Secondhand secrets, p.3
Secondhand Secrets, page 3
Ally flinched at Sarah’s name, seeming to confirm the rift.
“I, ah… well…” She halted her stride, and so he did too, her focus on him erratic. “I actually drove today.”
Despite the rebuff, she held a new stillness, and a moment passed where they seemed to ponder each other.
“That’ll teach me to make assumptions.” His focus snagged on her cupid’s bow, her upper lip sitting slight fuller than her lower, followed by the pronounced set of her pout. One he now suddenly recognized as part of her “confused” look.
That look harked back to their classroom days, forever his cue to step in and help her. So just like back then, he helped her now, allowing a tension-breaking smile to run full-reign over his face.
Her head tilting back, she let out a shaky laugh. “I mean, I guess I didn’t drive when you last knew me. Maybe your brain needs a minute to disconnect from the past.”
An inescapable lightness filled him and overrode his need to harness his enthusiasm. “No. No, you didn’t. In my mind, we’re still gangly pre-teens stomping in muddy ditches and trying to soak each other on the walk home from school.”
Her laugh cut through clearer now. “All while Sarah outpaced us by about a mile up ahead.”
“Ditch stomping does eat up a bunch of time.” He shrugged, recalling the sensation of cold, damp clothes against his skin, neither set of parents happy for the extra laundry. “And you’d always start it, remember?”
She laughed again, joy seeming to backlight the blue of her eyes. “Hell yes, and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Remember those summer afternoons when Sarah would be too busy with her tennis practice? We’d take a forbidden detour to the river instead?”
“Yet another thing you almost always started.” He laughed, forcing his attention on her face, because his heart’s increased beat pushed him to do more than stand here and talk.
“Got you away from your books, didn’t I? Without me, you wouldn’t have any fun childhood memories.” Her focus left him, and he followed her line of sight to a small, electric blue car, the eccentric hue a big hint the vehicle was hers.
“Yah know what?” Her gaze flicked back to him, and she tugged the strap of her huge, patchwork shoulder bag higher. “This is too much fun. Let’s walk, after all.”
His jaw wavered a beat while he scrambled to recalibrate in the wake of her surprise change in plans. “W… what about your car?”
Shut up, dude. You wanted this, remember?
“I’ll get my car in the morning.” She tilted her head sideways in a gesture for him to follow. Not wanting any regrets, he did so without any further protest. “I need to walk more, anyway.”
So they fell into step, arm in arm, like old times yet somehow, not at all like then.
But just like then, he reached out, took her bag off her shoulder, and slung it over his. “This thing’s heavy. What do you keep in here?”
“Never question a woman on the contents of her purse.” She turned to him, her brow raised. “Besides if I told you, I’d have to break your legs.”
He noted the spring in her step and the defiant lift of her chin, actions denoting lighthearted strength. “I’d like to see you try, but maybe you could first fill me in on what you’ve been doing for the last ten years?”
Her lips parted as if ready to speak, only for her to press them together and pause. Soon, she turned her attention to the road ahead. “Just a typical Harlow existence, I guess. I did a short general art course over in Marston after high school, then floundered with not much to do for a while before Blaine offered me work at Oak Tree.”
“You took an art course?” Of course, she’d be an artist. But then… “So, why are you working at Oak Tree?”
“Oak Tree pays my bills. Art… well, I guess it’s cheap therapy.” She gave a quick shrug and kicked at the rocky track below her bright red and purple flat shoes, the rocks making a light skittering sound. “Anyway, what about you? I hear you’re a hotshot software developer now?”
She lifted her gaze, her question, along with her new focus on him, indicated reluctance to talk about her stuff.
She’s not happy.
“People round here keep saying that.” He gave a tight chuckle and glanced to the open field to Ally’s right, black and white Holstein cows grazing farther away. A very Harlow scene. “But much to my dad’s disapproval, I’ve foregone a well-paying job to work on my own project.”
“Oh, he must be pissed.” Her eyes lit up again, like she remembered his dad—more precisely, his overbearing nature. “You said something at the game about being here for work.”
“Yep, but use that term loosely because I’m making literally no money right now.” Though he forced a light expression, he pushed his hands into his pockets and pulled his attention from her. Even being a “poor artist,” she had a job and, therefore, more than him. “Since Sarah moved in with Dean, I figured I’d make use of having a house all to myself. It’s free on space and rent.”
She gave a light chuckle. “Boston not quite enough for yah?”
Her Minnesotan accent prompted a new smile, his accent having mostly faded some time ago. “I still live with Dad. Let’s just say, things are never easy there.”
“Ahuh” She peered over at him, another hesitant pause before speaking again. “He still with that woman?”
“If by that woman, you mean, the woman he left my mom for, then yes. He’s still with Kelly.”
Focusing on the summer breeze whooshing in his ears, he hoped for an end to any more talk on Kelly. Though he’d never held much against her, her emergence had broken his already dysfunctional family and left his relationship with his dad splintered.
Now, all three merely tolerated each other and only because Chip needed his dad’s money to survive. Meanwhile, his dad had an unyielding drive to see Chip prove something to the world. Though never once had Chip gotten the impression anything he did, or might achieve, would be enough.
