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“I am,” I say, gesturing at myself.
“Hmph. Took you long enough.”
I feel an odd pang in my chest, a tickle of nostalgia. Mrs. Greerson never was one to beat around the bush.
She looks me up and down and I notice her critical eye resting on my tattooed sleeve. “Well, don’t just stand there. You’re going into town, I assume? Get in. I have to take this damned car into Reggie’s. It’s acting up again.”
“I’m fine to wa?—”
“Did I stutter?” Mrs. Greerson says. “Get in the car, Caden.”
I do as I’m told. Once I fasten my seatbelt, I look up to find her peering at me intently. Her eyes linger on my face, then down the length of my arm again.
“You certainly look different,” she says.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes my lips. I missed this—Mrs. Greerson always used to razz me, even when I was helping mow her lawn or carrying her groceries home. It’s a familiar sort of judgement with no bite to it. She hits the accelerator and I instantly grab onto the armrest. It seems in the five years I was gone, Mrs. Greerson’s driving has somehow gotten even worse. The car swerves and veers dangerously close to either the yellow line or the sidewalk as we head into town. She keeps up a running commentary, informing me of every change in the town over the past five years. I drink it all in eagerly.
“Dev and Reggie are trying to adopt,” she says. “They’ll be wonderful parents but my lord, Dev seems to think it’ll be all sunshine and roses. I told him children are hard work. It’s unforgiving being a parent. Just wait till they’re a teenager, I told him. Linda May Cheswick wants to go to beauty school and start a salon. I don’t like to judge but that girl is all thumbs. I wouldn’t have my hair cut by her if the choice was between her and one of Lyle Watson’s rescue dogs. Jake Stein took over the Screw. He’s a good man but the clientele has just gone downhill. All these screaming girls with penis straws and silly veils.” I nearly choke with laughter at Mrs. Greerson saying the word penis. “That’s not how you celebrate something as solemn and serious as marriage. Oh, Isla Davenport is engaged now.”
I resolve to keep my face expressionless, which becomes more difficult as she swerves sharply to avoid a squirrel.
“To Luke Richards,” she adds. Her mouth puckers into a frown. “Hmph,” she grumbles. I feel a sudden warmth for Mrs. Greerson.
“Yeah, that seems an odd match,” I say, hoping I sound casual.
“He’s a city boy, through and through,” Mrs. Greerson huffs. “With his watches and his flashy car. He doesn’t know this town or the people. Not like Isla. Such a sweet girl.”
The conversation comes to an abrupt and disappointing end as we pull up to Reggie’s Auto & Body Works, a few blocks off Main Street. It’s surprising how much the old garage has changed. It’s much bigger than it used to be, and with a fresh coat of paint. But the office is the same, with a sign overhead that looks like it’s straight out of the 1950s.
Mrs. Greerson lurches the car up to the open garage and I see Reggie’s legs poking out from under a familiar truck. My stomach gives a lurch as I recognize Tom Davenport’s ancient Toyota Tundra.
I get out of Mrs. Greerson’s car as quickly as I can, grateful that the ride is over. Reggie rolls himself out from under the truck and his face brightens when he sees me. I feel another wave of nostalgia, and a surge of happiness to see my old friend. Reggie is a good guy. He still has his walrus mustache, and the sleeves of his coveralls are rolled up to expose the tattoos from his time in the Navy.
“Caden!” he says, walking over to embrace me in one of those manly, two-slaps-on-the-back hugs. “I heard you were back in town. God, it’s good to see you. We missed you around here.” He glances at my sleeve. “Nice tats.”
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s good to see you too, Reg.”
“All right, enough chit chat,” Mrs. Greerson says, lodging herself between us. “Reginald Kramer, my car has crapped outagainand you only just fixed it a month ago. Is this some kind of game you’re playing, young man? I know I’m old, but I won’t be taken advantage of.”
She pokes a finger in his face but Reggie just smiles good-naturedly. “I didn’t charge you last time, Mrs. Greerson, so really it’s you who’s running the scam on me.”
Mrs. Greerson glowers and glances back at her car. Reggie shoots me a wink and says, “Leave it here and I’ll take a look. Come back in an hour.”
Mrs. Greerson purses her lips. “Very well. One hour. I’ve got some shopping to do at Milton’s Market anyway.” She turns to me. “You’ll be here for Magnolia Day, right?”
“Oh, um…”
“Don’t youumat me. It hasn’t been the same since your mother died. That brother of yours, he’s all jokes and chuckles and nothing between his ears but fluff.”
I smile, thinking of how Alistair would probably love that description.
“Magnolia Day needs an Everton to lead it,” Mrs. Greerson says firmly.
“We’ll see,” I say.
“We’ll see,” Mrs. Greerson says in a poor imitation of my voice that garners another chuckle from Reggie. “What kind of answer is that? I’ll tell the mayor you’ll be there. Give a bit of oomph to the event. Lord knows this town could use it.”
She hands Reggie her keys then slings her netted tote bag over her shoulder and marches off.