CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAD ENTERED THE town square on the morning of the Harvest Festival with a heavy heart.

In his own way, he’d come to love the small town and care for its residents. So his attempt to write a column about them had been a disaster? He’d move on. He’d rebuild. And every so often, he’d think about the handyman gang, Eunice, or Tracy. Especially Tracy. And when he thought of her, his heart would give a painful squeeze and his lungs would feel leaden and he’d wonder what might have been if he’d been smarter or braver or a better writer.

The parking spaces on Main Street were full and there were several generations of people congregating around the town square. The relatives had arrived.

There was Nina Valpizzi with her grandkids. Did they notice her attention tended to wander and she was forgetting things? There was the mayor with a woman who might have been his daughter. They shared the same aquiline nose. Had she noticed the spot on Larry’s face that needed checking for cancer? There was Takata with his walker and...Mildred?

Chad couldn’t resist walking over. “Hey, you two.”

“Don’t even say it,” Mildred said. “We’re just friends.”

Takata chuckled. “I’m going to enter the nail-driving competition and she’s going to bowl with pumpkins. Wish us luck.”

“And good luck to you, Chad.” Mildred clasped her hand over his with that unconditional warmth and trust everyone in town had offered him. “We expect great things from you and your column.”

Chad didn’t tell them there’d be no column He just moved on.

There was plenty of food to be sampled. Martin’s Bakery had set up a booth and packaged up cookies, brownies and Bundt cakes for sale. Not to be outdone, El Rosal had a grill going behind their patio. It smelled heavenly.

“Chad.” Rutgar slapped him on the back hard enough to dislodge a peanut stuck in his throat. If a peanut had been stuck in his throat. “If you ever want to write an article about living off the land, you know where to find me.”

The mayor pumped his hand. “You let me know anything you need to make your column about us shine. We’ve enjoyed having you here.”

After a string of other goodbyes—all expecting great things and delivered with nice words—Chad was saved by Flynn, who handed him a beer and led him over by the grill. “The key to these things,” Flynn said. “Is to stay on the sidelines. The older generation really gets into the traditions.”

“What does the younger generation usually do?” Try as he might, he couldn’t catch sight of Tracy.

“Try not to get involved.”

But Flynn’s philosophy was hard to live by when Agnes asked Flynn to judge the gurning contest.

Chad laughed.

“You, too,” Agnes said sternly to Chad. “Your face is too beautiful for the gurn, but we need judges.”

As judges, Flynn, Chad and Duffy had to sit on the stage and try to take the contestants seriously. They failed miserably.

And then Chad caught sight of one of the Bostwick Lampoon’s writers in the crowd. Mark Nesbit laughed harder and louder than anyone.

After the competition, which Sam won, Chad worked his way down to his former employee’s side. He shook Mark’s hand like any civilized man would do, but inside his territorial instincts were snarling. “What are you doing here, Mark?”

“I’m writing the Lampoon’s travel column now. We’re retitling it The Sophisticated Bachelor.” Mark got a good look at Chad’s banged up face. “What happened to you, man? Brawl over a woman? Spent the night in the drunk tank?”

“I got run over by a Cadillac.”

“There’s a story for you.” Mark surveyed the crowd with an ear-splitting grin. “I can’t believe you were judging that last event. Are you related to someone here? That was one of the tackiest competitions I’ve ever seen.” Considering Mark was in his twenties and hadn’t seen a lot of the world, his observation meant little to Chad. But readers of the Lampoon might believe him.

Chad felt the first wave of anger wash over him. “Gurning isn’t tacky. It’s included to give older people something to participate in.” His explanation fell on deaf ears.

Mark had the attention span of a gnat. “Did I hear there’s going to be pumpkin bowling?”

“Yes.”

Mildred was waiting to take her turn. The lane had been marked with chalk powder in the grass. The pins were two-liter soda bottles filled with water and then frozen.

“Smashing pumpkins. Best played drunk, I bet.” Mark nodded toward the beer in Chad’s hand. There was nothing sophisticated about the little man. He wore a wrinkled beer brand T-shirt, a pair of off-brand blue jeans and sneakers with holes near one toe.

“Actually, it’s more a game of skill.” The pumpkin stood little chance of surviving against ten frozen pins. The winner was the one who knocked down the most pins without destroying their pumpkin.

“That’s a hoot.” Mark leaned back and howled at the blue sky, drawing several frowns from the crowd. “This is better than the retirement party they threw for my grandfather at the pork factory.” Mark got out his cell phone. “I’ve got to take video of this. That old biddy is setting aside her walker. I bet she falls.”

