Hope Springs: Chapters 6–14

“You two better run!” A man in a cherry printed apron appeared, waving a spatula. “Oh, hello,” he said. Jubilee? Abby has been talking nonstop about you. I’m Frank: mayor’s husband, cook, dinosaur wrangler, and Abby’s dad. You hungry? I’m making burgers.”

“This is what I have to live with—the twins and the wreckage they leave behind.” Abby motioned to the mess and kicked a path for us. I couldn’t help myself. I picked up three train tracks and half a dozen small dinosaurs and quickly tossed them in a toy box nestled under the sofa arm.

Nan came up with Relocation Rule Number 14: Blend in with the locals or stick out with the yokels.

“Thanks, Abby. I love it,” I said. I wasn’t sure I could ride it. I wasn’t sure Arletta herself could glamorganize the dingy out of that two-wheeler, but I did love it.

“It’s not your fault. It’s my own and those dognasty, globsnotting PINK curtains!” Nan yelled and motioned to a toppled chair and a pile of pink fabric, winced, and grabbed her ribs.

I held Nan’s hand and rested my forehead on the edge of the gurney.

“Jubilee,” she said and grimaced as she stood. “Lord, if it didn’t hurt to breathe, I’d hug you and never let go.”

I held Nan’s crutches as Abby’s mom tried to help her in, but Nan grunted, gritted her teeth, and got into the van on her own.

As soon as their minivan spewed dust on its way out of our driveway, Nan hobbled to our door. She muttered, “Home sweet home,” before going in, her voice thick with sarcasm.

The clothes I’d spent so much time picking out were wrinkled and covered in dust, and strands of my hair had escaped my ponytail and curled out in a thin frizz halo. But I was willing to sacrifice my dignity if it meant I got to keep holding on to Hope Springs and my dream of the perfect place for me and Nan.

“I came to take you up on the job offer. I could start today.” I felt good for two reasons. One: I was being what Nan called “proactive,” taking charge and doing something. Two: The new season of Queen of Neat premiered in a few short hours, and Abby was staying to watch it with me.

She looked at me and sighed. “I’m sorry, honey, but my guess is that her reminiscing on air about Hope Springs is as genuine as her hair color.”

The sight forced thoughts of Holly and Arletta Paisley right out of my mind, distracting me enough that I tripped over the pile of velvet bolts I was sorting and fell face-first into a hanging rack of upholstery-grade damask.

“Why did she give you her garbage?” I asked.
“Those are remnants, honey, not garbage. There’s a big difference. I use them in my quilts...."

"...And these,” she continued, holding up another bundle, “are from the lap quilt she made for her mother. These are little snippets of people’s lives. I’d love to teach you to quilt. You’d be a natural.”

“‘Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies.’ Jane Austen.” Nan grimaced as she stood. Abby furrowed her brow and looked at me, but I just shook my head.

I sat on the couch after the show, my pencil still poised over a blank page, and stared straight ahead.

I felt like I’d been wrapped in silk tulle made of good luck and wishes come true.

As the opening draws near, apprehensions of small business owners rise, while others welcome the employment opportunities and shopping conveniences a SmartMart promises.

But cheaper merchandise isn’t always better, leaving local entrepreneurs to prove that quality is queen.

Momma stepped out of the truck with dusk as a backdrop. She wore skinny jeans and a long white gauzy shirt cinched around her tiny waist with a wide leather belt.

Nan said Daddy’d stayed behind to take care of me when Momma got her first touring gig.

Nan and I were fine. We only needed a little help, not a full-force intervention.

Nan took a long drink of her juice and harrumphed. I guessed she was suppressing a lot of quotes and probably a few almost-swears.

“Let’s definitely fix it up together.” I didn’t want to hurt Abby’s feelings. “We could use the brown. The brown is fine. And Avocado is great. Arletta would call it an earthy tone.”

Abby and I started off walking and ended up racing down the sidewalk before busting into the store in a fit of giggles. Rayburn didn’t bark at the commotion, and Holly wasn’t in her normal spot. She paced in front of the phone.

He knew every country song ever created by heart and belted them all in a shrill wail the whole way to wherever we went.

“After thinking about her walking all the way here carrying that heavy casserole dish, I felt obligated to go tonight,” she said.

“Deal,” I agreed, then grabbed Abby’s hands and swung her around until Rayburn barked and skittered across the floor trying to join us.

Sounded like Mr. Griggs talked a lot more than his son and had a bad case of paranoia in common with his sister.