Out of Eden (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

L
IVING IN THE FRICKING
middle of nowhere had its advantages.

For instance, no one saw Kylie wipe out on her bike when she cut too sharply and peeled into her gravel driveway. She’d been going too fast, obsessing on her crappy day. The bike was okay, which was more than she could say for her pride and bruised thigh. But at least no one, especially Jack, had witnessed the embarrassing display.

Mad at herself, she’d parked the Kawasaki in the shed, then hobbled toward her humble abode. She’d invested in the 1989 single-wide mobile home for three reasons.

1. It was a goodly distance from the home she’d grown up in. The home still occupied by her mom and grandma. Two women who bickered even when they agreed. (How was
that
possible?)

2. It was cheap. Her dream trip wasn’t. And so far she’d saved for it twice.

3. Privacy.

No one was in her business thanks to the seclusion of Hawkins Woods. So when she’d paused two feet from her doorstep and screamed her frustration to the darkening sky—no one heard. When she kicked the bird feeder in her Zen garden—no one saw. Unfortunately, the outburst hadn’t quieted her chaotic emotions.

Once inside, she’d changed out of her ripped jeans into comfy black yoga pants and an oversize Godzilla T-shirt. She’d checked her answering machine—no messages, flipped though her mail—all junk, then schlepped into the kitchen, realizing, on top of everything else, she was lonely.

Distracted, she’d burned her dinner, so she’d settled on a bowl of frozen raspberry yogurt and a cup of mint green tea.

She was heartsick about her hair, frustrated with Jack, confused by her feelings for Jack, lonesome for Spenser, concerned about Travis and anxious about Faye—who’d yet to return two of her calls. Yes, she’d broken down and reached out first. She was mad about that, too.

Kylie was sitting on a cushioned mat in her living room, in the lotus position, seeking inner calm, when her friend blew into the trailer, her big purse in one hand, a tie-dyed tote in the other. “Got here as quick as I could.” She dropped on her knees in front of Kylie. “I’m so sorry.”

They’d parted on heated terms yesterday—at least, Faye had. They hadn’t talked all day, a first. Yet suddenly here Faye was, in person and apologizing. For what? Kylie decided to skip over yesterday’s mystery tiff, for now, and focused on today’s trials. “Sorry about my hair? Or about the historical society’s ruling?”

“Both. I got your messages. I meant to call back. It was one thing after another today.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I stopped by the store, but you’d already left. Travis told me you were pretty upset.”

“Yeah, well—”

“He wouldn’t let me inside.”

Kylie flinched at her friend’s wounded tone. “I told him I didn’t want anyone to see the interior until we were through.”

“Since when am I just anyone?”

“You’re not. You’re you. You’re…special.” Kylie’s cheeks burned. “I should have specified—”

“Never mind.” Faye waved off the apology and squinted at Kylie. “Let’s shed some light on the supposed catastrophe.” She reached over and flicked on the dragon table lamp Kylie had purchased on eBay.

Maintaining her cross-legged position, Kylie loosened her tightly wound bun and shook her head.

“Yikes.”

“Told you I look like a character out of a Manga graphic novel.”

“I thought you were exaggerating.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I can see that.”

How could Faye be so calm? Oh, right. She’d had purple hair once. By choice. Kylie wasn’t Faye. Yes, she’d wanted a change. But this… “My hair is striped.
Striped.
”

“I can see that.”

“The highlights are orange. Not auburn. Not blond.
Orange.
Like the fruit. Like a carrot. Like a flipping pumpkin!”

Faye hugged her tote. “I can fix that.”

Kylie teared up. Partly because it seemed as if she and Faye were back to normal. Partly because she’d offered to do what Petunia had declared impossible. “Petunia tried some sort of toner, but it didn’t help. She said I need to wait a couple of days before she tries something else. Her schedule’s packed and my hair’s too fragile.”

“Petunia can kiss my patootie.”

Kylie laughed and sniffed back tears.

“You know me. I know hair. Mostly I’ve always colored my own and mostly it comes out okay.”

“Mostly.” Kylie opted not to dwell on the time chunks had broken off of her friend’s hair due to overbleaching. That bungle had resulted in Faye chopping her long hair into a funky boyish cut.

