Page 4 of That Reilly Boy
I give my brother a smile that’s usually reserved for boardroom victories. “She’ll break precisely because she’s been alone in that house with nobody but Gin.”
Aaron sits back in his chair, shaking his head. “Diabolical.”
I am at times, which is how I’ve amassed a fortune—by Sumac Falls standards anyway. I don’t have enough to make the potential Netflix documentary roster, but I can be fairly brutal when it comes to business. Buying the Gamble house isn’t business, technically, but it’s a goal I set for myself a very long time ago.
And, again, I don’t fail.
“How are you going to get around Gin to get to Cara, though? She doesn’t like you any more than her mother does.”
Maybe not, but she used to. I turn to look at Penny, who’s still giving me her back. “I have a plan.”
Chapter Three
Cara
Hayden Reilly is back in town and I know I shouldn’t care, but I kind of do. A lot.
It takes me five minutes to drive from our house to my tiny little storefront shop on the main street of Sumac Falls. Usually I walk because walking is free, but I’m already running behind due to the conversational bomb Gin dropped on me. And it’s supposed to rain later in the afternoon.
Five minutes is a long time to focus on not thinking about Hayden Reilly, and I fail miserably. I know he’s been home before. I haven’t seen him, of course, but people are always talking in this town and sometimes they’re talking about Hayden being home to see his mother and brother.
Because my best friend, Mel, made me pinky swear many years ago I’d never look him up on the internet, I don’t know how much he’s changed over the years. I always thought he was the hottest boy ever born in this town, and I know I wasn’t alone in thinking that. But it’s been seventeen years since I’ve seen him and I can’t help but hope the years have taken a toll on his looks. I try to be a kind person, but when it comes to the boy who stood me up on homecoming night and broke my heart, I can be petty.
He’ll probably leave town before I see him, anyway. He’s good at that.
I try to put him out of my mind as I roll past Pampered Pets. Ironically, it’s the second business from the end of the long, red brick multi-unit building called the Gamble Block. I don’t get a family discount on the rent, though, because my grandfather sold it to somebody else before I was born. There are four blocks on my side of the street and five on the other. Some are red brick and some are gray. There used to be five on each side, but the Reilly Block—built during the family’s flush years, and the only one not constructed from brick—had been on the far end. It burned in the winter of 1946.
Over the years, some vocal members of the Reilly family have claimed a Gamble must have lit the match, of course, but the fire department said the upstairs tenant was trying to keep warm with an open fire in a cast iron pot and overdid the flame. They’d demolished what was left of the building and eventually the town took the property for unpaid taxes. Then they planted grass on the lot, plunked down a couple of wooden benches, and called it a park.
I find a parking spot behind the row of businesses, in a lot designated for people who work on the main street. Thanks to an SUV the width of a tank on one side and a car who thinks the parking lines are more like suggestions on the other, I have to hold onto my door to keep it from banging the SUV while I suck in a breath and squeeze through the opening. Sumac Falls wanted to keep the main street parking for visitors and customers, which is great, but they underestimated how much space the business owners and employees would need—and how big vehicles have gotten over the years. It’s another reason I try to walk whenever possible.
I pause, as always, in front of Pampered Pets Grooming to savor the little jolt of pride and happiness I still feel every time I see it. I bartered three grooming sessions with a Dachshund-owning artist who painted a variety of cartoon dogs and cats on my front window, happily galivanting around the name of my business. She even painted little paw prints on the glass door, and I’m smiling as I unlock it and pull it open.
This is my happy place. It’s all mine, for better or worse. There’s no drama, other than trimming the nails of a dog who thinks it’s being murdered. And thanks to alleged pet dander allergies, Gin never comes here. Other than pick-ups and drop-offs, it’s just me and the town’s furry friends.
If I lived in an apartment or even a tiny starter house, the business would probably make me a comfortable living. But I don’t. I live in a giant money pit with a mother who thinks working part-time for her friend the florist means she’s doing her part to keep our house standing.
My phone chimes with a message from my client.
BRENDA ECCLESTON
Found the collar. Leaving now.
CARA
I’m here. See you soon.
With at least ten minutes to kill—maybe more if they weren’t actually in the car, but still chasing Peaches around with the recovered collar—I send a message to my sister.
CARA
Did Mom tell you Hayden Reilly is back in town and also wants to buy the house?
I set the phone on the counter because Georgia’s a nurse in a very busy emergency department in Portland, Maine. Sometimes she responds right away, but more often than not an hour or more will pass between each message in our conversations.
Not only does she respond right away, but she calls. That’s rare. “Hey, Georgia.”
“He’s back? Have you seen him? Why does he want to buy that shitty old house? Is he going to burn it down? Did you see the offer? Did Mom’s head explode?”
