Page 2 of Kink in the Road
“We’re hosting a series of four events over the weekend—with a free day on the Sunday for further mingling. Friday we begin with a welcome brunch at the pub, followed by a treasure hunt and then a singles mingling event in the evening. On Saturday, we’ll host an extended lunch on the green, followed by a series of outdoor activities such as a walking tour, boat ride and so forth. Saturday evening is a cookout. Sunday will be a sit-down brunch then free time.” The mayor rubbed her hands together. “It’s going to work, Bruce. I can feel it.”
I tried and failed not to roll my eyes as I began to scrub at decades of ancient grease and thick, rich mud from the axel of old Bob’s car.
Really, Bob. A car wash wouldn’t have killed you.
“And you want Ry for what?” Dad asked.
“We need service staff. I know Riley has helped at the pub a few times over the years.”
A fat clump of muck cracked away, hitting me in the face.
Thanks, Bob.
Considering I’d been under this car for the last three hours, I didn’t want to know how much gunk might be covering my body.
“I suppose I can spare her for one weekend. Ry,” he called. “Take tomorrow off. You’re going to help with the singles weekend.”
I gritted my teeth at his assumption that I didn’t have anything better to do with my time.
Why does everyone assume I wouldn’t be interested in attending as a participant? Am I not a woman? Am I not worthy of love?
“Okay,” I responded, frustrated and hurt but unwilling to allow them to hear that in my voice.
The mayor left and Dad returned to work on a tractor that we needed to get finish.
I ignored his cheerful whistle and took out my frustration on the stubborn vehicle.
I’d read a news article recently about small towns in America where women were outnumbered by men. The article had talked about how women felt unsafe. That wasn’t how I felt in this town. Not even close. Our men had been raised to respect women.
It’d started when I was five and my mother passed away. Dad had tried his best, but he’d been a wreck, barely able to function after her loss.
Without asking, the town had stepped in, rallying around one of their own in our time of need.
Food had appeared in our fridge and freezer. Friends would “stop by for a cup of tea” only to clean our house and sort our laundry. I’d been whisked away to sleepovers and playdates with the boys who’d taught me to dig up worms and where the best spots were for finding lizards and frogs.
Slowly Dad and I had come out of our grief, but the town’s determination to take care of us had lingered far into my early adulthood.
When I’d graduated high school, I’d decided to leave the island for a few years to attend college. That gap had opened my eyes to the world—and the delights of men who didn’t view me as a little sister.
But my heart and soul would always be in this land. There wouldn’t be another place for me—this was where I was born, and it would be where I remained until my last breath.
When the first machines had reached the shores of our island, my many-greats-grandparents had seen their chance to leave the cold and dangerous waters of the fishing industry behind. Through grit and determination, they’d forged their own path, establishing our mechanic shop and building our legacy.
A legacy I feared might die with me if I couldn’t convince at least one man to look at me with something besides friendship.
Giving up on Bob’s wreck, I slid from under the car. “Dad, I’m calling it a night. You need me to stick around?”
He popped his head out from behind his office door and I could see he was already washed and ready to head home.
“No, love. You want to join me for a meal?”
I shook my head. “I’ll get something from the pub.”
“I’ll see you Monday. Say hi to those boys for me.”
I nodded, knowing without asking who he meant. Tourist season wouldn’t begin for another few weeks, which meant that the locals had the pub to ourselves—at least for the moment.
I cleaned the workshop, clearing the grime and grease that always defined a day’s work. Each night the workshop went from chaos to calm coordination, each tool meticulously checked and returned to its place. It had become my habit to do so, a habit that had been ingrained in me from the cradle.
