“I managed just fine before you showed up, didn’t I? So go. Have a good day withCharlieat thefarmers market.”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“I’m not saying it like anything.” Everett throws his upper body down hard enough on the couch that part of him disappears inside, leaving only an arm and his face sticking out of the cushions.
“Okay, well, whatever is going on with you this morning, I don’t have time for it.” As if to corroborate her words, Charlie calls from the porch for her to get a move on. Gretchen turns to leave the living room, but Everett’s expression—framed by the beige and navy stripes of the couch’s upholstery—makes her pause. She’s seen it before, on her own face when she looks in the mirror sometimes.
“Ev,” she says, taking a step closer. “I’m going to be back in a few hours, okay? I promise. I’ll come back.”
He considers for a moment. “I know. You think I was worriedor something?” The scoff he produces is some of the worst acting she’s seen. Ironic, considering the aspirations that led him here.
“It’s okay if you were. I know that being alone... it really sucks.” Gretchen suppresses the laugh absurdly rising up in her throat in response to the too-simple description of the aching, all-encompassing emptiness with which she’s quite familiar. She glances down at the jute rug beneath her feet. The words are meant to reassure Everett, but as they come out of her mouth, they feel strangely like they’re buoying her as well. “But I’m not going anywhere. At least not yet.”
Charlie yells for her again, then opens the front door a crack to poke his head inside. He glares at her. The man’s patience is already gossamer thin, and they’ve barely started their day.
Gretchen grabs the remote and turns the TV on to a random channel. “I’ll be back soon,” she mutters, and then heads for the door as quickly as her tender ankle will allow.
13
The farmers market is in a shopping center parking lot in Leesburg, Virginia—a town about half an hour away that’s on the smaller side but practically a metropolis when compared to the nanoscopic Derring Heights. Most of the other vendors are already set up by the time Gretchen and Charlie arrive. Unsurprising, considering Charlie spent nearly the entire trip harping on how late they’re running thanks to Gretchen’s supposed lack of haste in getting ready to leave.
Thankfully, their booth at the end of a row is under a small tent, since the clouds are looking ominous. Charlie tosses a wooden sign readinggilded creek farm—goat cheese, milk, soaponto the table, wordlessly ordering Gretchen to set up while he grabs the large cooler from the back of the truck. She sits the sign directly in the middle of the gray plastic surface. Not the most glamorous setup. She wonders how much it would cost for a banner to affix to the front of the table, and maybe a cute gingham check fabric tablecloth would add a certain charm—
“Hello!” A sunshiny voice makes her head snap up, and a woman with blonde milkmaid braids stands in front of the booth. There’s a slight luster to her peachy skin even on this overcast day—probably thanks to some sort of body lotion or sunscreen, but she wears it so effortlessly that Gretchen can’t be sure it’s not a natural radiance. A customer already? No. Gretchen has been away from her shop for a few days, but a bullshit artist is always working. Which means that, even as she bickered with Charlie about who was to blame for their lateness as they arrived and unloaded their things, she took note of the other booths and the people manning them. Her memory clicks this woman into place behind a burlap-covered table across the aisle. Yellow candles, jars of honey, and tubes and tubs of lip balms and lotions covered the surface. The sign attached to the corner of the tent with twine readjohnny bee goods.
“Hi there,” Gretchen says, adopting a folksier cadence and her sweetest smile to match the one in front of her.
“I noticed you’re running a bit behind schedule this morning. Would you like some help with your table?”
“Oh, um...” The idea of Charlie thanking this literally dazzling woman for her assistance makes Gretchen’s fist clench around the bar of goat’s milk soap she’s unpacking from the crate. She loosens her grip so as not to indent it, and adds it to the display she’s constructing as she formulates a polite way to turn down the offer.
The woman points to the soap, currently laid out in a row of small stacks. “Oh, Charlie likes those stacked as a pyramid, actually.”
Gretchen’s hand slips off the next bar altogether. It shoots across the table and falls to the ground.
“Oh no,” the woman laments as she picks it up from the asphalt in front of her feet. The light gray-purple soap is indented at thecorner, a chunk of gravel embedded in the side. “Can’t sell this one now.” She brings it to her nose and inhales deeply. “Sage-lavender. My favorite. Such a shame.”
Charlie sets down the large cooler filled with ice to keep the milk and cheese chilled behind the table. He glances up. “Oh, hey, Hannah.”
The woman—Hannah—passes the soap back to Gretchen and flashes her beautiful smile in Charlie’s direction. “Hi, Charlie. I see you... brought help today?” Her eyes dart over to Gretchen and linger awkwardly.
“Yeah. This is Gretchen Acorn. She’s my, uh, my intern. At the farm. Just started the other day.”
“Oh, wow. An intern. That’s exciting. I bet you’re learning so much!” Hannah’s voice drips with condescension. She casually brushes her fingers along Charlie’s arm and leans in closer. “Would you like some help setting up?”
Charlie shoots that charmingly crooked smile Gretchen has only gotten out of him once so far back at her. For someone who seems to see right through Gretchen’s whole schtick, she wonders why he’s so oblivious to what Hannah’s doing. Which is... um... well, she isn’t exactly sure, but the pretty blonde woman is up tosomething. And Gretchen would know, so often being up to something herself.
“I think we’re about done, actually, but thanks so much for offering,” he says as he takes off his dark green baseball cap withgilded creek goat farmembroidered in white on the front and smooths back his hair.
“Just in time.” Hannah’s smile seems to have increased in wattage throughout the conversation, the way a light bulb flares briefly before exploding. “Well, have a great one!”
“You too, Hannah,” Gretchen says, unable to say her name without emphasizing the two syllables separately, almost mockingly. “And hey, I know it’s a little banged up, but do you want this? Since it’s your favorite scent and all.” She holds out the damaged bar of soap in both her hands, as if intending it to be a peace offering.It’s not.
“Oh, no thanks. I already have atonof Charlie’s soap at home.” This sounds oddly territorial to Gretchen’s ears, which she’s pretty sure is intentional. “Happy selling!”
Charlie gives Hannah another smile and a nod of acknowledgment, and she does an annoyingly cute little happy nose-scrunch in response before turning away and practically skipping over to the Johnny Bee Goods booth.
“What’s the holdup with the soaps?” Charlie asks, his voice back to the low growl he reserves solely for Gretchen. He reaches over the small pile to grab the bar that fell victim to her... jealousy? Anger? No. It may have seemed like a reaction to Hannah’s apparent familiarity with Charlie, but it wasn’t. It was run-of-the-mill clumsiness.Just clumsiness. A new affliction for her, but a more palatable explanation than that she’s suddenly lost her ability to distance herself from those sorts of emotions. “And what the hell happened to this one?”
