Just A Small Town Girl
Read Just A Small Town Girl Online
Authors: J.E. Hunter
For my Mother, you are an inspiratiration for every woman needing to believe in a second shot at love.
Just A Small Town Girl
The dress wasn’t anything special, but the sweetheart neckline accentuated my normally average sized breasts, making them look fuller than usual, and the waist I’d had altered a week before the wedding hugged my body so perfectly it was hard to believe the dress was made to fit anyone other than me, especially my mother. I shoved the dark blonde strands from my face; they’d been pinned back perfectly that morning, but refused to remain patiently tucked into a bun like the rest of my hair. My nails were tipped in light pink as I squeezed the bouquet of multicolored carnations in my hands, struggling to breathe. I was vaguely aware of my father walking me down the aisle in carefully measured steps we’d practiced the night before, but I couldn’t help feeling like he was escorting me to the gas chamber instead of the altar. I smiled at Sam, he was a good friend and I was sure he could be a good husband, but probably not at eighteen. He looked nervous, his usually tanned face was pale, almost the same color as his sun streaked blond hair, and strained as he tried to return my smile.
My mind drifted to the night he asked me to marry him. We were sitting in the bed of his truck parked near a bonfire out in one of the fields everyone at my high school frequented on Saturday nights. It was the first big party after school started again and everyone was dancing between the bonfire and the row of parked trucks, but we sat silent, watching the craziness and writhing bodies around us.
“What do you think our lives are going to be like?” I’d asked, watching a girl from my English class dance closely with a boy I’d lived next door to my entire life.
“I don’t know,” he picked at the toe of his boots, rubbing his finger along the leather where he’d scratched it slightly with his nail, “I guess we’ll end up married and have a few kids,” he leaned back on his hands and stared at me until my eyes met his before whispering, “Do you want that Piper? Should we get married?”
I smiled, because that’s what you do when your high school sweetheart mentions marriage, and nodded slightly. When I looked back at that moment it was hard to regret it. Sam was just putting our entire town’s expectations for us into words. We were supposed to get married, we were supposed to have babies, and I was supposed to stay home with those babies while he worked to provide for the babies and me. We’d already watched some of our friends go through those stages and I knew we wouldn’t be the last to get married right after high school.
“Good girl,” he nudged my knee with his own, “So we’ll get married after graduation then. Better tell your parents so you and your mom can get started planning.”
The next day he gave me his grandmother’s ring and I wore it to school the following Monday, telling everyone we were going to live in Meadow Views for the rest of our lives. Proclaiming our desire to marry and have babies for everyone to see. The ring was a symbol of my promise, my future, and my poor decision making. My friends ooed and ahhed enviously, but by Christmas all except one of them were also engaged and a few were already pregnant, getting a head start on the babies.
Sam took my hand in his, bringing me back to the church, back to the present, back to our wedding. As we repeated our vows I envisioned myself screaming to stop the wedding and running down the aisle. That’s what happens in movies when a person is making the greatest mistake of their life and they realize it, but I knew I wouldn’t actually go through with calling the wedding off. I was expected to marry Sam, so I would. We might not be in total and complete all-consuming love, but I did care about him and we could build a life based on that. At some point we’d silently agreed that was a better option than disappointing our parents and being the subjects of constant gossip.
We did it because the women who didn’t get married were labeled wild, and the men who didn’t get married were labeled untrustworthy. The wild girls spent their free time at bars drinking, dancing, and entertaining other women’s’ husbands while the untrustworthy men watched the wild girls dance around the bars, occasionally taking one home for a night or two, and received dirty looks from their married friends’ wives. Secretly, I envied those wild girls. They had freedom I craved, but it came at the cost of relentless gossip. Gossip my mother specifically instructed me not to draw toward her. Gossip that found me anyway.
Sam’s infidelity was what chased me from our marriage before our second anniversary, but the gossip was what chased me from Meadow Views. I was expected to silently ignore his overactive libido and philandering affections and when I didn’t I became the subject of
1,800 people’s stares and whispered judgments. When I decided I couldn’t take it anymore I sold my ring and moved to Dunesville, a beach town 2,000 miles away from Meadow Views with a very small tourist population and around 5,000 full-time residents.
I used what savings I had to stay at a little motel just off Main Street. I was one of three guests staying in the twenty rooms offered. The reception desk was only open for three hours a day in the summer, but I was told to direct any questions or needs I may have to room 1 on the lower level, where the owner lived.
