A Small-Town Girl

“It’s contract day, Cary,” Christy Pardue said from Cary’s doorway. “As your department head, I’ve been informed to tell you to either sign the thing and turn it in or write a letter of resignation and let us hire someone else.”

“Glad to feel so needed.”

“Any time. It’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

Cary laughed. “So…I’ve got make a decision, huh?”

“Yep. The school board is crunching numbers. Since Michael just announced he’s leaving to take that job at Lakota, Evan’s going crazy. He wants to know how many of us are coming back, pronto.”

Looking at the contract that had been sitting in a folder on his desk for a month, he sighed. “Tell Evan he’ll have my answer by two.”

Christy’s playful expression sobered. “Oh my gosh, Cary. You aren’t really thinking of leaving, are you? You were going to help me teach that continuing-ed class this summer and give me a hand ordering new textbooks. You can’t leave me with just Dave and Linda.”

“Dave’s easy and Linda is…okay.”

“Linda’s twenty-two years old—I could be her mother. Please sign your contract.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are going to sign it, right?”

“I’ll let you know by two.”

Christy turned on her heel, leaving Cary to stare at his contract again.

Why was committing another three years such a big deal? He loved teaching at Lane’s End. Surely he hadn’t gotten so hurt by Kate that he was willing to change his whole life just to avoid her?

No, it was more than that.

Signing meant accepting how his life was. As long as he held off committing to the job, Cary could play with the idea of moving somewhere different, of doing something different.

Growing and changing. Taking a risk. As Gen had said at the café, change was a good thing.

That stopped him in his tracks.

Now there was a person who obviously didn’t mind starting over. She was as independent a woman as he’d ever come across, giving off “I’m self-sufficient” vibes like nobody’s business. He admired her for that.

At the moment, he was stuck in Drive and his road was straight farm country. Nothing of interest for miles and miles. He’d taken it a hundred times.

But yet…

Closing his eyes, Cary thought of Dean and Melissa. Everyone at church. The guys he went running with. Dave. Christy.

Lane’s End. This was where he belonged. Cary knew it the way he knew Sludge would eat his Nikes if given the chance.

Deciding not to put the inevitable off a moment longer, Cary signed the contract and placed it in the folder to take down to the principal.

ON SATURDAY MORNING, Gen knew something had to be done. She’d tossed and turned all night, plagued by dreams of basketballs and lions and kids screaming like banshees.

Her first thought when she awoke had been about work. Again. Obviously she needed some balance in her life, stat. But how?

Padding to the bathroom, she flipped on the light and grabbed her brush. As Gen fixed her hair, she examined herself in the mirror. She looked the same as ever. Boyish figure. Lean and muscular, thanks to the frequent workouts at the gym. Her long, dark hair had always served her well. It was easy to pull back and was her best feature, in her opinion. Of course, not even really good hair could keep a man’s attention.

Thinking once again of her former partner, she wondered what had gone wrong. Why weren’t she and Keaton together, as she’d hoped? Was it because she wasn’t girlie enough? Chatty enough? Interesting? They’d gotten along well and had been good friends, but obviously he’d wanted something—someone—else.

Remembering their frequent meals together, all she could remember Keaton commenting on was her love of junk food. That wasn’t good. Maybe she’d been too aloof and afraid of showing him who she really was. She was already repeating that behavior with Cary, after all.

She remembered their meeting the other day. She hadn’t felt so tongue-tied around a man since Keaton. Could she actually pursue another man after that fiasco? Did she even know how? Gen had to admit she’d never been good in the romance department.

Quickly she braided her hair, then padded into the kitchen, getting a bowl of Froot Loops as she poured another cup of coffee.

The only truly feminine person she knew was her sister. Margaret had also never been one to shy away from giving advice—and she’d had no trouble winning over her husband.

Before Gen chickened out, she picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hey, Genevieve! This is a surprise.”

Gen was caught off guard by the exuberant greeting. “Hey, Meg. How are you?”

“I’m good. Oh—hold on a minute,” she said as Gen heard cereal rattle on a tray. “So did I surprise you, me knowing it was you right away? Shane got me caller ID.”

Gen grinned. Some things made their way more slowly than others to Beckley, West Virginia. “I’m glad you finally have it. How are Will, Jackson and Emily?”

“Happy. Crying. Driving me crazy. The usual.” Her tone turned thoughtful. “So why are you calling? Have you been injured again? Are you in the hospital?”

It was humbling to realize the only time she reached out to her family was on holidays or during medical emergencies. The last time Gen had called her sister out of the blue was after she’d sustained a knife wound during a gang altercation.

