Tanner watched as Regan waddled over to the gunmetal filing cabinet in the corner of Johnny’s room. She braced her hands on the top before slowly lowering herself to her knees.
Tanner stood. “Don’t you have the details online?” he asked, walking over to where Regan was inhaling sharply. Gently, he touched her arm. “Let me help you up, you can’t stay down there.”
“Our land files aren’t online yet,” she huffed out. “Most of our clients want the paper copies. Plus the owners don’t always like people knowing their business, if you know what I mean.” She let Tanner carefully help her stand, then blew out another mouthful of air. “You’d think it would get easier by the fourth time,” she joked. “But I swear this one’s as heavy as a bowling ball.”
Shooting Johnny a glance, Tanner knelt in front of the cabinet and pulled out the files that Regan pointed at. “You should sit down,” he told her, inclining his head at the chair he’d vacated. “Take the weight off your feet.”
“Ah, Regan’s okay. Aren’t you, honey?” Johnny said, pressing his lips together. “If she didn’t want more kids she would have kept her legs closed, right Regan?” He winked at her. “Nothing will knock her down. Can you find the one off Main Road?”
What. The. Hell? Tanner glanced at Regan to see if she was as insulted as he was, yet she looked as serene as ever. “Here it is,” she said, pulling a brochure from the bottom file he was holding. “This is a good one. Plenty of space to build on if you get the right zoning permission.”
He glanced down at the particulars, opening his mouth to remind them that he wasn’t interested in building his own place. But then he saw the overgrown grass and the falling-down white wooden fence surrounding the lot.
“They’re selling the drive-in?” he asked. Just looking at the overgrown field on the paper in front of him was enough to bring back all the memories. Van sitting in the payment booth while he hung around with her until the movie started. The two of them climbing to the roof and watching whatever was playing that week, making jokes with each other and laughing like crazy.
His stomach pulled tightly.
“It’s been empty for years. I finally managed to persuade Arthur Chaplin to put it on the market. I’ve no idea why he’s sat on it for so long. It’s not as though he was ever going to reopen it.” Johnny shrugged. “He doesn’t even live in town anymore. Moved to Charlston to live with his daughter. Damn place is an eyesore.” He looked up at Tanner. “Of course, it wouldn’t take a lot to make it beautiful,” he added, his smooth salesman pitch taking over from his distaste at the state of the lot. “It’ll get snapped up once I send it out to my list of interested developers. If you’re interested, I can give you the first refusal, though.”
Tanner looked at the thumbed piece of paper. Though it wasn’t dated, he really doubted the land was fresh on the market. “Why developers?” he asked. “Wouldn’t somebody want to reopen the drive-in? It was always busy when I was a kid.”
Johnny shrugged. “Times change. Kids are too busy watching Youtube and Netflix now. And then there’s all those damn environmental campaigners. They’d probably shit a brick at all the exhaust fumes coming out of those cars.”
“Oh, I used to love the drive-in,” Regan said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “So many good times there. I wish somebody would buy it to open it again.”
“Thank you, Regan,” Johnny said sharply. “That will be all.”
She blinked. “Oh, of course.”
“And can you bring coffee in for me and Mr. Hartson, please?”
“Not for me.” Tanner shook his head. “I need to go. I have another appointment.”
“But what about the drive-in?” Johnny asked him. “Are you interested?”
Tanner glanced at the brochure again, idly flicking to the second page. It showed a longer-distance view of the field, with the pay booth next to the barred entrance. How many times had he sat with Van in that booth, the two of them talking shit about every car that drove beneath the sparkling sign? While Van counted the takings, he’d amble to the refreshments booth and buy them buttered popcorn. Then they’d climb onto the roof and watch whatever movie was being projected onto the screen that week.
The memories were like tiny flashes of electricity in his brain. He slowly ran his tongue over his lip, blinking hard. All that money he had. And all that time. Could this be what he was looking for?
“Yeah,” he said, slowly lifting his gaze to Johnny’s. “I’m interested.
“Great.” Johnny beamed. “Make an appointment with Regan and we can talk specifics. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to do beautiful business together.”
Chapter Eight
Chairs took place every Friday night in Hartson’s Creek while the weather was nice. In practice that usually meant from April, when the risk of snow had gone and the sun was finally winning her battle against the clouds, until October, when sweaters were no longer enough to shield the older folk from the bitter chill as fall turned into winter. It was a simple enough concept. Everybody was invited, all you had to do was bring a chair and some refreshments to put on the communal tables. In reality, since it took place on the wealthy side of town, where proud brownstone Victorian houses gave way to lawns that bordered the water’s edge, it was dominated by the richer townfolk.
Zoe was buzzing like a firefly next to Van as they unloaded the trunk of Van’s car. Two fold up chairs she’d bought from the local hardware store, a pitcher of lemonade that definitely wasn’t made at home, and an assortment of cakes from the bakery, because Van was no culinary expert. She could probably burn water if she tried hard enough.
“There are my friends,” Zoe said, her face lighting up as she pointed at the group of kids playing on the far side of the lawns. “Can I go join them?”
“Sure. Put the pitcher on the table.” Van nodded, watching as Zoe skipped happily over to the large group of tables nestled together in the middle of everything. They were overflowing with food and drink. Van followed behind, and busied herself arranging the cakes she’d bought, because it was so much easier than walking over to a group and asking if she could sit with them.
“You came. I didn’t think you would.” Becca Hartson smiled shyly at Van from the other side of the heaving tables. “I’m so pleased you did, though. Not least because Tanner owes me ten dollars.”
“He bet that I wouldn’t come?” Van asked, ignoring the stupid way her heart sped up at his name.
Becca smiled. “He said you refused to show your face at Chairs again after the time you sprinkled laxatives on Mrs. Olsen’s brownies, and Tanner forced one into your mouth.”