Everybody Knows (Sunnyside #1)
Read Everybody Knows (Sunnyside #1) Online
Authors: Jacie Floyd
Table of Contents
Anthology:
CHRISTMAS
WITH YOU
Six Heartwarming Novellas by Best-Selling Authors, including HAPPY THIS
YEAR
The Sunnyside Series
To the
McNattons
and Floyds
Through good times and bad--
You’ve made me the person I am.
“Did you get the picture I
sent, India? Doesn’t Sunnyside look like a Norman Rockwell painting? With newer
cars, of course.” Harper Simmons had fallen in love with her new hometown the
second she’d rolled into it. After pulling into a quaint corner gas station,
she’d snapped a shot of the picturesque town square and called her mother to
gush.
“Yes, very charming.” India Lawrence’s dry tone
expressed more than her words.
Harper’s
uber
-sophisticated,
stylish mother might use the word “charming” as a compliment when referring to
vintage clothing or antique furniture. Having her refer to any Mid-western
location as “charming” was the verbal equivalent of boring, outdated, and
provincial. Sort of like the black-and-white saddle shoes of real estate.
“From the gazebo to the barber’s pole, darling, it
looks like everything you ever wanted.”
“And you disapprove.” Harper braced herself
against letting her footloose mother’s opinion dampen her own. India might
never understand Harper’s desire to put down roots.
“Where’s the Nordstrom? The Sephora? The
Starbucks
?”
“That’s the whole point.” Fanning herself with her
hand, Harper ignored the almost audible frizzing of her hair in the ungodly
heat. “Nothing here is like Chicago, New York, LA, or any other place we’ve
lived. It’s unique and original with its own personality.”
After confirming that gas was chugging into the
tank of the Infiniti hybrid her biological father had gifted her with, she
crossed over to an old-fashioned red refrigerator box attached to the side of
the building. Lifting the hinged lid, she smiled down at the neat rows of Coca
Cola bottles and inhaled the blast of cold air that gushed out. Two grubby boys
rode up on bicycles to make a purchase. She gave them a little wave and stepped
aside.
Redirecting her focus to the movie-set perfection
of her newly-adopted hometown, she itched to get settled in Sunnyside and be on
a first name basis with the locals. Although her library contract with the town
only obligated her for two years, she’d soak up the ambience for as long as she
could.
“It’s not my style, but I see the appeal,” India
admitted. “For you. Just remember... It might turn out to be more Amityville
than Star’s Hollow.”
“Right.” Harper dropped onto a wooden bench outside
an open garage bay. Inside, a pair of denim-covered legs and booted feet stuck
out from under the front of a car. Pink impatiens gasped for water in a large
planter beside her. “I’m well aware that Sunnyside isn’t the set for a
feel-good fictional television series.”
“If you prefer a page from reality, it won’t be
like Nana’s hometown of Elbow Creek, Pennsylvania either.”
Ah, now that was a low blow. Harper rubbed her
forehead, fighting off the onslaught of memories and emotions that India’s
words conjured. She had adored her grandmother, but spending childhood summers
in her care had been a bag of mixed blessings. “I had some good times there.”
India sighed. “Just remember how deceptive pretty
exteriors can be.”
“Yeah, that lesson has been permanently seared
into my brain.” Sometimes even the most beautiful facade had a dark and
sinister underbelly.
“Don’t repeat my mistakes.”
Or the ones Harper herself had made. But this was
her new beginning. Her fresh start. “I won’t.”
Having hammered home what passed as her motherly
advice, India acquiesced. “As long as you’re happy, dear, I’m happy for you.”
“I’m optimistic. And I’ll visit you and Fiona as
often as I can, wherever you’re headed to next. As long as it’s reasonably
close to a modern airport. I’m not putting down at another dusty airstrip in
the middle of Pango-Pango to bring you a pair of
must-have
earrings for the latest cover-girl-on-a-beach photo.” She
hoped the chuckle turned her words into a tease instead of a warning.
“Your years of running errands for me are over,”
India agreed. “But I’ll miss having you pop in and out.”
Harper’s heart spasmed with a pang of melancholy.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother and sister and some of the things
they loved—like great clothes and fabulous footwear—but she wanted something
more. Something of her own. A sense of belonging, which she intended to pursue
here in Sunnyside.
