“Oh, right. I didn’t know that part. It’s temporary, then?” She sounds disappointed.

“I’m probably going to be here for at least a few months.” Until Billy is out of a cast and back on his feet, anyway.

“Wow. How do you feel about that? You can usually only handle a few days here before you’re gone again.” A hint of hurt threads through her tone, and once again, I’m reminded of how awful I am for ghosting everyone here.

“Eh, I’ll survive. Lots to keep me busy, and there wasn’t much left to miss in Chicago after my company disbanded.”

She nods, as if she understands, but I’m not sure she can. “Well, if you wanna grab a drink with me and Allie, let me know.”

“What about Sue?”

Tawny makes a face. “She’s a hot mess these days.”

“Wasn’t she always?”

Tawny lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “Worse than before. She got married a while back to Nelson Fry. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I think so. Lived and breathed dirt biking?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wow, he doesn’t seem like her type.”

That earns me another shrug. “Everyone was her type at one point or another. Anyway, that lasted all of six months, because he’s married to his dirt bike and can’t handle more responsibility than knowing where his helmet is. And that’s on a good day. So she went through a rough patch there. Then she started seeing someone new.” Tawny looks away and bites at the skin around her nail.

“Someone local?”

She nods.

“Are you gonna tell me who?”

“Tuck.”

“Tucker Patrick?” It’s my turn for my eyebrows to rise.

She swallows audibly and nods again.

“Wow, that’s . . . unexpected. Or maybe it shouldn’t be?” This is a small town, and Tucker was always smooth with the ladies.

“You know she always kind of had a thing for him.” Tawny bites the inside of her lip.

I nod, aware that Sue often wanted what I had. It was a weird, not entirely healthy friendship. I dated Tucker on and off for almost two years, and when I moved to Chicago for college, I ended things for good.

He said I’d come back for him. I told him he was wrong; that wouldn’t happen. Ever.

And yet here I am. Back in the place where I made endless mistakes growing up. I put him in that category. He was the devil I knew. It was easier to let him do what he wanted, rather than make my life more difficult by taking issue with the crappy way he treated me. I was always planning on leaving Pearl Lake, him included, so I did what I had to do.

“Wait a second. I thought he moved to Lake Geneva and worked in real estate there.”

“He was and he did. But he moved back a few years ago. Said he knew the area better. Between you and me, I think he got himself into some trouble out there. Not that he hasn’t gotten himself into more trouble since he moved back.”

“I guess he hasn’t changed.”

My phone buzzes with a message from my dad asking me to pick up a few missing supplies. Which means I have to head back to the freaking hardware store. Hopefully Van isn’t still there. “My dad needs me to grab a few things, so I gotta run. Is your cell number still the same?”

“Yup, so is Allie’s.”

“I’ll message you about that drink?”

“Allie and I usually get together on Wednesday nights for a drink, if you’re interested. Half-price ladies’ night at the bar and all.”

“That sounds great, actually.”

I leave feeling lighter, and like maybe being home isn’t all bad.

 

The rest of the day is great, and I don’t even balk when my dad forces me to join the family for a sit-down dinner, like we used to do when we were kids. I can’t resist a good burger, and my mom’s potato salad is the best. I bite my tongue when Billy takes a seat at the table, a fresh beer beside his plate.

“How’s that job for the Bowmans going? You think you’ll be done before I get this cast off?” Billy takes a giant bite of his burger. A pickle slides out and lands halfway on his place mat, and ketchup drips like fresh blood onto his plate.

My dad makes a noise. “We’d better not still be on that project, or we’ll be more behind than we already are. I have a good feeling there will be more like it, though. The neighbors from two doors down stopped by to see the progress, and they were asking what our schedule was like for the fall. Pretty sure they’ll be throwing out some stuff along the way, Marilyn, so if you have any big wants, let me know and I’ll keep an eye out.”

“We could always use a new TV,” Billy says through a mouthful of burger.

“We got a new TV last year,” Mom reminds him. “Have you taken your medication today?”

“Took it a couple hours ago.” Billy washes down his burger with a gulp of beer.

“What kind of medication?” I ask, feeling like now is a good time to broach the subject.

“Oh, just stuff to help manage the pain and antibiotics because his stitches got infected.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink when you’re taking antibiotics, or pain meds.” I give a nod to the beer in his hand.

Billy rolls his eyes. “It’s a light beer. It’s not like I’m pounding a bottle of rye or anything.”

My brother’s attitude these days sucks, although I can’t say he doesn’t have a reason to be grumpy. I would be, too, if I was dealing with a broken ankle, a beat-up face, and pending drunk driving charges that could include a suspended license for the next six months, and that’s if he gets the lesser charge.

“When’s your court date?” I ask my brother.

“Geez! Can you get off my ass for two fucking seconds? I screwed up. I know that. I don’t need you rubbing it in my goddamn face every time you see me.” He pushes back his chair and tries to get up but loses his balance, knocking over his chair and landing on his ass.

My parents’ chairs screech across the floor in tandem, and they both push out of their seats.

“I’m fine. I got it.” He struggles to pull himself to his feet. His face is red, and he’s huffing by the time he manages to right himself. He’s tall and gangly and the spitting image of our grandfather when he was Billy’s age. He plants one fist on the table, grabs his half-empty beer, and chugs the rest of the contents while glaring at me. He finishes his tantrum by slamming the empty can on the table. Then he grabs his crutches and wobbles his way through the living room to my old bedroom and slams the door.

Dad sighs, and Mom pokes at her potato salad with her fork.

“I wasn’t trying to rub it in his face. It was a simple question. And he really shouldn’t be drinking if he’s taking painkillers and antibiotics.” I leave out the part about how the drinking is the reason he’s in this predicament in the first place, since that’s a whole different beast to tackle.

“I know, honey. Remember that this is hard for him. He’s always felt like the moon to your sun, so he’s more sensitive than usual, especially with you coming home and helping out with the business while he’s healing. I’ll have a talk with him,” my mom says, always standing up for her little boy.