Ainsley plucked a chip from the girl’s basket and enjoyed her fake outrage. “Then eat, girl!” she chided; Em was always too busy talking to eat. “What’re you guys doing here?”
“We came to meet Daddy for lunch!” That made sense; the dealership was just down the road.
“Oh, is he working today?” Ainsley asked innocently. She gave him about a 25 percent chance of actually working versus meeting one of his girlfriends.
“Unfortunately,” Charlie said, but his fakety-fake-fake grimace gave way quickly to a smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Ainsley. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Busy, but fine. How’s business?”
Charlie’s face brightened. “Oh, it’s been great. We’re selling lots of four-wheel-drive vehicles, people getting ready for winter. Jason’s been busy in the shop. We’re running some great deals; you ought to come in and replace that junker you’re driving.”
“No, I’m good, thanks.” She loved her funky old truck. Truth be told, it was her favorite accessory. The bright salmon paint job made her smile; you’d never lose it in a parking lot.
“How about you, Aiden? Still playing chess?”
He mumbled an answer, but didn’t look up from his food. He’d loved chess when he was in her class, but he’d been extra surly lately. She’d thought it was just boy hormones, but her teacher sense told her there might be something else going on.
“He’s doing great, aren’t you, Aid?” said Charlie, slapping him lightly on the knee, and Ainsley bit her tongue to keep from snarling that she hadn’t asked him.
“Maybe we could set up a game this week at the library after school?” That earned her a small smile and some fleeting eye contact, at least. Maybe that’s the best you could expect from a nine-year-old whose home life was a bit tense.
She glanced at Star, and she didn’t need to ask how she was doing; her annoyance was in the tightness around her eyes, the dip of her eyebrows, but she was forcing a smile. Ainsley was tired of seeing that look on her beautiful friend’s face. She put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll give you a call later tonight so we can catch up, okay?”
Starla nodded, giving her a little wave as she left. Ainsley made herself walk back to her own table; she knew it would still be hard to get the details out of her friend when she called later. Starla didn’t like being a martyr; she just hid from the world, playing possum, until people left her alone. Fortunately for her, Ainsley loved her far too much to do so. Her phone vibrated with a text.
Starla: Found an earring in my bed this morning when I was changing the sheets.
She shot her a look across the restaurant, and the defeated look on her friend’s face almost made her cry.
Ainsley: Not yours?
Starla: Not mine.
“Everything okay?” her dad asked, eyeing her. Her heart must have looked as bruised as it felt on behalf of her friend.
“Just more Charlie stupidity,” she said, tucking her phone away to focus on her dad. But he was staring over at the Millers’ table, and she knew the cop in him was pissed.
“She and her kids are welcome at our house, too,” he said gruffly. “Anytime. And I can make a phone call to one of my buddies at the sheriff’s office if—”
“It’s not that kind of mistreatment,” she said with a long sigh. “It’s just her heart that’s getting kicked around.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT FEW DAYS WENT by quickly for Ainsley. Sunday, she worked on her presentation for the playground improvement committee. Monday, they did a fire drill, which riled the kids up enough to spoil most of the afternoon for real work. Tuesday, Posey threw up during circle time, and they had to send her home and have the janitor come and clean the carpet. Wednesday, her kids had two specials, so she had extra prep time, which she spent cutting out thirty paper pumpkins. That extra time midweek was golden, because it meant she didn’t have to walk Aiden and Emily to the library and then go back to work. Today, that meant a quick grocery run . . . She was down to half a box of Frosted Mini-Wheats. Not enough to get through the next week.
She’d have to go into town; the little grocery store in Timber Falls wouldn’t have what she needed. No matter; it wouldn’t take long. Twenty minutes later, she was grabbing a big cart at the Safeway in Stayton. Kyle Durand was in the produce section, and he nodded to her as she came in. Her stomach dropped a little to see him unexpectedly, but she disregarded the feeling as fatigue after a long week, nothing more. Just to prove to herself that it was nothing, she’d go talk to him.
“Following me again?” she called, shaking her head. “What would my cop father say?”
“I’m afraid to find out,” he said, bringing his cart up next to hers. “How was your week? No more tree-peeing, right?”
“No, we got that sorted out,” she said, shaking open a plastic bag and filling it with Fuji apples. “No worries. How was your week?”
“Fine,” he said, claiming a large bunch of bananas. “I treated a head injury for a man who tried to hang drywall while drunk.”
“Really?” Ainsley laughed. “People are so ridiculous.” Her laughter seemed to encourage him, and he followed her along the side of the store.
“I also saw more children than usual, which is unfortunate. Did you know that patients eighteen and under make up at least a quarter of all visits to the emergency room? I’m actually thinking of taking a safety curriculum around to the schools to see if I can do some presentations. I think it would cut down a lot on accidents. Their parents are clearly not informing them about the kind of hazards they need to be aware of.”
“And what kind of hazards are those?”
“Snakes, poison ivy, electrical cords, burns—saw lots of burns last week for some reason.”
“Well, people lit their woodstoves for the first time in a while, probably.” She paused. “Kids do that, you know. They just get curious and they hurt themselves. I don’t think taking a curriculum around will do any good.” But that was Kyle Durand’s brand of caring: just drown people in safety information, and they’ll feel your love.
“If you say so. But I’m not good with kids like you.” He stared at her, and Ainsley had no idea what he was thinking. I mean, she didn’t usually, so it wasn’t really any different, but now, for the first time in a while, she wished she did.
“And at the end of the night, a woman having a bad reaction to Ambien came in. She kept saying that her thumbs were controlling her. Then she took off her shirt and asked me to rate her breasts on the scale of one to sixteen. That was awkward.”
“No!” She cackled. “What score did you give them?”
“Her husband was standing right there!” he protested, scowling. Delight at being able to tease him a little suffused her chest.
“Come on,” she laughed, nudging him with her elbow. “Just between us. What score?” She held up two grapefruits in front of her chest, and he chuckled, pushing on her shoulder gently.