Chapter 3

MIKE

Istood beside Mr. Bucks, waiting for him to decide what length fence posts he wanted. He owned the hardware store on Main Street and had an order he was trying to fill. He had been old when I was in high school, so who knew how much older he was now. My signature customer service attribute was patience. I just stood still, letting him work the math out in his head.

Finally, he looked up and said, "I'll take eight six-foot posts."

"Yes, sir," I said, grabbing the first piece of lumber. "I'll get this ready and loaded into your truck. You can pay in the office."

"Thank you, son," he said, doddering off.

The manager walked up, taking stock of my work. "Need any help?"

"I got it," I said.

"Well, let Tim know when you're ready to load the truck."

I brushed off the offer. "I can load it."

It wasn't really about helping me haul lumber, and we both knew it. At some level, they thought I was going to abscond with the customer's wood, though what they thought I was going to do with it, I couldn't tell. Maybe I was going to sell it on the black market for a skate park ramp. I grinned. I couldn't help myself.

The manager caught it and frowned. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I said, putting my goggles on.

I cut the wood while he supervised. When I was done and began carrying the lumber to Mr. Bucks's truck, the manager finally moved on. I didn't know what I was going to have to do to prove to them that I wasn't a criminal. I was great with customers, and I never complained. I was the first one into the office in the morning. I never drank on the job. They would be lucky to find another guy like me, but they couldn't see past my history.

That manager, the barkeeper at the Lucky Lady, and my mom were all convinced I was going to run off with the silverware. The customers, some of the guys I worked with, and my dad were much more chill and had an ounce of faith in me.

I clocked out for my lunch break and took my truck into town to grab a bite. Mom's kitchen was always open, but I didn't feel like cold cuts with a side of guilt. Instead, I opted for the diner across the street from the police station. They had the best cheeseburgers in town and the wait staff could see past my personal failings.

I parked, walked in, and asked for a booth. Even though I was alone, there were usually enough seats that I could score a booth on my own. There were five girls who traded shifts throughout the day, and I knew them all. Gina and Polly were on duty today. Gina was my mother's age, but that didn't stop her from flirting. Polly was my age, and her attention was hot today.

"Hi, handsome." Gina winked.

"Just one?" Polly asked hopefully.

"Just one," I confirmed.

"Follow me." The younger waitress tossed her hair and sashayed through the dining room, glancing back to make sure I was paying attention.

Polly had a tight little ass, only accentuated by the miniskirt she was required to wear. Her uniform hugged sultry curves and put her long legs on display. I was sure she had her pick of lovesick young men and thought nothing of it when she put the menu down on my table. I slid into the seat, ordered an iced tea and a cheeseburger, and got to playing with my phone.

Gina swept over to my side as soon as Polly disappeared. She gave my table another wipe down, a goofy smile on her face. "How's things at the lumberyard?"

"Fine," I said.

"Are they givin' you a hard time?" she wondered. I almost thought she was going to sit down opposite me.

"No more so than usual," I replied.

"You know you always got a home with us." Gina pinched my cheek, and I didn't have the heart to tell her to stop.

The cook poked his head out of the kitchen, shaking a spatula. "Gina, quit harassing the customers."

Gina winked at me and drifted away to wipe other tables. Polly returned with my food a few minutes later, and she did sit down. "I was thinking, if you don't have any plans this Friday night, maybe you want to go into Nashville?" She looked up at me, a mixture of embarrassment and hope in her eyes. "There's a band playing that's supposed to be the next Johnny Cash."

I inhaled, wanting to let her down easy. "Polly, you're very pretty," I began.

"But?" She threw her elbows onto the table and settled her chin into her palm.

"I just don't date," I said.

She straightened, having expected me to say I was seeing someone else. "What do you mean you don't date?"

"I don't know how much you know…" I ran my finger along my fork uncomfortably. "I went to prison—"

"But you're out now," she sang. "I know you didn't do it."

I smiled, almost convinced. It wouldn't be the worst thing to spend an evening with Polly, maybe even a roll in the hay at the end of it all. But I was in no position to date responsibly. I was a train wreck, and I knew it. I had to figure my shit out before I could try to make it work with anyone else. Polly was beautiful, but she deserved more.

"Thanks," I said. "I'm just no good for a relationship right now."

She sighed a great, big dramatic sigh, and heaved herself to her feet. "If you change your mind…"

"I just have to look for the prettiest waitress this side of the Mississippi." I winked.

Polly blushed and hurried away, with no feelings hurt. I ate my cheeseburger and finished my tea. It was hard work doing the right thing sometimes. I wondered if I would have the same amount of restraint the next time I ran into a beautiful woman willing to spend a night with me. It was a ridiculous thought. This was Singer's Ridge, and beautiful women were in short supply. If I'd never left town, my odds of stumbling into a one-night stand were poor at best. I would just have to content myself with being the better man.

I escaped from the affections of the waitresses by leaving a big tip. They had a hard job, and I knew it. If all us little people supported each other, life would be better all around. I still had twenty minutes left in my break by the time I got back to the lumberyard. My choices were limited. I could say hello to my mom, bother my dad in the office, go back to work early, or sit in the truck and look at my phone. None of them seemed like a winner, but I decided to check on Mom. For all her bellyaching, she was still important to me.

I knocked on the kitchen door before pushing it open and stepping inside. "Mom?" I announced myself.

"Hello." She seemed surprised to see me. I kept my visits to a minimum, it was true. But Polly's admission that she knew I was innocent gave me strength to deal with the rest of the world.

"I've got fifteen minutes left on my break," I said. "Can I help with anything?"

"Oh." She considered my offer. "Can you stir this?" She handed over a wooden spoon and disappeared into the pantry.

I looked down into the pot to find what looked like beans. I stirred gently, making sure it didn't burn. Mom returned with several cans of tomatoes and a can opener. Without speaking, she began cutting the tops off and emptying the contents into the pot.

"Making chili?" I asked.

"Yes," she sighed.

At that moment, I could almost see the elephant in the room. It was shoved into the space between us, large and ugly, dressed in a prisoner's uniform. There was no way around it. I was never going to be able to spend time with her without the ghost of my mistakes haunting us. I just wished she could find some modicum of Polly's enthusiasm. How could a woman I hardly knew be convinced of my innocence when my own mother assumed I was guilty?

My break was up, and I handed the spoon back. She took it with a polite "Thank you."

I stepped outside, heading back to the yard. Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough that day—I needed a beer.