Tim’s eyes are wide with shock as he hurries into the store, alarmed. To my utter dismay, none of the kids have made any effort to follow my direction at all.
As soon as he enters the store, the blonde throws out her arms and wraps them around Tim’s chubby middle.
“What’s happening, Chelsea? What’s going on?” Tim asks her.
She releases him and takes half a step back, blinking her giant blue eyes up at him. “I don’t know, Grandpa!” she objects. “We were just hanging out. I just wanted to say hi!”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
She gives him another squeeze, leaning her head against his chest and wrinkling her nose at me evilly. I can’t even acknowledge that I see her, though, because Tim is also staring at me, his neck swollen with rage.
Is this a good time to let him know his mother called? Probably not.
“I didn’t realize…” My voice kind of crumples at the end and turns into silence.
All the kids stare at me with varying degrees of smugness and triumph. I really hate them right now. A lot.
“Did you get the books?” she asks him innocently.
“Oh, yes… I’ll have them tomorrow,” he answers, seething.
“Hey, Chelsea—” the tallest one murmurs.
“Right, right…” she answers with a grimace. “Sorry, Grandpa. We have to go to the music store. Great to see you!”
“You too, sweetie,” Tim answers, placing a quick kiss on the top of her head.
As the kids all file out of the store, casting secret smirking glances at me as they each pass me, I try to calm my breathing down. How bad could it be? I mean, anybody could have made this situation happen. Things like this must happen all the time, right?
“Olivia,” he starts when the front door closes.
“Tim, I am so sorry!” I blurt out defensively. “I had no idea that they—”
He holds up a hand, stop.
“This isn’t working out,” he answers gruffly.
“Wait, no,” I object. “I was just keeping an eye on the store! I mean, they break things. They move things around!”
He narrows his eyes at me. “They move things around,” he repeats.
“Well, it’s more serious than that,” I mutter defensively. “I mean…”
“You’re always on your phone,” he huffs.
“No I’m not!” I object, mostly wondering how he knew about that.
“That was my granddaughter!”
“But, I—”
My voice falters. I can feel this is not fixable. I broke it, which is ironic since I was so determined not to let anything get broken.
Quietly I shuffle to the back room and grab my handbag from the long table. When I return to the main room, Tim is behind the counter, gazing thoughtfully through the front window like a big, stupid, stubborn bear.
“So… I guess…”
He clears his throat. I guess he is not speaking to me.
“Yeah, well, you should call your mom,” I let him know before leaving the Country Gifte Shoppe for the very last time.
Chapter 2
Pete
You might not think that a gorgeous day in late summer is the perfect time to set a house on fire, but you’d be wrong—it absolutely is.
As the sun starts going down, I get to work. This old barn was donated by the grandkids of a family who has been in this area for as long as there have been settlers. Back in the oldest records, this family name is written in swirling letters on the documents, in that old-fashioned type of handwriting people used to do. You see it here and there, on the deeds and maps with hand-drawn areas of forest and the bumpy edges of the Fox River separating the land into two parts.
But the grandchildren didn’t really think about that. All they know is they inherited this giant, red barn and it is falling down. So when the fire department offered to pay them a small fee in order to burn it down, they were happy to take us up on it. Now they don’t have to have it dismantled, and they can stop getting tickets for the sorry state of the structure.
Trigger and Stephan hustle back and forth on the side of the engine, carrying hoses while their jackets flap under their arms like wings, loose and open. Bubba crosses his old boots at the ankle and sighs through his nose. I can just barely smell the accelerant and hear the sounds of the fire catching hold in the rafters.
“Trigger, you ready?” I call out.
Trigger waves a finger over his head as he adjusts the nozzle on the hose. The heels of his boots clump hollowly against the hard-packed dirt.
“He ain’t ready,” Bubba sniffs, grumpy in his stretched-out undershirt and suspenders.
“Hey, get your coat on!” I call out before Bubba can do it.
“It’s hotter than balls out here, Pete,” Stephan complains as he trudges past me.
I feel Bubba roll his eyes and hear him click his tongue and huff in disgust.
“You know the regulations!” I bark back.