I spent my days looking for work and exploring the town. It was an odd mix of new development and Victorian era construction that confused and pleased me. I’d visited the beach, where the dunes were so tall and slightly rocky I could understand a tourist’s desire to visit somewhere a little more tourist driven, but I didn’t mind reading the jobs section of the newspaper in the morning sunlight while sitting cross-legged in the rocky sand. It was nice to watch fisherman take out their boats and paddle boarders push their way across the water.
It was soothing to be on my own in a new place. It was also terrifying. I loved the lack of memories and attachments when I wandered down the streets of Dunesville, but I missed knowing there would be a familiar face regardless of where I wandered. The world can seem unfriendly when you’re alone, even in the friendliest places.
I walked to one of the two doctor’s offices located on Main Street, the summer sun kissing my shoulders with each step. The two offices were across the street from one another and seemed to embrace the concept of friendly competition a little too well. The buildings were Victorian, but well-kept and I could tell they’d been painted recently in varying shades of beige. The thing that really set them apart from a typical doctor’s office was the way their storefronts were decorated. Each office had folded sidewalk signs out front. The office I was about to enter had three signs, one announced ‘IT’S ALMOST FLU SEASON! COME IN FOR REDUCED PRICE IMMUNIZATION,’ another had a picture of a sick child and read, ‘CHECKUPS ARE RECONMENDED TWICE A YEAR!’ the third sign was a chalkboard similar to the ones used at delis to display the specials. Across the chalkboard ‘THE BEST DOC IN TOWN’ was printed. Across the street there were three signs as well. One depicted an elderly woman smiling and read, ‘STAY REGULAR WITH HELP FROM YOUR DOCTOR,’ another had an enlarged photograph of a deer tick and read ‘FIGHT LYME DISEASE! FREE TICK CHECKS INSIDE!’ the last sign had a photo of a chicken and very somberly stated, ‘STOP THE POCKS BEFORE THEY START, WITH AN IMMUNIZATION.’
“Hello Miss!” an older man in a white coat called from the doorway of the office across the street, waving his arms in the air and startling me slightly, “How about a free tick check today?’
Unsure of how to respond, I stared at him blankly for a few seconds before a voice shouted from behind me.
“If she wanted a tick check from you she’d be across the street wouldn’t she?” I turned to see a man of about the same age, also wearing a white coat leaning from the door I was about to enter. “Now, sweetheart how may I help you?” he asked, placing one hand on the small of my back to usher me inside while the other pushed his circular glasses further up on his nose.
“Mary, I think it was, from the Motel around the corner said you were hiring?” his sudden appearance had startled me, sending nerves up my spine.
“Yes, yes I am,” he pushed his glasses further up on his nose, “My old receptionist died and keeping the position open too long is bad for business. Death in a doctor’s office is always bad for business you see.”
I nodded, unsure of how I should interpret his words.
“Well, Miss,” he scratched his chin for a moment before letting out a small chuckle, “actually I have no idea what your name is.”
“Yes, sorry, um I’m Piper Miller,” it felt weird to introduce myself, a lifetime in a small town teaches you to assume everyone knows who you are even if you don’t know them.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Piper Miller,” he extended his hand to shake mine, “I am Dr. Bradley Schultz. Anyway,” he pulled his hand back and rested it in his lap, “Do you have experience working in a physician’s office Miss Miller?”
“No, I don’t,” I looked down at my hands clasped together in my lap, embarrassed I hadn’t ever had a job outside of my chores growing up.
“Hm, but you’re willing to learn?” I nodded aggressively, “Congratulations you’re hired,” he extended his hand to shake again, but this time he wrapped my hand between both of his and shook my entire arm enthusiastically.
“Really? That’s it?” I probably shouldn’t have questioned my good fortune.
“Yes, you meet the primary qualification which actually is that you are alive,” he laughed at his own joke, “Can you start tomorrow? I want to take this afternoon off and go shelling on the beach I think.”
“Sure, that sounds great!” I grinned; the slightly kooky old man was growing on me.
“Yes, yes,” he walked around a dusty receptionist’s desk with a plastic plant sitting on one corner and began shuffling papers, “Fill out these forms first then I will see you bright and early tomorrow!”