“I’ll be the one with the permanent address. You
and Fiona should come visit me.” She imagined her stylish mother and
head-turning sister feeding the pigeons on a park bench. That would probably
result in a full-blown traffic pileup—if such a thing was possible on these
quiet streets.
On second thought, maybe a visit by the très chic
duo wouldn’t be a good idea. At least, not until she secured her own position
in town. No point in inviting negative comparisons.
“We’ll see.” India was frequently hard to pin
down. “I’ll be in Milan in August, then Fiona will join me in Paris for
September. If you could come for a few days, it’ll be just like old times.”
“Maybe.” Harper could be vague, too, when it
suited her. “I imagine I’ll be busy trying to get the library open before the
deadline.”
“Have you seen it yet? Or your new place?”
“Not yet, but a member of the town council is
meeting me at the house at six to show me around.” As her stomach rumbled, she
hoped the meet-and-greet with Malcolm Newcomb included a meal. Now she
regretted skipping lunch, but on the drive down, she’d been too excited to
stop.
The gas nozzle glugged to a halt, and Harper
glanced around. No credit card slot, and no one to take her payment. Maybe in
this part of the world the customer was expected to make the trip inside. Boy,
she never saw that kind of trust around Chicago. Gazing about, she couldn’t
even spot a security camera to record drive-offs. She returned to her car to
retrieve her wallet. “I’d better go.”
“Wait, sweetie!” India ordered. “What are you
wearing?”
The question generated a reluctant smile. In her
mother’s opinion, all would be right with the world if only everyone was always
fashionably attired. But even the famous stylist would approve of her
daughter’s fashion-forward choice for today. “That Belinda Diego dress you sent
last week with the Pedro Garcia sandals.”
“Excellent. Colorful. You’ll be the envy of every
woman in that backwater town.”
“Not really my goal.” But the kick-ass outfit went
miles toward boosting her confidence.
“Hair up or down?”
“Down.”
India tsk-tsked her disappointment. “You’re in the
Midwest. It’s July. It’s a sauna there. Did you use anti-frizz cream?”
“My hair looks fine.” Bending over, she checked in
the side-view mirror to see how much damage the oppressive heat and humidity
had caused. She smoothed the unruly strands with her palm. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay. Love you.” They exchanged their traditional
air kisses along with promises to talk again soon.
A grizzled guy with sprinkles of gray in his flat
top stood in the door of the station office glaring at her while he wiped his
hands on a rag. A blue work shirt displayed a gas company logo on the sleeve
and the name “Al” was stitched over the chest pocket.
“Hey, you,” he barked as Harper tossed her iPhone
into the car. “Gonna pay for that gas or gab on your cellular phone all night?
It’s closing time.”
As if on cue from some invisible
Our Town
stage manager, joyful church
bells chimed the hour.
“I’ll pay now.” Hoping to put her best Pedro
Garcia-shod foot forward in this first encounter with a Sunnyside resident, she
beamed a smile his way and reached into the Infiniti to grab her purse. “I
didn’t realize you closed this early. There’s no sign posted with the hours.”
“Everybody knows what time we close.” He moved
into the building and stood behind a well-worn counter with a punch-key cash
register. Circa 1950, like almost everything else in the room. He accepted her
credit card and ran it through a manual imprinter.
“Fair enough,” Harper said with a little laugh.
“But I’m new here and not up to speed on the insider info yet.”
The small space reeked of dust and oil. Harper
half-expected to spot a tattered Marilyn Monroe poster prominently tacked on
the wall behind him. Instead, a framed family photo held the place of honor. A
younger, sunburned Al, a sturdy woman with a wide smile, a freckle-faced boy
and a pre-teen girl with braces posed in front of a lake.
That kind of heartwarming family group was so
outside Harper’s experience, it momentarily stabbed her with a twinge of
longing.
The picture India displayed of her two daughters
showed a gap-toothed and smiling Harper holding the angelic-looking Fiona’s
hand on a runway in Milan. Gianni Versace stood behind them with his hands on
their shoulders. Harper assumed India was more sentimental about her late
mentor than she was about her daughters.
And as for Harper’s father—well, she couldn’t
imagine he had any pictures of her tucked among the photos of his “real” family
in his stuffy Baltimore office.
