One Perfect Year

Life hadn’t just taught Shelby a harsh lesson. It had also taught one to Harmony Valley. People leave.

Her friends from high school had lives elsewhere. Nick was buried in his family plot in the town cemetery. Gage would be moving on, most likely sooner than later.

Funny how Gage’s announcement about Kentucky affected her. She’d had to fight the urge to ask him why he couldn’t find a job closer to town. She didn’t understand the urge. She understood how things worked. People leave. And yet, it was his leaving that jostled her emotions.

She felt restless, as if something needed to be done. Today. Something more than a search for a temporary wine cellar location.

Shelby crossed the town square.

Agnes opened the door to El Rosal, and waved her over. The only restaurant in town served breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as sold grocery staples in what used to be the lobby. The bright primary colors of the restaurant’s interior—red tables, blue chairs, green walls—were almost too much for Shelby’s sleep-deprived eyes.

Agnes was having coffee with two other gray-haired women while the waitstaff cleaned up the tables around them. “I know you’re probably in a hurry, but neither Rose nor Mildred have had a chance to say hello since you returned.”

“Unfortunately, I only have a few minutes.” Shelby sat with her grandmother’s friends, just as she’d sat in their kitchens back in the day and mixed cookie dough or tried to learn how to make a decent casserole. Hands down she’d been the worst of their culinary students.

“I seem to remember you performing in a version of West Side Story I directed for the high school.” Rose Cascia smoothed her already smooth chignon as she studied Shelby. She had a regal, tightly wound posture. In her youth, she’d performed in ballets and on Broadway. “But I can’t recall what role you had.”

“I was in the chorus.” Where Shelby had tried very hard not to trip her way into the orchestra pit.

Rose tsked. “That will have to do. On Sunday nights—”

“She’s going to be too busy to sing theatricals with you on Sundays.” Agnes patted Shelby’s hand. “I know because my granddaughter works 24/7. That’s a term, isn’t it?” She arched a silver brow as she looked at Shelby. “24/7? Or is it 7/24?”

“24/7.” Shelby tried hard not to smile. “It was lovely to see you all again, but I really need to be going, I’m meeting—”

“Tell me.” Mildred’s round white curls complemented her plump pink cheeks, but her gaze was unfocused, giving away she had deteriorated vision. “What kind of car do you drive?”

“A white SUV. Why?”

Mildred shook her head. “Young people nowadays. No imagination. No spunk.” In Mildred’s youth, she’d blazed many trails, including being one of the first female professional race car drivers. “I expected more from you, Shelby.”

“Her vehicle is practical,” Agnes pointed out kindly.

“But boring.” Rose patted Shelby’s other hand. “No offense, dear.”

“None taken.” Shelby pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and checked the time.

“She needs to take some risks,” Mildred interjected. “Fast curves, fast dancing, fast men.”

Shades of Carl Quedoba. Shelby stood. “It’s been lovely, but I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” Shelby hightailed it out the door.

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