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“I’ll walk her,” Jesse says. “It’s no problem.”
Jesse’s an annoying fuck, but he is a law enforcement official. And I would and have trusted him with my life. “Thanks.”
He grins and goes through to the living room to fetch my daughter. I hug her on the way out and promise that Crouchbottom, or another responsible adult, will be there to meet her at the bus stop when school ends. She’s unconcerned.
I’m the opposite of that.
I have to get to my dad’s bar as soon as possible, but I need to know that Mrs. Crouchbottom is all right. It’s not like her to pull a no-show. She’s in her seventies, and she loves spending time with Alex. Besides, if I don’t have her as a nanny for the summer, I’m royally fucked.
I jog up the front path to Crouchbottom’s two-story home, all shiplap, porch swings, and potted plants that she never forgets to water, and knock on the front door.
Loud music thrums from inside.
I’m no expert, but it sounds like a workout tape. Like one of those Jane Fonda specials from back in the day.
“Mrs. Crouchbottom?” I knock again. “Mrs. Crouchbottom, are you in there?”
“Help.” The cry is soft.
I take one giant step back, lift my leg, and kick the door in.
She’s in the living room, lying on her side, clutching her hip while the workout video plays on her tiny TV. Her eyes are red, but she breaks out into a watery smile. “Oh, Cash, honey, I’m so sorry I didn’t send you a message. I couldn’t reach my phone. I-I think I’ve hurt myself. I don’t want to be any trouble but would you—”
I’m already on the phone to an ambulance before her sentence is up. “Don’t move, Elsa. Not a muscle.”
I get her water and do my best to make her comfortable with a cushion underneath her head without moving her too much, and then I sit down on the sofa to wait.
I’ll have to fix her door when I get home this evening. And I’ll have to find another nanny for the summer. I’ve got the feeling Crouchbottom’s going to be in hospital for a while. Fuck.
Three
JUNE
Fifteen years have passed,and Heatstroke is almost exactly the same as I remember it. The wrought iron lampposts, the benches on the sidewalks, the cobblestone streets, and the smell of fresh salty sea air.
My hometown is the type of place where people want to retire or go on vacation. It’s tucked right along the coast, with a stretch of beach that attracts tourists during the summer, but with rolling fields and ranches that help keep the town running during the off-peak seasons.
Growing up, I never thought I would leave this place with its summer talent shows and hot pepper eating contest—biggest in the state, ask anyone in town and they’d wax lyrical about it.
All I wanted was to escape from this perfect town.
“Silly,” I mutter.
What good is thinking about past heartbreak when I’ve got a real one going on right now?
I park outside the Heartstopper Diner, my pulse racing.
What are you doing, June?
I’m back in Heatstroke because it’s the only place I have family. My mother. Who I would rather not talk to about my problems, and who’s going to lose her mind when she finds out that Braydon and I have broken up.
But when the going gets tough, us country girls have a tendency to pull on our boots and kick tough in the gonads, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.
That might be the exhaustion talking since I spent most of the night at a rest stop with my head on the wheel, drifting in and out of an uncomfortable sleep.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Oof.” Smudged mascara, dark circles under my eyes.
