Page 32 of The Rest is History

“They care, trust me. We like it when good things happen to people.”

Deacon comes over, wiping crumbs from his four-inch beard. Abe, Walter and his brother, Wade make their way to us too. “’Sup, Sawyer. We got a new guy?” Wade says.

Reece’s face is now the same color as the apple that Snow White ate.

“Yeah. This is Reece Carter. Just got hired today.”

“You like beer?” Abe asks. Of course, he does. At fifty-three, Abe’s liver is likely to outlive him because that man can drink anyone under the table like he’s an underage church boy on a curfew, and he’ll take anyone with him.

“Sure,” Reece says, but I don’t know about that. He seems more like a vintage wine kind of guy. Rich folk stuff.

Walter gives him a pat on the back and says, “You staying around here?” And then, before Reece can answer, he adds, “Remind me to give you directions to our place. Bianca – my wife – she makes the best pork pie in Linksfield, and she’ll cook for you anytime. Come have dinner with us some time.”

Reece nods and I think he’s overwhelmed. Especially after Abe pinches his cheek and asks him why he’s so darn pretty.

Chapter 13

Reece

I don’t bother checking if my father has, in fact, cut me off from my trust fund. If I’m prudent, I’ll be able to live off the minimum wage offered by the logging company after the money in my bank account runs out. Conveniently, things in Linksfield are miles cheaper than in the city.

Yesterday, I moved out of the guesthouse and into my own apartment.

The apartment is owned by someone Deacon’s older brother went to school with. Deacon put in a good word for me, and that, combined with my ability to pay six months’ rent upfront, got me a nice one-bedroom above a building that houses a lawyer’s office, a defunct gaming arcade, a bar, and a convenience store.

It’s two streets off the main street I drove through with the Uber a little more than two weeks ago. Getting around the small town will be easy. Ten minutes north for groceries, home appliances, linen and such. If you keep going another five minutes you’ll end up at my new job. One flight of stairs down if I need a drink. What more could a person want?

My apartment is furnished with a new bed and new bedding and linen. A couch from a very scaled down version of Home Depot across the street, and a second-hand dinette.

With my coffee in my hand, I enter my bedroom and sit at the edge of the bed, near the nightstand. My journal and a small organza bag lie on the nightstand. I pick up the journal and turn to the last page I’ve written on and scribble a note. Sawyer is nice. Kind and welcoming. Maybe we can be friends.

Then, I pull open the drawstring of the organza bag, rubbing my chest softly with one hand. Pulling the pair of socks out of the bag, I bring it to my nose, inhaling. It doesn’t smell like a baby. Maybe it does. I don’t know what a baby smells like. This is all I brought with me from Arizona. The rest of Abby’s things are in storage, ready for Julie to pick up whenever she’s ready.

It feels like I’ll carry this pair of socks with me everywhere I go. Like carrying an important document. Unable to function in society without it. With a sigh, I press the delicate material to my lips and then set it back in its bag.

There are other things to be happy about, I guess. In a span of little more than two weeks, I’ve moved out of Arizona, gotten myself a job, and found a new place to live. It’s exhilarating. I thought about texting Julie to tell her about my new place, but I wanted to tell Sawyer first. He’s the one who let Asher help me.

I can’t wait to get to work – my third day today – so I can tell him.

As I walk through the street towards the woodlot, watching the town around me slowly come to life, I think about how much I like this. The early morning sun peeks through the clouds, letting us know that winter is over. The clean narrow streets and the small shops along the way give me the same feeling as being in Asher’s old house used to. Warm and safe. Even the air is different. Not so heavy and thick.

My work clothes involve my oldest pair of jeans, a shirt with the words O & R Construction sewn into the breast pocket and a new pair of steel-tipped boots Brennan Hastings had me pick up from the office yesterday. I have a light jacket on to ward off the slight morning chill.

I realize I forgot to pack a lunch bag when the smell of caramel and chocolate kidnaps me as I pass Dotty’s Bake Shop. Like a rat following the pied piper, I follow the smell until I’m inside the most precious bake shop in history.

It’s so small you wouldn’t be able to fit even five customers inside but it’s warm and pretty, keeping up with this town’s theme of yellows and blues. The small glass-fronted display case looks like it was created by some magical creature. There are rows and rows of miniature sponge cakes with pastel-colored icing and covered in glitter, shortbread cookies, and fruit tarts.

“I’ll be with ya in a sec,” a sweet voice booms from somewhere behind the counter. A second later, a woman pops up with a smile so big I have no choice but to return it. She greets me like we’ve known each other for years. Her strawberry blonde hair is piled up on top of her head and her face is red, probably from the warmth inside the shop. She looks like the aunt who gives you too many hugs and pinches your cheeks too hard when she tells you how much you’ve grown.

“Hello, love. Nice to see you in here this morning. My first customer for the day. Thought you’d come in yesterday when I saw you across the street at the General Store with your broom and plastic things and such.”

“Uh.” I laugh awkwardly. “Yeah, I—”

A single ringlet of her hair falls onto her forehead. She blows upward, trying to get it away from her eyes. “I know, I know. Movin’ in is a big job. Figured you’d be here soon enough. I’m Dotty, by the way, if you haven’t figured it out yet. How was the chocolate caramel cake? You liked it. I know you did.”

“The what?” Did I just drop into my body mid-conversation with a long-lost friend?

She starts packing a rectangular box with one of every pastry and cookie. Without looking at me, she carries on. “The chocolate caramel cake Sawyer picked up two weeks ago. Said it was for Asher’s friend comin’ta visit. That’d be you, love.”

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