I looked down at the papers he’d pushed into my hand, they asked for my contact information including my permanent residential address.
“Um, Dr. Schultz,” I interrupted him in the middle of pacing around the waiting room. “I don’t exactly have a permanent residence yet,” I looked down again, feeling embarrassed of my current living situation and the events leading to it.
“You don’t?” he gasped, his face revealing his apparent horror at the very idea of me not having a permanent address, “Well we will fix that now won’t we?” he picked up a very modern phone, also covered in dust and began dialing from memory.
After a few seconds he began speaking, “Rose…yes, you probably did know I was going to call…Yes dear, you always know…Things are fine, that grumpy old man across the street is driving me crazy as usual, but they’re fine…Yes, I found a replacement that’s actually why I am calling…Yes, is that apartment still open in your building?...Wonderful! I will send Miss Miller over right now…Thank you Rose, don’t forget to come in soon, it’s almost time for you to get another tetanus shot…okay sweetheart, have a good day now.” He hung up the phone and turned to face me.
“Rose Charlemagne has an apartment available in her building, let me give you directions and I’ll have you on your way,” he told me how to make the short walk to the apartment building then shooed me out of his office.
Ten minutes later, I arrived at a two-story brick building that could only be described as boxy. It was well-kept with a little herb garden out front and a wooden wreath attached to the front door, but the building itself looked out of place in the small town. It didn’t look like that many apartments could fit into the small building, but I reasoned to myself a tiny apartment was better than being homeless.
A pang shot through my heart as I remembered the two-bedroom single family home I’d been living in before I found out my husband was a cheating bastard. We’d received the house as a combined wedding present from our parents and it sat on the far edge of his family’s property. We’d painted the outside a cheerful yellow and the front door was bright blue. I remember convincing myself I could be happy there. I’d been wrong.
I was deep in thought when I was knocked off balance by what it took me a few seconds to realize was a person. Long, strong fingers wrapped around my wrists to pull me up to a standing position seconds before I collapsed into the grass. The touch sent a slight shock through my skin, but I let myself believe it was adrenaline from barely avoiding death by grass.
“Sorry,” his voice was gravelly like he’d just woken up or he was tired as he righted me and took a step back, as if trying to give me space in case I was angry at being almost knocked over.
I stood frozen, staring into his dark eyes. They were the deepest shade of brown I’d ever seen, but not quite black. His dark brown hair fell lazily across his eyes and matching stubble framed his chin, somehow offsetting his olive skin perfectly. He had broad shoulders without being overly muscular and his jeans, with a hole worn into the right knee, hung perfectly from his hips, making me want to hook my fingers in the belt loops and pull his body flush with mine. He was several inches taller than my five feet seven inches, putting him at what I assumed was six feet two or three inches. His sudden appearance mixed with the shock of almost falling combined to make me completely mute.
“It’s fine,” I mumbled, after he tilted his head in question of my silence.
Taking my response for dismissal, he walked around me and jumped into a newer black SUV without another word. I shrugged, shaking my head at the death of small town hospitality. Actually, I told myself, it was to be expected; gorgeous men were sometimes rude because they could be.
I clasped and unclasped my hands, breathing deeply to refocus myself. I was looking for a home, not a hookup and I needed to remember that. Shaking my head slightly to push those deep brown eyes away, I pressed my thumb to the old-fashioned door handle, but it was pulled open before I could push the door forward.
I found myself face to face with a woman in a dark blue cloak, yes a cloak, with a dark haired baby wearing a pair of dark blue overalls cradled in her arms.
“I knew you would be a blonde with hazel eyes!” she exclaimed, “Oh yes, my dear we knew you were coming!”
I swallowed, unsure of exactly how to answer that.
“Come in, come in,” she wrapped my arm in her hand and pulled me down the main hallway to an open door I assumed led to her apartment.
Inside, the walls were painted a vibrant eggplant with fairies painted sporadically around the room. Some were sitting on mushrooms painted near the floor while others whispered amongst themselves or flew busily across the wall, their glittered wings caught mid-flight. There were hundreds in total, their tiny forms covering all four of her living room walls. The room itself was cozy. There was a plum colored overstuffed chair and matching loveseat situated in one corner to face an ancient television sitting on a stand a few feet away from the seating. In the center of that space, a brightly colored mat lay on top of the light brown carpet. Stuffed animals, rattles and plastic mirrors hung from two intersecting arches attached to the mat. I recognized the popular infant’s toy from television commercials and the homes of my friends from Meadow Views who already had babies.
