Rachel Dahlrumple. Shea McMaster
more natural, a result of being crowded together, not him trying to octopus me.
“Miss Rachel!” “Miss Rachel!”
The cries of my age ten and under fans increased as we drew closer to downtown, where most of our buildings radiated the pride of renovated historic gems. The sense of permanence soothed my heart, and I could finally breathe enough to feel the satisfaction of connecting with my deep roots. Although the throng held more tourists than townies, I felt a sense of belonging. I should, my mother’s family had helped build the tiny rustic haven.
Close enough to the Big Sur Coastal region south of Monterey and Carmel, Bonchamps had always attracted tourists and visitors who meandered down our shady streets to shop. The town stayed old-fashioned on purpose because we, the townspeople, wanted it that way.
Of course, we couldn’t remain entirely nineteenth century. Tucked in side-by-side with the old standbys, Jim and I strolled past shops with artists of every kind. Athough the Main Street beauty salon and barber shop were institutions, we also passed an art shop, an herbs and spices tea merchant, a colorful kite shop, two independent book stores, a few antique stores, a deli, and all manner of specialty boutiques.
We also had the choice of organic goodies at a fancy café, but I usually stopped at Barb’s for my clandestine donut fixes. I waved to her through the window when we paused at her corner.
As the crowd had grown denser, Jim had taken my hand to lead me through the thicker concentrations of people on the sidewalks. I let myself forget to pull my hand from his, and got lost in a deep sense of community. These were my people. Their families had been here for well over a hundred years. Like my family, and me, they weren’t going anywhere. When I remembered the hand I held didn’t belong to my husband, I dropped it, but not before Barb noticed and raised a brow. Feeling a little sick to my stomach, I waved away the coffee she held up to tempt me inside.
Patriotic to the center of our red, white, and blue little hearts, tradition demanded we go all out to celebrate national holidays. Independence Day was no exception and probably our biggest draw of the year. Bunting draped the entire length of the parade route down Main Street. Vendors trailing streamers and balloons, selling everything from silly hats to lemonade and cotton candy, worked the crowd. The crowds swelled around me, surely sending seizures of rapture into the hearts of merchants and tax collectors alike. We moved on, and I stopped long enough to buy a big cloud of pink cotton candy. I had no intention of eating it, but the kids would all love a sticky handful.
Jim noticed I’d dropped behind, and he came back for me.
“You don’t have to guard me, you know,” I mildly complained.
“Don’t like me anymore?” He pinched a bit of my cotton candy with an exaggerated wink and a waggle of the eyebrows.
“Jim…” I sighed in exasperation.
“Okay, I get the hint. You’re not interested in fooling around.” He pinched another bit of fluff and stuffed it in my mouth.
The sugar dissolved on my tongue. “No kidding.”
“Let me hang with you today, Rachel. I like to see a pretty woman smile at me, and you seem a little down. Let’s cheer each other up for old time’s sake?”
Yeah, I could already smell the grass and leaves in the secluded hollow under the weeping willow. I knew just what kind of old time’s sake cheer he wanted.
“I’m not much in the mood for cheer and I’m meeting friends,” I reminded him. “Besides, your parents are expecting you.” I pointed to where his mother waved at us.
“Where are you meeting the Westons?” He waved back and his mother settled into her folding chair, content in her spot.
“They’re a little farther down the street, so you’d better skip over to your parents and let me continue on to my party.”
“Afraid folks might misinterpret two friends hanging out at the parade?”
“Exactly.” Especially since no one in town had ever known about our, uh, friendship. Unless he’d said something. I never had. In fact, we’d already drawn far too much attention. Raised eyebrows popped up all around us.
Jim gave me a long look that felt entirely too intimate, too knowing, and it sparked a bit of wondering in me. What would have happened if he’d stayed around Bonchamps instead of moving off to Monterey and beyond? Did I feel any attraction for him? Compared to the fireworks Dan had set off last night, Jim just didn’t reach me in the same way, but he didn’t leave me cold, either.
“Look, the parade is starting soon. I need to move on. Come to the party tonight. It’s at my house this year.” He knew what party I meant. “We can probably find time to talk then. Bring a suit, we always play water polo.” No, we probably wouldn’t find time to talk, but he’d get to see me acting like a proper wife with a proper husband and having fun. Dammit, I would have fun, I swore. I expected it to be very fun tossing Burt out on his ear right after I made him clean up from the party.
“I’d love to. Thank you.” Jim captured my hand and kissed the back of it. He could be very charming when he made the effort. That much I did remember.
“See you later.” I waved to his parents and pressed into the crowd, a little relieved to shake him. The strain of keeping up a conversation, and the upset of his revelation made me desperate to be alone for just a few minutes before I faced the Westons.
As I walked, I forced myself to see the people around me.
I usually loved watching everyone enjoying themselves. The little ones especially, with their sticky faces and eyes round with awe. If I looked hard enough, maybe I’d find a touch of magic, since I had so little to enjoy in my life at the moment.
Out of Jim’s sight and alone in a sea of mostly strangers, I paused and leaned against a refitted iron lamppost, the metal radiating summer heat through the fabric of my cotton dress. It felt far more solid than I did as people jostled by, seeking the perfect vantage point from which to watch the parade. I’d never before attended the parade by myself, and didn’t like it at all. I may not have been deliriously happy with Burt, but his place was with me, as he had been for nearly half my life. In a way, it felt as if I were missing a limb. A diseased one that required immediate amputation for sure, but the sense of loss was the same. As much as I hated him and what he’d done to me, to us, would I always miss him once I cut him away?
Across the street was one of two buildings, shops with apartments overhead, Burt and I owned. The owner of the jewelry store, a forty-something single mom who went by the name Ohm–derived from her initials, I’d been told–made jewelry and sold holistic doodads. She stood at her window staring out at the crowd, looking about as disgruntled as I’d ever seen her. Her son, a sweet twelve-year-old who visited the library almost weekly, caught my eye when he waved. I waved back before continuing my appraisal of the crowds.
The other building we owned, in addition to two small houses, was several blocks farther along the street, and housed a store specializing in organic, handspun and dyed wool, made by a co-op of sheep ranchers from the valley. If I’d been a knitter, I would have shopped there frequently. However, my talents had never been along those lines. Nor did I spend much time in the jewelry store. Burt brought home enough of her work, I didn’t need to shop there, too.
As I scanned the filling street, I noted other business owners and managers keeping an eye on the crowds and kids. Sonja Neumeyer, the hotel manager, had her hands full pouring iced tea on the porch of the hotel, even with her kids helping. She was one of three single moms I knew to be friends with the jewelry maker. They pretty much stuck together. Any one of them might have caught Burt’s eye at one time or another.
A tall figure, uniformed in the forest shades of tan and green of the sheriff’s department–complete with flat brimmed hat–strolled in my direction and cut off my dark speculations. I shrugged off my wounded pride long enough to enjoy the sight of Dan subtly controlling the crowd. He certainly drew more than his fair share of fascinated female stares. Though there seemed to