“If you’d rather wait—”

Kylie grabbed her friend’s hand and tugged her toward the bathroom. “In spite of everything I said on my birthday—strike that—mostly everything I said, in this instance I’d give anything for ordinary.” Kylie quirked a hopeful smile. “Please tell me you have a box of blah-boring brown dye in that tote.”

“I’ve got espresso. A shade darker than your mocha-brown, but it’s the closest match I could find. Be warned, the color won’t grab the same to your orange streaks as it will to your natural chunks.”

“So I’ll still be two-toned?”

“Yes, but two-toned brown. Hopefully.”

Kylie groaned.

Faye shrugged. “It’s an art, not a science.”

“Have at it, maestro.” Kylie removed her glasses and set them on the vanity. She sank onto the toilet seat of her cramped bathroom while Faye snapped on latex gloves. She wondered about yesterday’s mystery tiff. Wondered if things were okay between Faye and Stan. She chided herself for being self-absorbed and sought to reconnect with her friend. “So, how was your day?”

“Busy. Stressful.” Faye draped a towel over Kylie’s shoulders. “Got another call from the school. Spent an hour in Principal Peterson’s office. Sting punched a kid.”

“What? Why?” Sting was mischievous, like most five-year-old boys, but he wasn’t mean.

“Apparently some kids have been picking on Madeline Cortez, calling her names, making her cry. You’ve met Madeline. Unlike her mom, she’s shy and sweet. Sting attacked the meanest of the bullies in her defense.”

Kylie smiled.

“I know. I’m proud and worried at the same time. I don’t want him to think violence is the solution to all problems. I told Stan we need to be more strict about what he can and can’t watch on TV. Even cartoons glamorize violence.”

“Everyone’s desensitized these days,” Kylie said as Faye squeezed dark goo on her neon hair. “Fifteen years ago folks would have been shocked and disgusted by the graphic killings on
Omertà
. Now they seem to revel in it. The bloodier the better.”

“If even one-quarter of what’s depicted on that show is true to life, can you imagine some of the horrors Jack has seen? I mean, the mob is rampant in New York, right? No wonder he burned out.”

“Who said he burned out?”

“I heard it from Kerri who got it from Deputy Ziffel who got it straight from Jack. Said he burned out on big crime.”

Kylie stiffened. She couldn’t help feeling jealous of the pretty, successful and normal-colored-haired Kerri Waldo. “Why is Kerri prying into Jack’s personal business? For that matter, why is Ed Ziffel running off at the mouth about his boss?”

“You’re kidding, right? Jack’s a homegrown hero returned home. The only thing that would instigate more gossip is if your brother moved back.”

“Ha! Like that’ll happen.”

“Like you want it to.”

Kylie’s stomach knotted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind.” Faye stripped off the gloves then glanced at her watch. “Tell me about the meeting with the board.”

The knot tugged tighter. “Not much to tell. They shot me down before I even stated my case. It burns my buns that I can’t alter the storefront and all because McGraw’s is part of a historical block.”

“Hey, at least they didn’t stop you from renovating the inside.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were siding with the HPS.”

Faye didn’t respond.

Kylie frowned. “You are taking their side.”

“I’m being realistic,” she said, digging through her big purse. “Eden benefits financially from the tourists who frequent the Apple Festival. Those folks enjoy the town’s old-fashioned ambience as do most of the people who live here.” Faye leaned into the vanity and swiped red lipstick over her puckered mouth. “Why do you think Stan and I retained the Americana look of the Orchard House? It’s good business.”

Kylie crossed her arms over her chest. “Being unique is good business, too.”

“The historical block
is
unique, Kylie. It’s provincial. It’s nostalgic. Locals and tourists appreciate the 1950s facades, a reminder of simpler, better times. If you modernize McGraw’s exterior by painting it funky colors and swapping the green awning for leopard print or pink-and-yellow stripes, you’ll ruin the unified quaintness of the historical block. What if it has a negative impact on business? I’m not just talking about McGraw’s. I’m thinking about the other store proprietors. Jay Jarvis and Ray Keystone, for example. Normally you’d consider them, too.”

Kylie blanched. No one had ever accused her of being selfish.

Faye sighed. “I miss you, Kylie.”

“What do you mean? I’m right here.”

“Not the Kylie McGraw I know and love.” Her friend spun away. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I’m going to make hot tea. Want some?”

