“Tennessee is breathtaking in the fall,” Josephine says, as Roman backs out of the driveway. “That’s when tourism spikes.”
“I can see why,” I say. I’d never thought of this pocket of the country as being a vacation destination, but according to Coop, I’m wrong. Perhaps it’s because I grew up in the city, and time away usually meant booking a week at the beach. “Does Whisper get many visitors?”
“More the surrounding areas,” Josephine says. “Gatlinburg and Knoxville and Chattanooga.”
All places I’ve heard mentioned but have never been.
“Whisper could have been a tourist trap, but Mom put an end to that,” Roman says.
“How so?” I ask, intrigued.
“Back in the early aughts, outside investors took an interest in this place. They thought Whisper Lake would be an ideal destination for a luxury resort,” she says, as though retelling a fond memory. “They wanted to buy a hundred acres of land.”
“Could have been our ticket out of here,” Roman says. His reflection in the rectangular rearview mirror is smiling, but I sense an edge in his voice. “Could have made millions.”
By all appearances, the Douglases are wealthy as is. I can’t believe they were in the position to be worth even more. “What happened?” I ask.
“Mom refused to sell.”
“They were offering you this money?” I ask Josephine.
“I owned most of the property. All landowners were required to be in agreement, and I was majority stakeholder.” Somehow, she speaks about her finances and sounds self-assured, not greedy. “Roman’s right. I held up the deal.”
“It was like winning the lottery and refusing to cash in,” Roman says, turning into the downtown area.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“Not everything in life is about money,” Josephine says.
“Says the rich woman,” Roman goads.
“Whisper Falls is charming and quaint. There aren’t many places like it anymore,” she says, speaking as though describing an old friend. “I couldn’t imagine these same streets being littered with Burger Kings and mini-golf establishments and bait shops. Change isn’t always good.”
“You still seem a little bitter about the decision?” I say to Roman, wavering my voice to make it clear I’m only kidding.
“Yeah, yeah. I was a kid at the time. It wasn’t my decision to make. It’s something I like to think about now and then, though. How this place could have been different.” He stretches his arm and squeezes Josephine’s shoulder. “Really, I just like to give Mom a hard time.”
It certainly would have changed the area. Aside from the profits for the Douglases, a deal like that could have brought more money to the area. Job opportunities and tourism. Do the people here even know about the opportunities Josephine has taken from them? Looking out the window, I imagine a different type of Whisper Falls. Try to decide if I’d be happier in that place. The car stops, and I see we’re outside a large warehouse called Turner’s.
“You’ll see once we get inside,” Josephine says, turning to look at me in the back seat. “This place has a little bit of everything.”
Inside, Josephine introduces me to the owner, a man named Fred. He’s short and round and all too eager to have us in his store. I’d only planned on picking up some pieces for the living room, but Josephine assures him we’ve got an empty house to fill. Watching the way Fred’s eyes pop at the remark makes me blush.
We walk from one setting to the next: a living area, a patio set, a bedroom display. Josephine can’t keep away from Fred, the two of them conversing back and forth. Roman walks to the back of the store and chats with the workers. There’s a couple beside me talking to a salesperson. The worker looks familiar, but that can’t be possible; I’ve not been here long enough to really know anyone. As I walk closer, watching her, I remember she’s the blonde from last night. The name tag on her royal blue vest confirms it: Bridgette, Rising Star.
The couple shopping for a new washer and dryer step away. Her attention turns to me, and I enjoy the quick flicker of recognition in her eyes. I move closer, unable to resist watching her squirm. Like I’m Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman giving it to the snotty salespeople on Rodeo Drive. She looks different now, her confidence from last night gone.
I’ve got her cornered between a display of dishwashers. She can’t just ignore me, not with Fred and Josephine standing so close. Finally, she looks up and offers a strained smile.
“Need help finding anything?” she asks.
“You look familiar,” I say, relishing this moment. I replay her comment from last night in my mind. Hope she can swim. Now I’m the one with the upper hand, and I like it.
“Bridgette Rollins? Is that you?” Josephine, standing behind me, steps forward and embraces Bridgette. I’m caught off guard considering how rude this woman was to Regina.
“Nice seeing you, Mrs. Douglas,” Bridgette says. Her head over Josephine’s shoulder, we lock eyes. I’m unsure if she’s thankful for an interruption or if she’s genuinely happy to see her.
Josephine pulls away, motioning to me. “Bridgette, I’d like you to meet my future daughter-in-law, Madison. She’s just moved here from Atlanta.”
“We met at the football game last night,” I say, dryly. I can’t help dangling the possibility I might bring up last night’s comment, although I won’t. I’m not yet comfortable enough with Josephine.
“That’s right,” Josephine says. “Your son is the quarterback, right?”
“Stepson,” Bridgette says. “He’s the second-string linebacker. Still only a sophomore.”
“You must be so proud.” Josephine turns to me. “Bridgette was one of my girls back when I sponsored the cheerleading team. Feels like ages ago, doesn’t it?”
“Is that how you know Regina?” I ask Bridgette.
Bridgette and Josephine chuckle in unison. “Regina wasn’t on the squad, not for lack of trying,” Josephine says. “The school was short a sponsor, and I stepped up. Only did it for a year or two. Sometimes I miss being so involved.”
“We had some good times,” Bridgette says, her eyes bouncing from Josephine to me. Judging by her job and bitter attitude, I’d say it was the best of times for Bridgette.
“Lovely running into you,” Josephine says, lightly touching Bridgette’s hand.
“Let me know if you need help finding anything,” she says, scurrying off.
She’d probably get a hefty commission if she stayed around, but she seems intimidated.
The remaining hour we’re in the store, I barely see Bridgette. I’m too busy committing to furniture I don’t have the funds to buy: a new sofa, some bookcases and a bedroom suite. The sign at the front of the store offers financing, so I can at least pay on my purchases between now and the wedding. At the sales counter, I’m stunned when Josephine announces she will buy everything.
“You can’t,” I say, beginning to sweat. “It’s too much.”
“Please,” she says. “It’s my duty as part of the renovation. I’m not going to throw the responsibility of furnishing the place on you.”