So of course, he wanted to end this shallow alliance as quickly as possible. Preferably in exchange for Stonewall’s success.
If that didn’t happen, then he’d have little choice but to yield to his dad’s vision. To sacrifice his aspirations in return for a secure job, wheeling and dealing to climb corporate ladders, making other people’s ideas and dreams come true.
“How long are you Harlow?” Though she stared at the ground, the previous silence hinted that she cared about his answer.
Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.
He squinted at the sun, soaking in the landscape once more and drawing out his reply, perhaps on the off chance his hunch about her affection might be right.
“It’s hard to say. I have no hurry to return to Boston, although I’ve applied for a few funding programs. So if something happens with those, I might need to go back.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, her expression dimmed at the hint he might not be in town for long, although that too could have been his wishful thinking. At least, the low churn in his stomach said as much.
Even if his future could never be so far from a major city, leaving Harlow again would undoubtedly hurt.
“Knowing you, Chip”—her smile returned, though a little twisted and forced—“you’ll get that funding, and there’s gonna come a day when a whole bunch of people will fall over themselves to throw money your way.”
He let out a laugh, and she joined him, hers milder with a slight bend.
“Ally, are you okay?” He stopped walking and waited for her to do the same.
Her attention lifted to him, one corner of her lip ticked upward while she swatted a hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Just that I seem to be a dying breed in these parts.”
Hoping to soften the mood, he gave a light chuckle. “You look far from dying.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Most people our age have moved away or gotten married. Sometimes I have visions of being the last person in Harlow altogether.”
Moved away or gotten married?
Did that explain Sarah’s comment last night about “Little Ally Egan’s wedding dreams”? As in, marriage was Ally’s ultimate goal? Even her means of escaping Harlow? Or at least, joining the status quo with the other younger people around here?
Either way, maybe the outcome of his mission to learn more about her was that he wasn’t on the same page as her. Though not totally opposed to settling down, he had no plans of doing so in Harlow. And then there was the matter of establishing his career ahead of any personal commitments. So maybe, when it came to Ally Egan, keeping a safe distance would be his only choice.
Five
Chip stared at Ally while trying hard not to narrow his eyes, as if that would aid his desire to read her thoughts and bargain against her hints at wanting different things than him. Instead, he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and set about breaking the standoff. “You know, you could always move away for yourself or even just travel?”
The earlier spark returned to her eyes, and she spun her focus back to the long country road, recommencing her springy steps. “Oh, that’s the dream. I’ve been saving for a while now. When I have enough, I’ll jump on the first plane to Paris or Italy… Ooo, I’ve always wanted to go to Prague! Prague sounds beautiful and fun, dontcha think?”
She shot him another wide beam, a clue for him to extend the topic of travel. “Prague?”
“Yep.” She swung her hands out in the breeze, her walk seeming to now involve an element of dance that made him almost want to join her. Almost. “I met this woman reading cards at a beachside festival over at Lake Superior once. I was a kid, and my sister was there too, and Momma had me sit with her while the lady read her fortune. The woman’s accent was so far from anything I’d ever heard, and she wore the most colorful and flowy clothes. When she mentioned she was from Prague, I made a mental note to find a way to get there one day.”
“That explains where you get your fashion sense from, as well as your theories on karma.” He made a point of eyeing her eccentric outfit, jangly bangles, floaty skirt, and all.
She let out an exuberant laugh, another eccentricity that proved his point. “I guess you scientific types don’t believe in karma?”
“Karma. Fate. Voodoo…” He shook his head. “Fun to read about in fantasy novels, but no, no, and no. I can’t believe in something so unproven.”
“Hmm…” She stopped and put her hands on her hips, the slight upward curve to her lips giving her stern stance a touch of cheer. “Life must be easy when you’re so sure of yourself.”
Though he spluttered a habitual laugh, a hard weight pressed on his chest and cut him off from any further reaction. Once more, he bought time by squinting at the road, the silhouette of a bus stop and an old bench his new distraction.
Remembering this view and the bus stop, his shoulders sagged. Her house was near and he could already envision her yard. The giant maple that turned gold in the late fall, them as children huddled in the dirt, building bug villages. Mrs. Egan’s sandwiches and cold lemonade, her lemonade recipe using lemons straight from the tree out the back. But first, she’d insist they run inside and wash their hands.
That memory brought a smile to his face. More so, the times he and Ally would then spend polishing off their meals on the front porch, wild and aimless, the Egan’s home a refuge.
A lump in his throat had him turning back to Ally. “Most times, I’m far from sure.”
His voice held an unintended soft rasp. One that said more about his insecurities than his words did, his heart now clenching that he’d diverted from what he’d hoped would be a lighthearted catchup.
“I only mean that you’ve always been clever.” She extended a hand and patted his arm, the slight pursing of her lips conveying sympathy. “You’re the one with all the answers, remember? Take it from someone who’s never had any of that, you’ve got more than most.”
The strain around his heart increased, suspending his next breath while he weighed her support against the corrosion of his father’s criticisms.
Always demanding. Never satisfied.
