Page 41 of Bourbon Bliss
“Yes. It will be thirteen years ago this summer. She was found this morning.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Found alive?”
She nodded. “Yes, surprisingly. The odds weren’t high, but it’s important to note that although statistics can predict the probability of outcomes, there are still those instances that make up the minority portion.”
“Right. Even if there’s a ninety-nine percent chance of something, there’s still that pesky one percent.”
“Precisely.”
“What happened to her? Do you know?”
June went on to explain what she’d learned from her sister. I’d heard a bit about the case from Shelby and seen the missing persons posters around town. The picture June painted was stunning. But stranger things had happened.
“The town is going to… actually, I’m having a hard time predicting what they’ll do,” she said.
“I expect they’ll be happy she’s alive. And also want to know every detail they can get.”
“Without a doubt. This is arguably the biggest thing that’s happened in Bootleg Springs since she disappeared.”
I took her hand in mine, mostly just because I liked touching her. “Think it’s in the news yet?”
“As of about thirty minutes ago, media coverage was very limited,” she said. “I expect that will change in the morning.”
“I expect you’re right.”
* * *
Media coverage didn’tchangethe next day. It exploded.
Saturday night, there’d been a few news sites reporting on the possibility that Callie Kendall had been found. One even had a few photos taken outside the hospital as she was leaving with her father.
By Sunday morning, the story was everywhere, all the way up to the national news.
At first, reports were short and filled with disclaimers that they were following up on this breaking news story. Monday morning, the Kendall family released a brief statement, expressing their gratitude in having their daughter home, and asking for privacy for their family.
Reporters, however, appeared to be intent on getting their story, regardless of requests for privacy. They’d no doubt camped outside the Kendall home in Richmond to get the few photos of her—mostly entering or exiting a vehicle—that began to circulate.
The media descended on Bootleg Springs, too, although not in the numbers I’d expected. June said something cryptic about havingdealt with those vultures. And I figured most reporters and bloggers would be trying to get more out of Callie and her family, not so much the residents of Bootleg Springs.
By Wednesday, there didn’t seem to be a soul in Bootleg who wasn’t talking about the miraculous return of Callie Kendall. People put balloons and banners all over town. Tables were brought out, lining the sidewalks, and by lunchtime, they were filled with casseroles, platters, and piles of desserts. The mayor declared it a public holiday. The bank closed, as did the schools. Outside the Kendall house, people left flowers and tied balloons to the fence post.
The residents of Bootleg bundled up against the cold and shared food and drinks with their neighbors. They toasted and hugged and reminisced and theorized. It was quite the sight. I texted Shelby some photos. She was disappointed she wasn’t here, but said she was happy for the town. We both were. Seeing the community come together like this restored my faith in humanity by quite a bit.
The commotion settled down and after a few days, life seemed to go on as normal. I got together with Jonah Bodine to work out a few times. Soaked in one of the hot springs. Not the secret one. I still didn’t know how to get to the online sign-up form, and I didn’t want to get caught over there again. I turned down an invitation to a charity event in Pittsburgh—asked Andrea to send a donation instead.
I chatted with locals. Had an impromptu drink at the Lookout with Bowie Bodine. Watched ESPN with June. Had her over to my place for a stay-in date night.
All in all, I was settling into a routine here in Bootleg. I’d already stayed longer than I’d planned. I’d originally rented my place for two weeks, and I’d gone well beyond that now. I was doing things that felt suspiciously like putting down some roots. Shallow ones yet, but this had already become more than a vacation.
I looked out the front room window of my rental. I had a partial view of the lake, obscured by some trees. The sky was gray, the water glassy and still. It was pretty out there. Calm and peaceful. Not for the first time, I thought about how much I liked this town.
But it wasn’t just the town that I liked, and I knew that wasn’t the reason I’d stayed so long.
I hadn’t counted on meeting someone out here in the mountains of West Virginia. I certainly hadn’t imagined I’d meet someone like June Tucker. How could I have? She was as unusual as the day was long, and damn it, I loved that about her.
Sure, she was blunt and sometimes she looked at me like I baffled her. But her bluntness meant she wasn’t a bullshitter. I trusted her, and that wasn’t something that came easy to me. Not after ten years playing football, surrounded by groupies. Hell, the cleat chasers had started following me around in college, even before I was getting paid to catch a ball. I’d hated sitting across from a woman, wondering if there was any part of me she liked besides my fame and my money.
There usually hadn’t been.
