before her family knew she was in town.
“I get it. You need a place to escape instead of staying at your parents’. Sometimes family can be overwhelming.” Mrs. Thompson took the last swallow of her coffee.
Callie merely nodded and then changed the subject. “So you’ve been renting out rooms for several years?”
“Since right after my Jeffrey died. It’s been almost five years now.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Thompson.”
She nodded. “Thank you. And, please, none of this Mrs. Thompson nonsense. I’m Poppy to everyone.”
“Poppy.” Callie still felt like the young girl who used to live in Whittler’s Creek, not an adult on the same level as others in town.
Poppy put their cups in the dishwasher. “I think I told you the rent is one fifty a week and that includes breakfast and dinner. We do family style for whoever is here at six o’clock. If you miss it, there are always leftovers for you to heat up later.”
Callie nodded. The rent on her condo was four times that and no meals were included. She’d often thought about buying a condo or house instead of throwing away so much money on rent, but with the unstable real estate market, it was too big a risk. And she’d probably never buy a house. A bigger place to take care of wasn’t practical since she had little spare time as it was.
“I’ll show you around and you can decide if this is the right place for you,” Poppy said as she led the way through the dining room and into the living room. “Feel free to use any of the rooms down here. I like my guests to feel as if this is their home, too.”
Callie knew before going upstairs to see her bedroom that she would accept Poppy’s invitation to stay here. She’d never lived anywhere that was this welcoming. Her current home was just a place to return to when not working. She had no one to greet her or to miss her. No pleasant family dinners—not that she’d grown up with them.
“Here’s where you would be staying.” Poppy gestured to the doorway at the top of the open staircase.
Callie stepped into a large room that held a queen-size bed with brass headboard and footboard, a full-length mirror on a brass stand and a small love seat positioned in a bay window that let in lots of light.
Poppy opened a door to show her a small closet and then crossed the room to open another door. “This is the only room on this floor with a private bathroom.”
“This is a wonderful room,” she told Poppy. “I’d love to stay here.”
Poppy smiled. “I’m so glad to hear that. My daughter, Molly, really loved this room.”
Another question popped into Callie’s head. “So who else is living here right now?”
Poppy pointed to the next doorway down the hall. “This room is being rented by a young man going through a divorce, but he told me just last night that he’d be moving out at the end of the week. So I’ll need to put another ad on Craigslist.”
Callie was wondering if she’d like his room even better when Poppy said, “His is the smallest and has no private bathroom.”
“What about those two rooms?” Callie pointed down the hall. “Is one of them yours?”
“Oh, no. I’ve got my own suite in the attic. Those rooms are rented by my nephew and his two young daughters. I hope that doesn’t make you change your mind. I forgot to mention that there would be children in the house. Although they’re very well behaved.”
Callie smiled. “That’s not a problem at all.” She wasn’t used to being around kids, but how difficult could it be for what she hoped would be a short time before she went back to her old life? And then she remembered who Mrs. Thompson’s nephew was.
“Oh, you might even know my nephew. I think you’re about the same age and he grew up here, too. It’s Tyler Garrett. His sweet little girls are Alexis and Madison.”
LATER THAT MORNING Callie was finally settling into her room. Poppy was Tyler’s aunt. Amazing how much she’d blocked out when she’d moved away.
She’d been surprised to hear that he and his daughters lived with Poppy. She would have expected Tyler had a place of his own. Especially with two children.
Poppy hadn’t mentioned Tyler’s wife. Had Poppy not mentioned her because she wasn’t someone from town whom Callie would remember? Or was Tyler a single dad with custody of his children? He might even be a widower for all she knew.
She’d hung up what she could in the small closet and used the large oak dresser with a beveled mirror for the rest of her things. Then she checked her email on her laptop and didn’t want to think about what she was missing back at work.
Close to lunchtime she decided to take a walk to see how much things had changed in town. She’d really like to go for a run to rid herself of her pent-up energy and frustration, but it was too hot and humid for that. Early morning or dusk would be a better time.
She’d changed into shorts, a tank top and her running shoes earlier, so she closed the door to her bedroom as she left and exited the house through the front door. There were no outside locks on the bedrooms, only a lock when you were inside the room. Obviously the crime level was pretty low and locks weren’t a necessity. Just one more thing she’d have to get used to again while being back in a small town.
She headed the few blocks toward the downtown area, such as it was. Just as Tyler told her, Pratt’s Furniture Store had expanded into the space where Garrett’s Hardware used to be. Next to Pratt’s was a bakery that hadn’t been there before. A gift store was next to it, also new since she’d lived here.
On the other side of the street was the First National Bank, looking exactly as she remembered with its tan-brick façade. She crossed the street when she saw that the little drugstore next to the bank was still there.
This was where she’d hung out after school when she was able. She wondered if they still had the counter and a few booths where they served juicy burgers and shakes so thick you needed a spoon to eat them.
She opened the glass-and-metal door and stepped inside, feeling like a teenager again. Nothing had changed. The counter and booths were still there, the Formica chipping on the tabletops as was the wood laminate on the benches. The stools at the counter, circa 1950s, were metal circles with red-vinyl inserts that had seen better days.
“Callie?” The woman behind the counter was staring at her, eyes wide.
Callie smiled. “June!” She came up to the counter where the woman stood on the other side. “You’re still working here!” She sat on the empty stool in front of June. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” June told her. “And you look like life is treating you okay, too.”
“Thanks. I’m surviving down inside the beltway.” These days she could add “barely” to surviving and still not be accurate enough.
June
