The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend (31 page)

‘A fine woman,' said Sara, though she had, of course, never met her.

‘What? Yeah, I guess so.' Grace sounded hesitant. ‘Madeleine. Hmm, it didn't do any real harm.'

‘So what're you going to do about the market?'

‘Say no, of course.'

‘What on earth made her ask you in the first place?'

‘Claire squealed. I offered to make the cakes for her. Undercover, of course. What's wrong with the world these days?'

Sara's smile faltered. ‘So that means Claire has to make the cakes now? If you've decided not to, I mean.'

‘What? No, I don't know. I guess so.'

‘How will she have the time?' Sara wondered. ‘I thought she had two jobs or something?'

‘She can't bake. She can buy the cakes instead.' Grace looked troubled. ‘I've got no problem baking the cakes for her. I offered to do it. Yeah, it might've been a mistake getting involved in someone else's problems, but I stand by it. I just don't want anyone knowing about it.'

‘But what's Claire going to do now that Caroline knows …?'

Grace looked at her suspiciously. She was thinking. ‘I don't know,' she admitted. She put her head in her hands. ‘I guess I'll have to help out. It's the last time I offer to do anything for this town, if this is the thanks you get.'

‘Recognition? Yeah, that
does
sound ungrateful of Caroline.'

‘You're messing with me,' Grace said accusingly.

‘Very possibly.' She smiled at Grace. ‘You know that Idgie was saved by a minister? After she murdered a man and cut him up, grilled him and sold him in her diner?'

‘Makes you think, doesn't it?' Grace said, seeming impressed despite herself. She sighed. ‘That damn book.'

IT WOULD HAVE
amused Grace to know that at that very moment Caroline was wrestling with her conscience. She had barely had time to recover from her book-reading before something else was threatening her peace of mind.

As morning turned into afternoon, she hadn't been expecting any new assault on the peace. She had stopped by the church on one of her near-daily trips there, and made her way slowly through it. Picking up an abandoned Bible from the floor beneath a bench, removing a burnt-out candle, refreshing the flowers by the altar. She wondered whether the windows needed cleaning but was forced to admit to herself that it was probably just because she needed something to do.

It wasn't a particularly impressive church, but Caroline liked it. It looked more like a meeting room with its beige-white walls, ordinary windows and smooth wooden benches, a wide aisle running between the sections. There was room for a hundred or so people, but Caroline had never seen more than about twenty there, not on this side of the millennium at least.

So, what do You think about this Sara?

God didn't answer, and Caroline was secretly relieved. If she had heard a voice from above, she would have thought she was finally going crazy rather than it being any kind of divine revelation.

Besides, she was quite certain that if, against all odds, God did deign to talk to her, she wouldn't hear anything nice.

The God she had grown up with had never been out to win any popularity contests. If people thought that she, Caroline, was strict, they should have met her God.

She was also quite convinced that He didn't read her thoughts. After the gay erotica she hoped so, anyway. For some reason, she couldn't let go of the story of the lonely boy.

It had been almost platonic, she said in her defence, but the God she had grown up with wouldn't have been much more forgiving of that.

Just a lonely boy and a forbidden love in a small town. Barely a kiss before page 178 (Caroline would never admit, even to herself, that her instinctive impression had been: long-winded story).

God has more than enough to be getting on with without having to follow your every move, she said to herself, in something between an admonishment and a comfort. But still. She tried to keep her thoughts respectful, and definitely away from books. She tried to be careful to use capital letters, too. Just in case.

Though there was something about churches which made conversation with God so tempting. Regardless of whether He was listening or not. She shrugged. He wasn't answering now, at any rate.

Once she had done everything she could think of in the church and completed one extra, unnecessary loop around it just to fill in time, she went out through the back door and locked it behind her. She should go home and get something done – what, she didn't yet know, but there was always something. Instead, she walked around the church and paused at the park benches in the only little hint of park that Broken Wheel had.

The park consisted of young birch trees which kept watch over a small, uneven lawn. By the benches there were two tiny maple trees, their leaves glowing red. Those trees always reminded her of children, eager to throw themselves headlong into each of the seasons. The birches with their pale mustard colours seemed commonplace in comparison.

It was such a beautiful day that Caroline couldn't help but sit down on one of the benches. She was wrapped up warm against the chilly autumn air in a coat, scarf and gloves, and as she sat there she struggled to hide just how much she was enjoying the afternoon.

Shocking the town's inhabitants with uncharacteristic bouts of good humour was never a good idea, but it was difficult, it really was, to be serious on such a glorious autumn day.

It was the air that did it. There was something so purifying about autumn days, at least when you were sensible enough to be wearing plenty of clothes. Her breath formed small clouds in front of her whenever she exhaled, for the first time that year.

Maybe it was just because of the beautiful day, but her thoughts kept returning to the boy in the story, and she thought about his and the other man's romance with amused indulgence.

There was something about the story she couldn't let go of. Maybe it was the feeling of being constantly
observed
. As though everything they did – each glance, each slight, slight touch – was being analysed, categorised and judged. People were allowed to get drunk, do much worse things to one another, even give birth to child after child, without anyone really paying any attention. But for others … it seemed as though one single glance was enough for people to start talking.

After that summer when she was seventeen, there had actually been one man who had been interested in her. They hadn't seen one another often enough for her to fall in love, but he had followed her home a few times after church. Not like
that
. Walked her to her front door. Smiled at her, maybe, even though she hadn't smiled back. He hadn't even held her hand.

But it had been enough. People had talked and they had laughed, and she had put a stop to it all very quickly.