On the other side of the living room, diagonal from the television area, but parallel to the door, sat a circular table with a black sparkly cloth spread over the top of it. A large, crystal ball sat in the center of the table surrounded by burning candles and incense. Crystals, in their raw, stalactite form, were situated in a circle around the candles. Just outside of the crystal ring, a stack of tarot cards sat in front of one of the two chairs pulled close to the table.
“Please come and sit at the table dear,” she walked across the room to deposit the adorable baby on his stomach in the middle of the play mat before sitting in front of the tarot cards at the circular table.
I hesitantly sat across from her, perched on the edge of my seat.
“Oh it gets hot under here,” she exclaimed, throwing back the hood of her cloak and exposing shoulder length hair a color between light blonde and gray with a thick streak of green running through the side of it, “Now, um, um. I’m sorry dear the cards told me you were coming, but it seems they forgot to tell me your name,” she smiled at me endearingly and I couldn’t help smiling back.
“I’m Piper.”
“Yes of course Piper Lee!” I didn’t ask how she figured out my middle name, “And I am Rose Charlemagne-psychic, fortune teller, extraordinaire!” she waved her arms around with flourish while she spoke, “but you can call me Rose my dear.”
I nodded, instantly liking this woman possibly more than I liked my own mother.
“Now, let’s see what has brought you here to me Piper,” I licked my lips preparing to explain my reasons for moving to Dunesville, but she began pulling cards from her tarot deck and making thoughtful sounds before I could, “Yes, the eight of cups,” she placed her index finger on a picture of a man walking toward the sea with cups spread behind him, “This is the card of letting go and moving on, very interesting,” she pulled another card, a picture of a man pushing a woman and child in a gondola while swords protruded from the front of the boat, “The six of swords, for lost love,” she pulled another card, this one featuring a naked man and woman holding hands, “The lovers’ card, for taking a new path, possibly not alone,” she winked at me suggestively “and one more to see the future,” she pulled a final card from the deck, a wheel sat in the center, surrounded by dissipating clouds, “Ah, the wheel of fortune, my favorite card. For fate and luck,” she raised one eyebrow at me appraisingly before leaning back in her chair and smiling broadly, “It seems you were meant to be here.”
She smacked her palms against the tabletop making me jump, but not disturbing the babbling child across the room. I gathered she did that a lot and the little boy was used to it. Rose used her palms on the table to push herself up to a standing position, rocking the crystal ball lightly with her motion.
“Come on Piper Lee,” she scooped the baby up and grabbed a key ring from a hook by her front door before throwing the door open with flourish and stepping into the hall
I scrambled to my feet and followed her, stopping for a moment, debating whether or not to close her front door.
“This is where Effie Bach lives,” Rose pointed at a door across the hall from hers, “she’s a good friend of mine,” the baby smiled at me over her shoulder as she walked a few steps ahead, toward a flight of stairs at the end of the hall, “she also bakes the most delicious sugar cookies at Christmastime,” she turned to look at me, stopping at the foot of the stairs, “You will be here at Christmas won’t you?” her eyebrows furrowed like she was focusing on something before brightening again, “Of course you will be!” She began up the stairs and I followed, equal parts confused and entertained.
“Now this is your apartment,” she placed a key in the door on the right side of the upstairs hallway, “and that is where Riley lives,” she tilted her head toward the door directly across the hall from mine, indicating that the baby in her arms belonged to the family living there.
Rose pushed the door to my new apartment open and stood aside, allowing me to pass in front of her. I’d expected the apartment to follow my landlord’s sense of style; with walls painted in deep earth tones featuring mythical beings, but was pleasantly surprised. As I stepped inside, my feet sank into plush white carpet. The carpet complimented the pale yellow walls, which worked with the three large windows across the room from the front door to create an airy, bright space. As if compelled by their own desires, my feet took several steps across the room to an archway cut out of the wall immediately to my right. When I peeked through, I was surprised by the sight of a modern kitchen featuring black appliances that somehow worked with the honey colored cabinets. Next to the sink a dishwasher was tucked below the countertop. A microwave was built in above the oven, glowing the time in neon green. The room was a good size; there was even space for a breakfast table in the far corner.