“I’m fine, Meg,” she hastily replied. “Actually, I called because I need some advice.”

“What’s going on?”

Gen opened her mouth but couldn’t say it. How could she admit to her beautiful, oh-so-together sister that she didn’t know how to step out of her shell? “I need a hobby.” She winced at the lame excuse for the call.

“Huh?”

“Okay. I know to a mother of three kids under five it sounds silly, but…got any ideas?”

“I thought you had that awful dog.”

“Sadie’s still around,” Gen admitted, nodding to Sadie as she thumped her tail.

“And don’t you work out like crazy?”

“Not as much as I used to. I was thinking I need some variety in my life. Maybe something a little more crafty.” Gen closed her eyes as she heard what she was saying. Really, could she sound any more backward?

But Margaret wasn’t laughing at all. “What? Like knitting? Crochet?”

Gen would rather stab someone with a knitting needle than try to figure out how to use one. “No.”

“Hold on.” Once again Gen heard her sister talking to all three kids, followed by another onslaught of cereal being poured. “I’m not fooled by this hobby talk for a second, Genevieve Slate. What’s really going on?”

It was scary how Margaret could sound just like their mother. “Nothing.”

“It is so something. It’s a man. Right?”

It was more like a lack of one. But who was she to split hairs? “Kind of.”

“Gen…just tell me.”

“This morning it occurred to me that all I’ve been doing is working and taking care of Sadie. Maybe I need something to get me out more, give myself a reason to put on some lipstick and just relax once in a while.”

“I get it.”

“I doubt it. I don’t think you’ve ever had to worry about being seen as just a friend by any guy.” Although Gen said this with horror, she had always been impressed—and a bit jealous—that boys had always loved Margaret.

“Stop that talk,” Margaret admonished. “Momma never gave you credit, Gen. Just because you weren’t interested in prom dresses or lip gloss didn’t mean you weren’t attractive. You are, you know. You’re beautiful.”

Margaret’s words were like a soothing balm, coating over a lifetime of old hurts and imagined slights. Once again Gen wondered if maybe the world hadn’t pushed her away as much as she’d been pushing.

After her sister settled yet another argument with her children, she came back on the line. “Gen, I’ve got the perfect hobby. It’s not quite crafty, but it’s more your speed. Gardening.”

Didn’t that involve plants? Keeping things alive? “Seriously?”

“Gardening would be perfect. It’s physical and you’ll get to sweat. I know how you like to do that,” she teased.

Now wait a minute! “Margaret—”

But all her sister did was speak a little louder. “You’ll get to nurture something. Be outside. Be around other people.”

“I’m around a lot of people with my job.”

“Giving them tickets! That’ll make you a lot of friends! Gardening is different. It’s calm.”

Calm did sound good. “How is gardening going to improve my love life?”

“Everyone who gardens talks about gardening. Maybe you could join a club,” Margaret continued. The way she was rushing her words told Gen she was getting more and more excited by the suggestion.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said sarcastically.

As the kids started going crazy in the background, Margaret said, “Ugh, these three are driving me batty today. I’ve gotta go. Did I help at all?”

She sounded so enthusiastic Gen couldn’t say no. Although Gen wasn’t great at asking Meg for help, she wanted a better relationship with her sister. Perhaps the gap wasn’t quite as one-sided as Gen had always thought it to be and Meg had just been waiting for Gen to make the first step. Maybe—just maybe—one day they could be a whole lot closer. “Some,” she said.

“Easter’s coming. Grow a lily. It might be fun.”

One plant. She could do that. “Maybe I will. Oh! I almost forgot to tell you—I won’t be coming home for Easter. I’ve gotta work.”

“I kinda figured that since you’ve never been able to make it home for many holidays.” Will, Meg’s baby, was now crying hard enough to wake the dead. “Shoot. I really gotta go. Bye!”

After Gen hung up, she turned to Sadie. “I have a plan. One day soon I’m going to grow lilies and think about something else besides work, Cary Hudson or industrial-size bags of peanut M&M’s.”

Sadie rolled to her side and groaned just as Gen’s cell phone rang. “Slate.”

“Gen, I’ve got a problem,” Sam said. “I can’t find the report about Mrs. Bodwell’s car break-in. Any idea where you put it?”

“Yep.” As Gen told Sam where she filed her paperwork before going off duty, then volunteered to help him find it, Sadie opened one eye and blinked.

Gen had a pretty good idea what the beagle was thinking. Her new hobby might not come about quite as quickly as she hoped.

“I’M ON TRAFFIC DUTY?” Gen asked late Monday afternoon. “Again? It’s raining.” Directing traffic in the rain meant wet feet and annoyed drivers. She’d be soaked to the skin in minutes.