She wondered whether it was regret she felt now, or simply curiosity. A slight feeling of
imagine if
which had, somehow, crept into her along with the crisp autumn air.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed the man who had sat down next to her until he turned, smiled at her and said: ‘I hope you don't mind me keeping you company here.'

Maybe it was her good mood shining through, but the man didn't seem the slightest bit hesitant or apologetic. He smiled a smile which was just as radiant as the day around them. Her own mouth turned up slightly and he nodded in agreement, as though she might as well have just come straight out with a laugh.

‘I saw you from the road,' he said.

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

‘I saw you in the bookstore a few days ago, too.'

Initially, that made her freeze while her mind was wondering whether she should fight or take flight. But from the way he was looking at her, there didn't seem to be even the slightest hint of ambiguity in what he had said. It was as though he thought she had simply been buying books.

Which was what you were doing, Caroline
, she reminded herself.

Yeah, yeah,
another part of her added unhelpfully.

In retrospect, she wondered whether the sunglasses had been such a good idea. They might seem suspect at the end of September.

‘Nice day today,' she felt compelled to say, just to change the subject. To be on the safe side.

He nodded and continued calmly looking around. Every now and then, he clasped and unclasped his hands, slowly, probably without even being aware of it. He had nice hands. Long fingers. No gloves, but then he was young.

‘It's a nice town,' he suddenly said.

She looked at him in surprise. In front of them, they could see the little road which led to Main Street. On both sides of it were low, nondescript, tired-looking buildings, the former shops occupying their ground floors standing empty. Main Street wasn't much more impressive. You could see a small stretch of it from the bench, bathed in cold sunshine. Part of the bookstore and one small corner of the hardware store, a tree in between them, and that was all.

But he sounded serious and honest. She agreed with him, now that she thought about it. Strange that she hadn't thought it more often. ‘Yes,' she said after a moment. ‘You're not from around here?'

‘From Hope.'

‘Ah,' Caroline replied.

He flashed one of his quick, open smiles. ‘Exactly,' he said, turning to her and holding out his hand. His handshake was warm and firm through her gloves. ‘Josh,' he said.

‘Caroline.'

He was silent after that, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Very few people had sense enough to appreciate silence, she thought, even if her treacherous thoughts were using it at that moment to go from one personal failing to another.

And besides, it was the kind of day that invited quiet reflection, something which, in her, almost always meant quiet soul-searching. She thought about Sara and what on earth had made her go along with that ridiculous plan.

Truthfully, she knew perfectly well why she had done it. It had been the look in Sara's eyes when she had asked her whether she was going home. Not confusion, exactly, just a desperate kind of bravery, as though she was determined not to let anyone see how much she wanted to stay. Caroline could respect that kind of self-denial. She had felt it herself at times, even though she had been better at concealing it.

Was this one of those occasions when her mother and the women around her would have pulled together to help Sara? Or would they have slipped away to gossip about her?

It was hard to know. She suspected that they wouldn't always have known what to do either.

She surprised herself by saying: ‘You know, life would be so much simpler if it weren't for all the people.'

He laughed. ‘Some of them are nice, though.'

‘Maybe.' He must have heard the hesitation in her voice, because he laughed again.

‘People are overrated,' she said. ‘I'm sure I'd be able to deal with things much better if it weren't for them.'

‘You'd still need to cope with yourself,' he said.

But she wasn't the problem. She had been in complete control of herself for decades. ‘It's just a question of discipline,' she said dismissively.

Though the marriage proposal is your fault, Caroline, she reminded herself. You're the one set the whole thing in motion in the lawyer's office. She grimaced. As luck would have it, the man didn't notice. She had absolutely no intention of revealing her latest weakness to anyone, not even a stranger.

‘Do you never doubt yourself?' he asked. It sounded as though the question was meant honestly, as though for some reason he cared about her reply. This was a new experience.

‘Complete waste of time, doubting yourself. If you make the slightest mistake, someone else is sure to let you know about it.' She added, smiling: ‘Someone like me, probably.'

He laughed. ‘So until you tell me I've done something wrong, I shouldn't worry? Practical. My very own new moral compass. Does it just apply to the more ethical things or to other life choices as well?'

She glanced at him to check whether he was making fun of her, but he seemed relaxed, like he was just enjoying the day and the conversation. She laughed. A deep, genuine, completely unintentional laugh which slipped out before she had time to stop it.

‘If I were you,' she said, ‘I wouldn't put much faith in my opinion.'

He smiled again, more confident this time. ‘It's too late to back out now. I trust you completely. The question is just whether I have to come and ask before I do anything, or whether it's OK to come by afterward? For absolution.'

‘I wouldn't come to me for forgiveness either. I've never been much good at that.' People expected too much from forgiveness. Caroline believed in confession and regret, of course, and in being forgiven your sins perhaps, but people often seemed to simply hop straight over repentance and atonement and put all their hopes on the Church and on people turning the other cheek.

In her opinion, being mollycoddled by others did no one any favours.

He looked at her then, almost searchingly, as though he was weighing up what she had said. Then he shrugged. ‘No one's good at forgiveness. Not in practice.'

For once, she didn't know what to say. It felt as though it had been years since she had last had an honest conversation with anyone. His words sounded much older than he was.

She shook her head to herself, and said: ‘Who knows, maybe I'll make an exception for you. No deadly sins, though.'

‘I'm not sure I even remember which they are.'

She was about to list them off when she saw his smile. She laughed and shook her head again, this time at him.

‘Andy asked me to help out at the dance on Saturday,' he said.

She didn't reply, but it wasn't an awkward silence.