In that moment, Chad realized several demoralizing things. He didn’t like his former employees at the Lampoon. And he was afraid Tracy was right. He’d been cruel and callous and without scruples, like Mark. And yes, he was scared to death to spread his wings and try something different, something that didn’t rise to the top by putting others at the bottom. He’d been too stubborn to see it, too stupid to get out of his own way.

Of more immediate concern was the possibility that Mildred would fall and Mark would capture it on video.

Chad made a quick decision. He bumped into Mark hard enough to send them both to the ground and dumped his beer on his former star employee. Mark’s cell phone clattered to the pavement a few feet away. Chad helped Mark to his feet at the same time he ground his heel on Mark’s cell phone. “Sorry, dude. Someone knocked me over.”

“Or maybe you’ve been drinking too much. Now I smell like a brewery.” Mark spotted his cell phone. “Oh, man. My screen shattered.” He slid his fingers across the screen. It remained blank. “It’s broken. How am I supposed to report this now?”

“You’re not supposed to, Mark. This story is not for you. Go back to reporting about politicians who cheat on their taxes. And tell the new editor-in-chief that Harmony Valley is off-limits to the Lampoon.”

“Seriously? You can’t do that.” But Mark’s laugh was nervous.

“Mark, look at my face—” his beat up face. “—and then tell me I’m not serious. Because otherwise we can head over to that alley and we’ll see how you look when we’re done.”

Mark hurried away.

Chad looked for Tracy. Tracy was fearless. She’d stood up to him from day one. She fought constantly to improve herself and to fly in new directions. She’d be proud of what he just did.

And then he saw her standing in front of the microphone with a look his way that said she was anything but proud of him.

* * *

“I HAVE AN announcement to make.” The last time Tracy took the microphone on this stage, she’d been the Grand Marshall of the Spring Festival. That was nearly a year and a half ago. She’d been just as scared to speak in front of the crowd as she was now.

Deep down, she knew Chad wasn’t a tear down or a throw away. This was her way of helping him. But in doing so, he’d never speak to her again.

Chad came up to the edge of the stage. She could feel his attention on her. She didn’t want to watch the impact her words had on him.

“I have an announcement,” she said again, much louder this time. “Chad...used to be the editor of the Bostwick Lampoon. Do you know what that is?” She glanced around, carefully avoiding making eye contact with Chad. “It’s a magazine that makes fun. Sometimes cruelly so. Of pretty much everything.” If she’d been expecting Chad to defend himself, she’d been wrong. He was almost docile at her feet. “Chad...didn’t come here to write a kind column. He came to make fun. Here’s part...of what he plans to publish about us.” Tracy looked at her cell phone screen so she wouldn’t lose her nerve. “Harmony Valley...is the kind of place you retire to when you want to be forgotten.”

Chad seemed to shrink. She had the audience’s full attention now.

She scrolled to another line. “You’ll find...great amusement in throwback favorites, like Horseradish-Doodles and squirrel jerky. But...I don’t recommend trying them unless you’re closer to a hospital.”

“Oh, Chad.” Eunice pouted. “I had such high hopes for you.”

Tracy scrolled further. “And...since it’s a town for old people. They...need activities old people can participate in. Gurning. Pumpkin bowling. Even naked yoga.”

People began to turn and scowl at Chad. Voices were raised. Insults were thrown.

Tracy had to shout above the crowd noise. “The...only nice things he said were about the winery, the bakery, El Rosal and Giordanos.” Tracy lowered her phone. “He...never told us he came to write a glowing article. We...were the ones who assumed too much and trusted him with our...” She almost said hearts. Hers had certainly been too trusting where plain Chad was concerned.

The crowd seemed to hold their collective breath.

“Anyway... He...wasn’t the only one who held back the truth. Chad...” Tracy finally met Chad’s steady gaze, surprised by the acceptance there when she’d expected bitterness. “There is no Lambridge Bed & Breakfast. You came to town. And we needed a place for you to stay.”

“Why did you have to tell him that?” Rose tossed up her hands.

Tracy lifted her chin. “Because we shouldn’t have lied.”

“Especially when he had to stay with Leona,” Mildred said, causing the crowd to chuckle.

But the laughter was short-lived. Residents converged upon Chad and everyone wanted to tell him what they thought of him.

Tracy returned the microphone to its stand and slipped away.

* * *

CHAD STEPPED INSIDE the Lambridge Bed & Breakfast, which wasn’t really a bed & breakfast after all. Stopping in the foyer, he thought about how his column had hurt people’s feelings and wounded their pride. Even the house seemed angry with him. It was as cold as his column.

