eyes, pulling the earbuds from my ears. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was stocking and didn’t hear you.”
The girl who’d been talking, a pretty redhead, scowled slightly. “It’s fine. I’ll take a berry blast with a shot of wheatgrass.”
A couple sat down at my counter and I greeted them. I looked up and smiled as Travis waved at me from across the club, heading for the exit.
***
I shouldn’t do this. There is no point in doing this.
I opened the browser, the cursor blinking in the empty search box. I let out a deep breath and typed in Hale Pelion, Maine. I can’t help it. My desire to know more was like a burning thirst.
And even more interestingly, every Hale generation has some scandal or another.
A long list of links came up and instead of talking myself out of it—which would have been the wiser move, not to mention one that respected the boundaries between friends…even friends who’d put their fingers…well…
I opened the first link and began reading. I learned about the town founding, about the Hale family through the generations—Lord, but there were a lot of boys. And finally, I read about the car accident that ended in a shootout between brothers on a highway in the middle of a springtime day.
A sharp pang pierced my heart for Archer Hale. I sat back in the chair at the desk in the small room designated as an office that guests were welcome to use at the Yellow Trellis Inn. I pictured what it might have been like that day, surely coming up far short of reality. Reality was never just the picture of events. It was the smells and the sounds and a hundred other small details that no one else would ever understand because they hadn’t been there, standing among the ashes as your world burned down.
My mind moved to the blueberry festival where I’d met Archer and his wife and kids. Travis had told me about his brother’s voice box being injured when he was a kid, and so I hadn’t been surprised by the scar on his throat. What I had noticed was the peace on his face, the joy in his eyes, the way his wife had gazed at him with such open love, the sweet exuberance of his twin boys and that beautiful baby girl I’d only glimpsed in the stroller.
However it had happened and whatever strength he’d drawn from, Archer Hale had triumphed over that day.
And maybe I would someday triumph over my own.
I read about how the land had transferred to Archer and about the shooting that had occurred eight years ago, Chief Travis Hale showing up just in time to stop the threat before anyone else was hurt.
I swallowed down a lump in my throat, thinking about everything I knew about Travis.
One of the men who had died on the highway when Archer’s voice box was so terribly damaged, was Travis’s father. Where had Travis been that awful day? He’d been seven years old too. Who had explained things to him?
Who had helped him grieve?
And after that, he’d been set to inherit the town apparently. Another loss, rightful or not. Had he suffered over it? Did he still?
It was all too much. Too much trauma. Too much pain. Sometimes the world felt so damned sharp.
I clicked the browser off and put the computer to sleep, but it was several minutes before I pulled myself from the chair and returned to my room. Because at the end of the day, what did it matter? I was leaving. End of story.
So why did that feel like a lie?
Chapter Eighteen
Travis
“Where’s Spencer?” Maggie asked, topping off my coffee.
“He’s with Birdie Ellis. They’re setting up a community relations group that will be presenting at the annual meeting,” I said, picking up my mug and taking a sip.
“Birdie Ellis,” Maggie said, turning her nose up slightly. “That woman needs a hobby.”
“So does Spencer,” I muttered. “Hopefully the work it takes to maintain the group will keep them both fully occupied.”
She eyed me. “Found a way to get him out of your hair a little bit, huh?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“To me. Honey, I’ve known you all your life. I know you down deep. Don’t forget it.” She leaned forward and looked into my eyes, pinching my cheek affectionately in the way I’d only ever let Maggie get away with.