went in search of Bonnie, who helped me find the clothing section.
“Now what exactly are you after?” she asked, with a Texan twang. Ashford was full of a multitude of rich accents. Maybe what CeeCee said was true—people came here, and never left. I could see the appeal, the way most of the locals were warm and welcoming, though I’m sure just like any other place, there were less perfect people.
I folded my arms. “Clothing to suit farm life. So I’m guessing some kind of slicker, and maybe some rubber boots?”
“Great! We supply all the farm folks round here, so I’m sure we have just the thing.”
Bonnie shuttled around the store, yabbering to herself, as though the thought of helping me excited her. She unearthed everything she thought I’d need and led me to a change room.
“I’ll wait here.” She shooed me in, and pulled the curtain closed. “You holler out if you need another size. These clothes are the very latest in farmer’s attire so I think you’re going to be super excited.” Her high-pitched twang had a tinge of hopefulness to it.
“OK,” I said, not convinced. The clothing looked like something the Ghostbusters would wear. The slicker was fluoro yellow, and plastic, and made a crunching sound as I pulled it on. The pants were so big at the thigh I felt like Ronald McDonald. Lastly, I donned the hat, which was as wide as it was tall. My reflection looked like some kind of backwater hillbilly. Surely not? Was it so cold outside farmers dressed braced for an apocalypse?
“How do they fit?” she asked chirpily.
“Erm…” Laughter threatened to burble out of me at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. I was a ghostbusting, burger-selling, cowboy-hat-wearing farmer.
Bonnie drew the curtain back with a flourish. “Oh, now, don’t they just fit you real great?” She smiled so genuinely I didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise.
Clay hadn’t been dressed like this. I wasn’t sure farmers actually wore such clothing, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe Clay had been barely clothed because he was working indoors, and once outside we’d need to be protected from the elements. Because if there was one thing I was sure of, nothing was getting through the layers of plastic that now crinkled noisily over my body. I held on to the curtain. “I’ll take them.” Bonnie had the puppy dog eyes down pat, and rewarded me with a happy squeal.
“You’ve gone and made my day,” she said, closing the curtain, so I could change back. Her smile threatened to swallow her up, and it dawned on me that maybe Bonnie didn’t get many customers, just like the travel agent Henry, who appeared hopeful seeing a new face in town. “I’ll go and ring them up for you. And I’ll throw in a pair of socks, since you’ve been real nice. They’re a new brand. Meant to help with the circulation, you know, for the diabetes?”
I didn’t know. But I played along, anyway. “That sure will come in handy. Thank you, Bonnie.”
My alarm shrieked, waking me from a deep sleep. Groggy, I rubbed my eyes, and yawned, taking an age to remember where I was. The shadows were unfamiliar. When I flicked on the bedside lamp, and the flowered wallpaper stared happily at my crumpled frame, it all came back. Begonia Bed and Breakfast. And day one of working with the half-naked, intensely arrogant Clay.
With a groan, I wrenched the covers back and dressed quietly in the shoebox-sized room. The last time I’d seen five a.m. was coming off a double shift at the diner. Maybe once I acclimatized this would be better, watching dawn break, fresh, after a good night’s sleep.
I tried to creep quietly but the garb I wore had other ideas, and crinkled like someone scrunching cellophane. Once outside, I breathed fresh air deep into my lungs. The sky was awash with gray, not even a bird chirp for company.
I crinkled along, wishing I’d made a cup of coffee for the journey. Rose had given me a travel mug for that very purpose but I didn’t want the shrieking of the kettle to rouse her. I turned the corner and headed down the main road of Ashford. It was gloomy, the store fronts somber without the light of day and their cheery owners.
A beam of light coming from the Gingerbread Café caught my attention. I resisted the urge to fist pump as thoughts of strong coffee danced through my mind. I jogged up the road, and spilled through the door in a flurry.
Lil jumped, her eyes wide. “You scared the bejeezus out of me!” She clutched her chest. “Coffee?”
“I will love you forever.” As much as I loved drinking cups of tea with Rose, a strong dose of caffeine would fire up the old brain synapses and enable to me to make sense at such an early hour.
She grinned and went to the percolator, poured two mugs, and motioned to a stool. “I bet you haven’t eaten.” She stared me down the way my mother would, even though Lil and I were probably around the same age, give or take a few years.
“No, I was going to but…”
“Say no more.” Lil expertly moved around the kitchen, gathering bowls and utensils before cracking a couple of eggs, adding some spices and whisking. “French toast, OK?”
“Do you always make people’s dreams come true?” I said faux seriously.
She threw her head back and laughed. “I try.”
There was something about Lil, something indistinct that made me act differently with her. She had a unique energy. I sensed her life hadn’t been smooth sailing, but she’d come out the other side. Studying people in the background for so many years had made me read people on a deep level, somehow seeing past the cosmetics of a situation and finding the heart of them. For that reason, I connected with her more easily than I usually would have.
While Lil worked, I walked around the café sipping my coffee and taking in every tiny detail. It was cozy and warm, not just from the fire, but also from the little touches they’d added to make it kitschy and cute. The walls were painted the color of dark chocolate, gingerbread-man bunting hung in garlands, twisted with rows of fairy lights, which pulsed like stars.
Hand-knitted throw rugs were tossed lazily on sofas. Fat fluffy mismatched cushions perched on chair seats. By the bookshelves was a veritable mountain of European pillows adorned with cartoonish dinosaurs or pink-swathed princesses. I imagined toddlers falling into them face first, shrieking with joy, the stack taller than their little bodies. In a corner a green plastic table sat tucked away, full of jars of brightly colored pencils, and craft supplies so kids could create while their parents took a break from their day over a cup of tea and a plate of something delicious.
Lil and CeeCee’s passion for their business and customers shone through from the way they greeted their customers, to the way they joked with one another, and the love they poured into baking. It was so far from the diner I worked in it was hard to reconcile the two. The diner had needed a damn good scrub, and some life poured into it, but it was always busy because of its location, and the customers who frequented didn’t seem to mind the seventies décor.
On the bench by Lil, knobbly loaves of bread cooled on a wire rack. The scent of fresh bread reminded me of my mother, and how once upon a time she loved baking, humming while she kneaded dough, flour dusting her forearms. These days, even baking was too much for her. Sometimes, it was hard not to let the bitterness