Maybe Chip did have more than most, yet it was never enough.
But rather than dwell on that, rather than bore her with any kind of denial, he asked another question. “So, if you did travel, would you return to Harlow afterward?”
“Of course, where else would I go?” She gave a carefree shrug. “Harlow’s home.”
His stomach inexplicably tensed and he stared at her a while, to some extent searching for any signs of doubt where there appeared to be none. Releasing his unwarranted disappointment, he nodded to the bus stop. “Seems we’re here. I should let you go.”
He slipped her bag from his shoulder and held it out to her, but she merely blinked at him, the bag left dangling in his hand.
“Chiiiiipppp!”
Her stare snapped to her right and in the direction of whoever called the elongated version of his name. Meanwhile, he wasn’t so quick to look away, his focus held to the touch of orange sunset on her skin, that same light setting her eyes to a sparkle.
Time wasn’t his friend here, and so he switched his attention to Mrs. Egan advancing his way on a wobbly sort of jog.
“Oh, boy. Look at you!” Velma Egan outstretched her arms, quick to wrap him in a tight embrace, her strength impressive given she wasn’t much taller than 5’1”.
Even when she did let go, she stayed close enough to extend a gentle pinch to his arm, her light-brown eyes glinting up at him to express her desire to check that he really did stand before her. “Why, when Ally told me you showed your face at the ballgame, I practically kicked myself for staying home that day, dontcha know. Just look at you. Such a strapping young man.”
Heat rose in his cheeks, although the earlier weight from his exchange with Ally slipped away. Seeing Mrs. Egan brought nothing but good memories. He turned to Ally, her palm pressed over her eyes as though too embarrassed to witness this scene.
Since Ally wasn’t an option, he focused on Velma again, a woman who’d spent about as much time with him as his own mother, the moment more poignant given his move to Boston meant his mom had all but disappeared from his life.
“Great to see you, Mrs. Egan.” He offered a genuine smile, hoping his appreciation showed.
“Now, none of that ‘Mrs. Egan’ stuff. Velma suits me just fine, boy.” She took his hand and tugged. “Maureen called and said she saw you on Main Street with my Ally, so I figured you might be headed this way and came out to invite you to dinner.”
“Mom, no”—Ally’s hand fell from her eyes, eyes that now pulled wide—“you’re embarrassing him.”
He flicked his attention to Velma, to the distinct drop of her grin and her shoulder-length bronze waves pushing in the light breeze, that small movement highlighting her stunned stillness. “I… I just thought, what with you living in Sarah’s house on your own… you might need a good feed.”
He might have laughed at her presumption that he’d never learned to cook well enough to survive, but the deepened lines between her brows spoke of genuine worry that she’d somehow caused him discomfort.
And sure enough, Ally only meant to let him off the hook, to allow him the exit he’d planned on. But in the wake of all his years away, and after her treating him as one of her own, Velma Egan really did deserve more than his hurried escape.
So, he conjured his old knowledge of basic Minnesotan values when it came to dinner invitations and reshuffled his plans.
“You know, Velma, I’ve always loved your cooking.” He held Ally’s bag out to her and waited for her to take it, his smile not moving from her mother because she’d also handed him the chance to relive yet another bright moment from his past. Dinner at the Egans. “Nothing could keep me away from joining you.”
Six
Ally hung back on the porch’s edge, her shoulders slumped, and her fingers chilled as her mother pushed the front door open and allowed Chip into the house.
“So sweet seeing you two back together again.” Her mom peered over her shoulder and beamed back at Ally, who did her best not to pitch forth an annoyed scowl. Her feet took her inside, although her mind longed to run in the opposite direction. Just so she wouldn’t have to witness whatever happened next.
Suddenly, she inspected her home with new eyes. As if she were Chip, viewing this place for the first time in a decade.
The homely beige walls and wood paneling. An average-sized dwelling with a large couch and T.V. The two oversized furnishings made the place seem even smaller than “average.”
Not much had changed in the decade since Chip’s last visit, while so much about him seemed so evolved. She still didn’t know how she felt about his “evolution,” either, though the high ache in her tummy spoke some indelible truth on this latest exchange.
Their twenty-minute stroll from Oak Tree to her house had been a quick joyride through the past. One she’d wanted to end maybe less than him. And that right there was her problem.
A far too large part of her rejoiced in his return.
She grumbled past her mother and uttered a deflective, “You make it sound like we’re married.”
The door clicked closed, and she went about kicking her shoes under the cushion-covered bench along the entry’s side wall.
“Well, you never know, dear.” Her mom patted Ally’s shoulder and strolled past.
Soon after, Ally spun around to mouth an apology to Chip. The outer corners of his lips pulled into a slow smile, even though his stare seemed less jovial, more analytical—like he sought to discover what she really felt about her mother’s innuendo.
Delightfully barefoot, she shook her head and went about dumping her bag onto the same bench her shoes now lived under, the bag’s heavy thud a satisfying statement on how much she wasn’t into this whole setup.
Setup. What a great description of how she felt, and she’d no doubt have to endure more as other family members discovered tonight’s visitor.