Kylie stared after her. “No, I don’t want
tea
.” Perplexed, she held tight to the towel around her shoulders and followed Faye into the kitchen. “I want an explanation. You were snippy with me all day yesterday and now… What’s going on with you?”

Faye filled the brass kettle with water and clanged it to the gas stove.

Kylie’s stomach turned. “If you’re mad at me, just say so.”

“I’m mad at you. I thought I was over it, but I’m not.”

“What did I do?”

“For starters, you betrayed my confidence.”

Kylie flinched. “When?”

“During your drunken tirade at Boone’s. You told the whole bar that I whine about our summer guests at the Orchard House. First, I didn’t realize you considered my venting, whining. Second, it got back to Stan, who took my
whining
personally.”

So
that’s
why they’d been fighting. “Oh, Faye. I…I…” Kylie stumbled for an excuse, only there wasn’t one. Worse, she didn’t even remember her slip. “I was tipsy, and stoked, and rambling—”

“I know. I was there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“But you’re still mad at me.”

“Yes.”

“For?”

“For flipping out. For acting recklessly. For blowing your dream-trip fund on a whim!”

Rattled by Faye’s vehemence, Kylie plopped onto a kitchen chair. “It wasn’t a whim, exactly. I’ve been itching to reinvent McGraw’s for a while now, but I felt bound by…”

“Tradition?”

“Exactly. I imagined the smallest changes causing Dad and Grandpa to roll over in their graves. I spent a lifetime trying to win their approval. It’s a hard habit to break. But then I snapped and suddenly there was no turning back. I
had
to renovate McGraw’s. I confess I had second thoughts this afternoon, but Travis told me to trust my instincts. He said there comes a point when a person has to stop living for others and start living for themselves.”

Faye folded her arms, cocked one brow. “Sounds like you and Travis had a real heart-to-heart.”

“Weird. I know. I mean, he’s always been so private.”

“You mean aloof.”

“I feel sorry for him. I think he’s stuck with a life he doesn’t want. Kind of like you and me.”

Faye’s face burned red. “I’m not
stuck
with anything. I love my life. I love Stan. I love my kids!”

“I know you do!” Mortified, Kylie shot to her feet. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…you wanted to be a rock star.”

“
You
wanted to backpack across Asia!”

“Why do you keep harping on that? I’ve saved before, I’ll save again. When the time is right, I’ll go.”

“No, you won’t. If you really wanted to go, you wouldn’t have blown your savings on this spontaneous renovation.”

“I just explained—”

“You would have told Spenser about your dream trip when he called you on your birthday,” Faye plowed on. “You didn’t tell him because you knew he’d come home. He wouldn’t deny you your adventure. Only, you don’t want him running McGraw’s, even temporarily. What if he liked it? What if he took over permanently? It would kill you because—brace yourself—you love being in charge. You love that shoe store and you love watching over your mom and grandma even though they drive you nuts. You’re a caretaker, not a risk-taker. I don’t think you had that birthday meltdown because you’re bored. I think you’re unhappy. Not with Eden, but with your…circumstances.”

“Thank you, Dr. Freud.” Kylie was so dang stunned, so furious, her brains were leaking out her ears. She swiped at the goo with the corner of her towel. Not brains. Dye. “Is it time to wash this stuff off yet?”

Faye glanced at her watch. “No. And you don’t have to be sarcastic, by the way.”

“You just psychoanalyzed me and it wasn’t pretty!”

“I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but I’ve given this a lot of thought. Childhood dreams and adult needs are two different things, Kylie. Maybe you should give up Zen, because it sure as hell hasn’t gotten you in touch with your feelings. You’re clinging to the past and afraid of the future. Stop chanting other people’s epiphanies and listen to your heart. Figure out what you really want and go for it. Take Jack, for instance. I know you’re still crushing on him. Travis mentioned he’s the reason you wanted a makeover.”

“I can’t believe you two dished about me.”

“I can’t believe you confided in Travis!”

Kylie blinked. “Is that what this is about? Because I bonded with someone other than you?”

“You
bonded
with hardware guy? You don’t even know him! Oh, wait. Oh, no.” She smacked her hand to her forehead. “So
that’s
why he jumped at the chance to work for you. Long hours, little pay.”