Gil hung back, waiting for Sandy and Emily to say goodnight to each other. He was impressed that Emily had taken what looked like a big step for her. That woman has her fair share of courage, he thought to himself as he caught up with her in the parking lot. “Congratulations. And hey, I owe you one—I thought we were dead in the water back there.” His pickup looked enormous next to Emily’s VW—an original Beetle, he noticed now, not the newer one introduced a few years ago.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling on the fuzzy white beret she always wore. “And you don’t owe me anything. I was only reminding the council of our usual practice of first reading. Robert’s Rules of Order, I think—or it ought to be. I didn’t do you any favors, just did my job.”
“Well, I still feel like I owe you one. And like I said about the soap dishes, I always pay my debts. So how about a slice of Deacon’s pie?” Deacon’s Grill was the only place in Middleburg open at this time of night, but that didn’t stop it from also being the maker of the best pie in the county. It was Late-Night Movie Night back at the ranch anyhow, and he often stole away to Deacon’s Grill to ensure he didn’t have to sit through the guys’ idea of fine cinema.
She opened her car door. He noticed her keychain was an antique silver spoon twisted into a swirly shape. “It’s late.”
“I happen to know Gina Deacon starts her baking at 10:00 p.m. If we time it right, we could get pie fresh out of the oven.” If asked, he’d never let on that a shot at Deacon’s just-baked pies was actually the driving force behind the creation of Late-Night Movie Night (and why Ethan was put in charge of the weekly event).
She paused for a moment, rolling down—rolling down—the too-old-to-be-electric window as her car sputtered to a start. It didn’t sound like a very dependable car. “I’ll meet you there,” she said, pumping the gas pedal a few times. “First one in the door orders the coffee.”
After he ordered blueberry and she ordered apple—à la mode, no less—Gil sat back in his seat. “I got a mess of printouts pinned up on my bunkhouse wall and boys quizzing each other on Bible verses, so yes, I owe you.”
“Are you admitting I was right?”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “Once we add more soap to the mix I might not keep my sense of gratitude.”
They fell into an awkward silence. Bringing her to the Grill had seemed like such a good idea when he’d thought of it during the meeting—a friendly gesture. Only he wasn’t really good at friendly gestures, and now it just felt uncomfortable. He looked out the window. It was starting to snow.
“I’ve always liked snow,” she said. “It makes everything look clean.”
“You run a bath shop. I think you’ve just got a thing for clean.”
“I suppose you’re right. I also like rain, and if you take away the mud, that’s all about clean, too.”
“I like mud. I got a dog named Mud, you know. Very fond of mud as a boy. Made my mama nuts.” Now, where had that come from? What could have possessed Gil to suddenly bring up the subject of his childhood?
Emily eyed him. “I can just bet you gave your mama fits. You don’t strike me as the minding kind. What does Gil stand for, anyway? Gilbert? Gilligan? I gotta admit, none of those fit you at all.”
Now that was just a little too much personal revelation. “That information is dispensed on a need-to-know basis and I don’t think you need to know.”
She got that analytical look on her face again, and he could just bet she was pondering possible “Gil” names. He stared right back, as if challenging her not to press the issue. “I suppose I don’t,” she relented.
He chose a diversionary topic. “So how did West of Paris get its name? What’s with all the French?”
Her face took on a bittersweet smile. “It’s a bit of a story, actually. I’ve always had a sort of fascination with Paris. Took French in high school, watched every movie set in Paris ever made, that sort of thing. It just seemed so elegant, so…different from the very ordinary town in Ohio where I grew up.”
“Aha,” Gil said, “an Ohio native. I hear we get a few of you to cross the river and stay.” Was that supposed to be a joke? Man, he was terrible at this.
“All the time I was growing up I wanted to move to Paris and open a shop. Something very elegant and very female and dripping in French sophistication.” Her face changed a bit. “And then I met a man from Paris. But it was Paris, Kentucky. We talked about going to Paris, France, when we got married, but we could never afford it. And then we…ran out of time to go.” He could see her force the sadness back down, push the thought away and drag herself into a new conversation. “How did you get the idea to start Homestretch Farm?”
“That’s a long story for a place like this.” And a very dangerous topic, despite the tender revelation she’d just offered. “The short version is that I wanted to make up for a few things. Give back.”
“Meaning you could have used a place like Homestretch at some point? I mean, if that’s not prying. It’s no one’s business why you do what you do.”
Gil put down his fork. “Look, if you’re wondering if my own record is squeaky clean, it ain’t. You’re not looking at a Boy Scout here.”
There was another patch of silence as she considered that information. And he could tell by her face that she was giving it a lot of thought.
“Thanks,” he said finally.
“For what?”
“For not pretending that was a small thing.”
Emily gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you can tell a lot about someone by how they react to that kind of information. The ones who gush and say things like ‘it’s not how you start, it’s how you finish,’ those are usually the people who’ll quietly hold your record against you the rest of your life. The people who…I don’t know…respect that for the admission it is, they’re usually the ones you can trust.”
She didn’t ask for the details. He was glad of that, because he wasn’t ready to give them. It wasn’t exactly a topic of casual conversation, and they’d ventured deeper than he liked already. He changed the subject again. “So, Character Day. I’m not even sure I know what that is.”
“It’s one of those positive-reinforcement programs they have up at the high school. They take a month to focus on different positive character traits each week, and then there’s an assembly thing where kids get awards for those traits. Students nominate each other. It’s actually a pretty nice thing.” She blushed.
“Sounds like it’s an honor to be asked to speak.”
“It is, sort of. It’s supposed to hold you up as a—” she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers “‘—Middleburgian of Character.’”
“You going to talk about what happened to your late husband?” No one had actually said that at the meeting, but he got the impression from the way people had acted. “I mean, I think that’s really brave of you, if you are. It can’t be easy.”
Emily took a deep breath. “You know how Ash died?”
“Just the basics. You know, what people said or what was in the papers. I’m sorry.”
She toyed with her pie for a moment. “Me, too. Ash was a good man.”
“I’ve no doubt. You…you want to talk about it? I mean, I don’t know the details and I don’t need to, but if you want…” He couldn’t think of a way to finish that sentence. “Well, you know, I’d listen.” Gil wanted to smack his forehead for bumbling so much. He was so lousy at this kind of thing.
She gave a sad, thin smile. “Thanks, but it’s a long story for a place like this.”
“Yep,” he said, putting more cream in his coffee just for something to do.
“But thanks,” she said. “Really.”
Gil found that despite the tangled conversation, they’d somehow managed to reach some sort of understanding. Both of them had uncomfortable baggage that didn’t need unpacking just now. Could a conversation be classified as comfortably uncomfortable? “Still,” he said, trying to perk up his voice a bit, “we got a challenge ahead of us, you and I. Don’t you go caving when those guys come in there and try to get on your good side. They’ll come up with eleven excuses for why they couldn’t memorize this or they forgot that. Don’t you fall for it. You’ve set your terms, now don’t get all warm and fuzzy, y’hear? I don’t want you to hand over one bar of soap that hasn’t been duly earned.”
She managed a smile. “I’ll show no mercy.”
“You stand your ground and hold the line.”
She made a funny face and saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
He saluted back. “I’ve a feeling my sanity depends on it.”