Page 18 of The Hometown Legend

“Is there another way?” she asked.

“Yeah. Personally, I try not to think of much of anything. I find that helpful.”

“Helpful to what?”

“Sleeping at night. Being able to get through the damn day without having a nervous breakdown. Quite a few things.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So... Thanks. I’ll see you around.” She didn’t know what she’d expected. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t that she thought he would be excited to see her or anything. They didn’t know each other. It wasn’t that she thought he would ask her in. It was just that she remembered him being so...gregarious and friendly. She hadn’t expected it so much as it had just seemed like a given.

He’d always been that way... It was like the party was drawn to him. He was a human flame, and everybody else were moths.

But he seemed to relish that role. He always had.

Every time she’d ever gone to Lydia’s house there had been a group of people there hanging out with her older brother.

He was the perfect one. Women loved him. Men loved him. Everyone loved him.

High school kids, adults, everybody.

And he seems to thrive in that spotlight.

But not this man.

She held the bottle of wine close to her chest and walked back down to the truck.

She hadn’t even gotten to ask him about the parade.

Was there really going to be a parade, or had someone been joking about that? It seemed like a reasonable thing to expect for Hometown Hero Gideon Payne.

But she wasn’t sure that this Gideon would want a parade.

She wasn’t sure of much of anything, which was normal for her. But she had to admit that she felt like the certainty of Gideon might have set her on the right track.

But that wasn’t happening.

Her phone pinged, and she had a text from Lydia.

You have time to meet for lunch?

Yes.

Maybe she would ask Lydia a little bit more about her brother.

She drove down to town and pulled into the Becky’s parking lot.

She hadn’t verified for sure that it was where Lydia wanted to meet, but there wasn’t anywhere else that wasn’t too far afield.

The little diner was made from rough-hewn wood and had a bright blue door.

It was so named for an old miner called Becky who had come out here to find gold but had done better serving up hash browns.

Even though Becky himself had been deceased for going on seventy years, the name remained.

It was right next to Smokey’s, the only bar in town.

A place that Rory herself didn’t frequent. To say the least.

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