Gen didn’t really mind the duty, but since she’d been asked to direct traffic the last two times it rained, the assignment felt like a game of “let’s haze the rookie.”

She’d already gone through this ritual with the Cincinnati Police Department and she wasn’t eager to do it again. “Who decided the new girl needed this job?” she said out loud to the nearly empty rec room.

“This old guy,” Sergeant John Conrad called from the far corner, and her heart jumped into her throat. “I thought you could take a shift,” he said in his trademark scratchy voice. “You know, do your part?” As he stepped out of the shadows, he added, “Unless you got a problem with that, Slate?”

She stood at attention. “No, sir. I have no problem with the assignment. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you over by the coffeemaker.”

“I figured as much.” Sergeant Conrad grinned, causing the creases around his eyes to deepen. “At ease, Gen.”

She attempted to backtrack. “I didn’t mean to complain. It was more like good-natured griping.”

“I hear ya. I do the same thing about the bran flakes my wife makes me eat every morning.” He cleared his throat. “Since we’re chatting and all, the lieutenant asked me to check in with you.” Conrad sat down, gingerly resting his back against the back of the plastic chair. “So, you, uh, doing okay in Lane’s End? Getting used to the place? Getting used to the department?”

“I am.” Gen sat down across from him, noticing Sam Clark sitting nearby reading a magazine.

“Good. Good. Things are different here than in the CPD. Our community expects you to take time to get to know them.” Tapping a beat-up ballpoint pen on his clipboard, he added, “It makes your job easier, by the way, if you’re familiar with everyone.”

Gen knew what he was trying to say. It had been hard to get used to the new department’s way of doing things. In Lane’s End, the cops worked together, not competitively as they had in Cincinnati.

Gen had also been trying to choose her words more carefully, since she’d been fool enough to let all the cops in her old department witness her jealousy of Keaton’s new girlfriend. But as Gen realized she’d just been openly complaining about traffic duty, she knew she needed to work on that.

“I did go to a basketball game,” she said, eager to at least prove that she’d been trying to get out in the community more.

Sam snorted from his seat, showing he wasn’t that engrossed in his reading, after all—and reminded Gen that she’d fought the excursion to the school last week tooth and nail.

Sergeant Conrad nodded. “That’s the way. I thought I’d heard you went to the Lions game the other night. I missed it—grandkids.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t make it.” As she recalled the way the Lions had fought after slipping by six points, she added, “It was pretty exciting. Half the town was there.” Including Cary Hudson.

“Lieutenant Banks recommended we assign additional officers for the next game. If the Lions keep winning, things could get out of hand.”

Recalling how loud and vibrant the place had been, Gen attempted to imagine it even more jam-packed.

“I heard through the grapevine that the high school wants to do a parade if we go to state,” Sam interjected, his magazine now closed.

“That’ll be fun,” the sergeant said, sarcasm coating his voice. “A third of the town’s going to be in the parade, another third is going to want to watch the thing and the last third is going to raise enough Cain about the traffic and congestion that we’ll wish the game of basketball had never been invented.”

Gen laughed. After getting caught up in downtown’s traffic, she had a feeling she knew which third she would be a part of.

The sergeant tapped his watch. “Speaking of traffic, half of Lane’s End is going to be heading through downtown right about now. If you haven’t figured it out yet, families here take their soccer practices seriously.”

“Even in the rain?”

“Especially in the rain. Better get a move on, Slate. And don’t forget your slicker.”

“I won’t.”

She darted a look toward Sam as she exited the room. As if lying in wait, he brushed at the perfect crease along the sleeve of his crisp oxford. “Shame about the rain, Gen,” he said. “It’s not supposed to let up before nightfall.”

“Thanks for the update.”

Hastily Gen grabbed a headset, pulled out a bright yellow slicker from her locker, then strode to her cruiser. Thank goodness she’d already inspected the car when she’d come on shift so she wouldn’t have to do the lengthy once-over in the rain. Finally she radioed that she was leaving the premises and pulled out of the parking lot.

Today’s assignment was yet another taste of life as a small-town cop. Every day involved doing whatever was necessary to maintain peace and tranquility in town and chipping in as a team to do just that. Being a team player was a hard way to go in one respect since she was so used to trying to prove herself and competing for recognition.

But as she parked the car in the main intersection, donned the rain gear and stepped out into the drizzle, she felt the weighty responsibility she’d always carried with pride. Someone needed to do the jobs others didn’t want to. Someone needed to step up and take responsibility.

And though she might complain about getting wet, she’d never been one to dodge duty.

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