“You the owner here, Al?” She shoved aside her
emotional baggage in favor of embracing her future.
“Yeah.” He squinted. “Why?”
“I’m Harper Simmons.” She extended her hand for
him to shake. He looked at his own hands, grimy with the day’s work, and shook
his head. Realizing her faux pas, she tapped the top of a Chicago Cubs
bobble-head doll as if that had been her intention all along. “As the new
library director, I hope to get to know everyone sooner or later.”
He shoved the credit card receipt toward her and
shifted the bobble-head out of her reach. “Well, Harpo, make it later for me. I
gotta get home to dinner.”
“It’s Harp
er
.”
She cheerfully emphasized the second syllable and ended on an encouraging
smile, more than a little used to people getting her name wrong on the first
try.
When he just gazed at her blankly, she
acknowledged the fact that she wasn’t receiving the warm welcome she’d
anticipated.
It stood to reason that some people would take
longer to warm up to her than others. Clearly, Al would take longer. Every
community probably had a town crank. Just unlucky that Sunnyside’s official
grump owned a gas station on the main street through town, and she happened to
run into him before she met anyone else. He was probably a sweetheart under
that Oscar-the-Grouch exterior.
“I’m from Chicago and I’m a Cubs’ fan, too.”
Giving it one more try, she nodded toward the bobble-head.
“Good for you.” He inched the figure even closer
to his side of the counter.
“You and your family should stop by the library
when it reopens,” she suggested.
“We ain’t much for reading.”
“We’ll have all kinds of new programs. For all
ages. Maybe your kids—”
“They don’t have much spare time.” Standing by the
door, he checked his watch again.
As a dismissal, the stance was pretty effective.
Sensing any delay on her part would alienate him further, she shelved her
campaign to be voted Friendliest Newcomer and headed back to her car.
Time to see her new house!
Following the GPS commands to turn here, here, and
there, she arrived at Oakley.
At the first sight of her new street, she
abandoned any pretense of worldly sophistication and giggled. Out loud.
Space. So much space. Especially after the
skyscrapers of Chicago that blocked the sun and the sky and made her feel
smothered and boxed in. Here on this street, in this town, she’d have plenty of
breathing room.
Tall trees shaded wide sidewalks. Big yards swept
in front of an eclectic mix of houses. As she crept along the street watching
for her house number, she noticed a few lawns with “For Sale” signs. A bicycle
rested on its side in a driveway. A child’s lemonade stand had closed up shop
for the night. Oscillating sprinklers tic-ticked across dry lawns. Overflowing
flower pots squatted on porches. A lawn mower roared to life nearby, although
just thinking of mowing in this heat had Harper breaking out in a sweat.
She wanted to stop and snap pictures, but there’d
be plenty of time for that later. Right now, she was on a mission to find the
house she could turn into a home.
Searching for the house number on the right, she
zeroed in on a sturdy Craftsman up ahead. The wide front porch, leaded glass transom
window above the door, and dormer windows on the second level welcomed her to
her new world, erasing and replacing her less than satisfactory encounter with
Grumpy Al.
She rolled closer to a monster-sized red truck
parked in at the curb. A broad-shouldered male in a red baseball cap, blue
T-shirt, and jeans rested on her front steps. Leaning back on his elbow, he
took a bite out of a big red apple. Long legs stretched down three steps to the
sidewalk, where they crossed at the ankles. All-in-all, he made a stunning
porch ornament. But if she remembered correctly from her Skype interview with
the town council, he wasn’t Malcolm Newcomb. In the history of the world, no
one named Malcolm had ever looked like that.
Suddenly, as if a starting pistol only he could
hear had been fired, he launched himself off the porch, tossing the apple
aside. Crossing the yard in a few long strides, he propelled himself into the
street—right in front of her car. With his hands outstretched, he motioned for
her to stop.
She stomped on her brakes.
The car jerked to a halt, sparing that outstanding
body.
Thank heavens
. She’d been going
so slowly that the tires didn’t squeal, skid, or swerve,
but still
… Shaken and stirred, she took a deep breath, pushed the
door open and leaped from the vehicle.
“What in the hell was that?” Shoving her
sunglasses to the top of her head, anxiety burst from her mouth. “You ran right
in front of me. You could’ve been killed!”