He’d never been somewhere where they’d seen his column before he left town. He’d never regretted writing a column before. He’d let every resident have their say, because he deserved every harsh word. Flynn and Slade had returned from the storage locker in time to hear Tracy’s speech. They’d turned their backs on him. That hurt almost as much as Tracy’s disappointment in him.

Leona crossed the threshold carrying a vase of fresh flowers. She set them down on a table nearby. “What’s wrong, Mr. Healy?”

“I’m a hated man.”

“By...”

“Pretty much everyone in town.”

She scoffed. “They’ve hated me here for decades. I wouldn’t concern yourself, especially since you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“They don’t like you because you divorced Phil.” Although Chad couldn’t understand why they’d been married in the first place.

“Not true. They don’t like me because I don’t participate in all the tomfoolery that goes on. They’ve practically adopted every tradition from every country around the world. It keeps them busy and gives them a sense of purpose. And I won’t be a part of it. I don’t need to be a part of it.”

Chad didn’t need to either, and yet belonging had made him feel good. But Leona wasn’t as heartless or uninvolved as she wanted to appear. “You donated vegetables to raise money for the Harvest Festival.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her nose went into the air. She’d never admit to caring.

Which was why her part in the town’s deception made no sense. “Why did you agree to this bed & breakfast charade? You hate anyone in your home.”

Leona fiddled with the flower stalks and accidentally broke a stem. “I... I...” She was so like his mother, it hurt him. She’d been an enigma, too. “Do you have family, Mr. Healy?”

“Not anymore.” Not so much as a distant cousin.

“I don’t either, besides my son and granddaughters.”

“And Phil.”

She waved a hand as if her ex-husband didn’t count. “They say you can’t choose the family you’re born into, but you can choose the family you make. If that’s true, the people in Harmony Valley are my family.” She added in a mumble, “Annoying though they may be.”

“They might like you better if you told them that.”

“I don’t care if they like me.” She plucked the ruined white carnation from the vase, snapped off the broken stem and handed it to him. “I’m comfortable with my life. But you, Mr. Healy, you aren’t.”

“Oh, this will be good.” And a great way to forget the pain in Tracy’s eyes when she’d read his column.

“You smile and try to charm everyone, but you don’t let yourself care. It makes it easier when you move on. You’ve buried your heart deeper than I have. I almost pity you.”

“Almost,” he said softly, because her words had hit home.

“Well, you are renowned in a way.” Her lips almost moved upward in a smile. “I’ve read some of your columns. And I’m sure you have fond memories of every place you’ve been. But since you never let yourself fall in love with a destination, you feel oh-so-superior when you poke fun and leave.”

Tracy had said much the same. If Tracy’s accusations had pierced the layer of protection around Chad’s heart, Leona’s shattered it, breaking it into sharp shards that made it hard to breathe.

“So don’t go thinking we’re alike, Mr. Healy. I stay here and show my true colors every day of the year.” She left him in the foyer.

It took Chad a few minutes to trust his legs to carry him upstairs. He had a column to write. He’d planned his website to go live tomorrow and he was going to keep to that schedule. Schedules were the only thing he had left, and by going live he’d be letting the Lampoon know he wouldn’t be defeated. He logged into the blogging program and stared at the screen, but he couldn’t type a word. He couldn’t even remember what the lead sheet had said that had sparked the Lampoon team’s interest in the first place.

He went down to his car and got the box from the office out of the trunk, carrying it back upstairs. He set it on the bed and opened it up. There was the folder with the lead sheet. It said simply: Harmony Valley, too good to be true.

There was a picture of his parents on their thirtieth wedding anniversary five years ago—they counted the years they’d been divorced in their marriage total. He’d taken the picture of them sitting on their balcony overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. They held each other close.

And there was the crumpled postmortem manifesto. Chad smoothed out the wrinkles.

Chad is not my choice for the job.

That’s where Chad had lost it. It had been a day for painful realities. Chad forced himself to read the rest of his father’s last wishes.

Chad is a happy person, too happy for the sardonic vulgarities often required of the Lampoon. I suggest you find a suitable alternative by looking at former students from pompous schools who’ve lied about their grade point average and other achievements on their résumé. That’s the kind of person I was. At least, until I became a father. And then I forgot how much that role means to a child, even an adult one. Chad should never forget.

Chad returned to the desk and stared at the screen. His father had redeemed himself in Chad’s eyes. Chad had to redeem himself, too.

He began to type.

* * *

THE HARD THING about making amends and doing the right thing was that it often required logistics, which Harmony Valley was sorely short of.

So Chad left town on Sunday morning and drove back to his family’s empty penthouse suite in San Francisco, full of memories both pleasant and unpleasant, and began a campaign to win Harmony Valley and Tracy back.

