“It’s not that bad. Prom season is over, after all.” That had been an ordeal. From finding the right dress, to stressing about her plans, Caitlin had been prom obsessed for the better part of this year so far. Her friend group had decided not to couple up, and instead had chipped in to rent a limo, the six of them piling in together, and from all accounts it had been a success.
“Right.” Emily’s voice was dry. “So now all that’s left is finals and graduation. Oh, and Renaissance Faire tryouts in a couple weeks.”
I groaned. “Is it time for that already?”
Emily nodded with the look of a world-weary soldier. “Every year around this time. Caitlin will be there, right? I think Simon’s counting on her.”
“She wouldn’t miss it.” That was an understatement. The Renaissance Faire was the town’s big fundraiser for the local school system, and it had grown from something held on the high school football field to a multi-weekend event in the woods, including a real live joust with horses and everything. It wasn’t my thing, though I’d gone once or twice.
But it was very much my daughter’s thing; Caitlin had jumped in right after her freshman year of high school, and had roped in Emily too since she’d needed a chaperone. That was how Emily had met her husband, in fact, since Simon was the one who ran the whole thing. At the time, I’d actually been thankful for my car accident; if I hadn’t been laid up, I would have had to volunteer with Caitlin. Or I would have had to tell her she couldn’t do the Ren Faire. Both of which had been nightmare scenarios.
“I’m just saying.” Emily waved a hand vaguely. “Seems like there’s a lot going on at the Parker household. And that’s all Cait. We haven’t even gotten into your whole to-do list.”
I groaned again. “Don’t remind me.” I should have sounded more excited. After all, I was on the verge of achieving my longtime plan: selling my house and getting the hell out of town.
Cait had been six when I’d bought my three-bedroom house in Willow Creek. I’d told myself then that it was an investment in my future. That by the time she went off to college, I’d have enough equity in the place to sell it, and hopefully get myself moved into a little apartment in the city with the proceeds. It was a dream I’d checked in on with myself every couple of years, and every couple of years I’d told myself yes, that was what I wanted to do. Someday.
But now someday was almost here. With Caitlin starting college in the fall, I was about to be an empty nester. I’d met with a real estate agent not too long ago: the first step on a long road toward achieving that dream.
“Okay, you’re right,” I finally said to Emily. “There’s a lot. But this thing with Mitch is only one evening. How bad can it be?”
“I don’t know, but this is Mitch we’re talking about.” The bell over the door to the shop chimed, and Emily looked up with a sigh.
“Looks like we’re starting early,” she said, already out of her seat and halfway to the front of the store. “Can you hang out for a little bit? Because we are so not done here.”
“Sure.” I wrapped my hands around my mug and wandered the bookstore while Emily talked to the customer who had come in to pick up a book she’d ordered. After that a couple more people came in, followed by a family, and a half hour later I was back at our little table, a few pages into a cozy mystery, while the table next to me was occupied by writers with their laptops. Emily was bopping between the front counter, ringing up sales, and back here at the coffee bar serving as barista. This was a tiny indie bookstore that ran on a shoestring budget and a minimum of employees, but even I could see that Em was running ragged here. Her latte had long grown cold, and mine was empty. But I’d come by on enough Saturdays to know that this was a fluke, and I didn’t have any other plans so I didn’t mind waiting.
My phone dinged and I put the paperback aside to scroll through my notifications. A text from Caitlin, letting me know she was going to the mall with her friends—probably the same ones she’d been out with the night before. I texted back Sure, because what else was I going to do? I could count on one finger the number of times she’d missed curfew, and that was when her friend’s car had gotten a flat tire. Didn’t count.
I stuck my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and brought both my empty mug and Emily’s cold one up to the sink behind the coffee counter, right when she appeared again.
“Sorry!” She took them out of my hands quickly, like she was caught doing something wrong. “Don’t worry about those, I’ll take care of them.”
“I can wash a mug, you know.”
Her lips quirked up. “Sorry, yeah. Instinct. You know.”
I did know. Emily had come to town right after my accident, and she’d been my caretaker for a few weeks when I was basically immobile. She’d never complained, even when pain combined with narcotics had made me a contender for Snappiest Bitch of the Year. I was twelve years older than she was, but I had a feeling that she still had the need to take care of me. But that was Em. She took care of everyone.
Out loud I said, “No problem. You doing okay here?”
“Oh.” She waved a casual hand, but her expression was frazzled. “Yeah. A little Saturday rush, that’s all. Did you want to take off? Because I still want to hear about this Mitch thing.”
That made me laugh. “There is no Mitch thing. But I can wait. Cait’s out with her friends, so nothing going on at home today.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few. With new coffees, because I need caffeine.”
As Emily darted up front again to greet new customers and make small talk with everyone who came in the door, I shelved the paperback I’d been reading. It was too obvious that the sweet-faced old grandma was the murderer. Maybe I should read a romance novel instead. I liked happy endings. I moved down the aisles to look through the used books, and I heard the espresso machine start up again. Oooh, was she done already? Because I could use another latte.
I moved back toward our table, paperbacks cradled in one arm, when I spied Emily handing a mug across the counter to one of the writers from earlier, along with a plastic-wrapped lemon square. The store’s owner, Chris, had a killer recipe that she’d finally shared with Emily over the winter. Thank God—Chris spent her winters in Florida, and therefore wasn’t around to bake for us. Now that Em had the recipe, she’d taken over the baking as well as the bookstore. Hers were almost as good, but not quite. I didn’t tell Em that.
I leaned an elbow on the shelf and watched her turn to the other customer waiting for a coffee. My little sister was so in her element, surrounded by books and fresh-ground coffee beans. It was hard to think of my car accident as a good thing, but it had brought her here. Away from a bad situation and into a brand-new life. Now she managed a bookstore, volunteered with the Renaissance Faire, and last summer she’d married the love of her life. Willow Creek had been good to Emily.