He returned on Tuesday morning and began his campaign with flyers posted on all the businesses on Main Street, including Martin’s Bakery. When he was done, he had quite a few copies left. He pushed through the door to Martin’s and stopped. The regulars were there, including Tracy. She wore a simple T-shirt, little makeup, and her sunny blond hair looked as if she’d slept until the last minute this morning.

There was a tablet on top of one bakery case beneath a sign that said, “Read Today’s Blog!” Someone had written a new note on the chalkboard: We do wedding cakes! A free pie for every referral. Tracy had already begun her marketing campaign.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Eunice studied him over the top of her black-rimmed readers. “We won’t fall for your act again, buster. Better hit the road.”

“You people are too smart to fall for the same line twice.” Chad distributed flyers to every person in the bakery. Everyone except Tracy. “First off, yes, I wrote the column Tracy read at the Harvest Festival.”

Tracy stood behind the counter as if afraid to move. Where was the fierce and fearless woman who’d won his heart?

“Tracy had an advanced copy that I gave her,” Chad said.

“Thank goodness she did.” Rose shook her finger at him. “Wait. Why were you stupid enough to give it to her?”

“Because I trusted her.” He willed Tracy to look him in the eyes. “I still do.”

Her startled glance flew to his.

He nodded. “But I didn’t publish the column she read.” He held up the remaining flyers. “This is the travel column that was posted this morning. Feel free to read it.”

“Read it to me, Hiro,” Mildred said.

The patrons at Martin’s began to read. Hiro’s low, steady voice didn’t carry beyond one table over.

“I don’t understand,” Tracy said, holding out her hand for a copy of the column. “You were convinced that was the right column for your career.”

“That was before I realized what an empty career it was.” Chad hugged the flyers to his chest. “That was before I decided what I wanted to do with my life next. You were right about the story from the beginning, but I was just too stubborn to listen. I wrote this column before I left town Sunday morning. By Monday night, I had a new set of advertising sponsors and a new name for my website: The Happy Bachelor Settles Down.”

Tracy’s expression was stuck stiffly between wonder and disbelief.

“I want to retire to Harmony Valley.” He’d begun the process of selling his shares in the Lampoon. He’d put the penthouse up for sale. And made other changes, too.

Tracy scoffed. “You’re too young to retire.”

If anyone else heard their conversation, they didn’t react.

He brought out his most reliable smile, the one the Bunko ladies had loved. “I’ve already had a midlife crisis, I don’t know why I can’t retire.”

“Hey,” the mayor said. “This column is nice. This column should get picked up by a big city newspaper for sure.”

“It’s funny. I like to hear about Roxie and her chickens.” Despite her black framed readers, Eunice held the column close to her nose. “And look! There’s a mention of Mama and her Horseradish-Doodles.”

“I like how you reference squirrel jerky and living off the land,” Rutgar rumbled from the back.

“From the first time I saw you, Tracy, you made me smile. And somewhere along the way, I learned a thing or two from you.” Chad couldn’t stop smiling at Tracy. He moved closer to the counter, close enough to take one of her hands in his. “How to be fearless and how to be kind. How to be just plain Chad.”

“You aren’t really going to retire, are you?” Blue eyes wide, Tracy searched his face for some clue.

“For a while. Maybe I’ll get restless and write some travel columns about the nice, joyous discoveries that can be found in the most surprising of places.” He leaned over the counter and touched the hair over her scar. “Of course, I’d need a travel companion, someone who’s willing to keep me honest and point out the unique, sweet character of a place.”

She leaned forward until her lips were within kissing distance. “Who did you have in mind?”

“Eunice.” He grinned.

The room erupted with laughter. They’d all been shamelessly eavesdropping.

Chad didn’t mind at all. “And maybe...sometimes... I’d find room in my minivan for my wife and kids to come along.”

“Minivan?” Tracy glanced outside the window. “You went from a sports car to a minivan?”

“Well, sweetheart, if you expected me to buy a truck and fill it with tools, you are sadly mistaken. If I accompany Flynn and the guys on their rounds, it’ll be as an assistant lugging the tool box.” He gave her a gentle tug, so that they were back in the shared space in the middle of the counter. He was a long way from winning her over forever, but he felt his empty places being filled already. With Tracy by his side, he’d have days filled with smiles and laughter and jokes. “Wouldn’t you rather load a minivan with our kids?”

She answered him with a kiss that was far too short, because everyone in Martin’s, and everyone they called to Martin’s, wanted to celebrate the newest couple in Harmony Valley.

After Mildred and Hiro, that is.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from EVERY TIME WE SAY GOODBYE by Liz Flaherty.

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