Page 76 of Any Luck at All

As he turned and walked away, she couldn’t help thinking she was letting go of the very best thing to ever come into her life.

Maybe she was her mother after all. Choosing to stay in a loveless marriage. Or letting the love of your life go. What was the difference when they both caused so much pain?

In the end, choose business, her head reminded her.

So why did it ring so hollow?

Chapter Thirty

It had felt like Beau was answering him, Georgie showing up like that. And then, for a few brief moments, she’d let him hold her the way he’d been itching to do. It had felt like the sun was shining on him after a long day of darkness. It had felt like coming home.

Back when he was a kid, River and his mother had traveled so much it had been his norm. Esmerelda would answer the call to some far-flung place or other and drag him along as if he were a suitcase. She made jewelry—beautiful pieces with hand-woven metal and stones acquired on their travels—and sold enough for them to live cheaply and on the fly. Sometimes they stayed in communities with other kids, and he’d get to play with children his age, but he’d never been put in a traditional school. She’d homeschooled him, or so she said, but really she’d just given him the books and let him guide his own education, something that had put him embarrassingly behind once he started public school. It had been lonely much of the time, but every so often Esmerelda (she’d never let him call her Mom) would bring him to Asheville, to Aunt Dottie, and it would feel like he finally had a place to plant his feet. Like he had somewhere he could belong. Like he had someone to belong with.

It was the way he felt with Georgie in his arms, and given the way she’d melted into him, he’d thought she felt it too. Only she’d retreated from him. Again. It was starting to seem like she was as good at pulling away as she was at running a business.

He’d thought he was going to head home. Hops surely needed to be let out soon, and if he waited too long, he’d come home to more shredded toilet paper or maybe a mauled book. But whatever desperation had driven him to seek out Beau earlier was driving him to Aunt Dottie now. (Surely she’d have something to say about that.)

Her house had always reminded him of the candy cottage in Hansel and Gretel. It was a small three-bedroom bungalow, painted a bright pastel purple with yellow trim. The yard was separated into planting beds and featured a random assemblage of sculpted animals—bears sitting with frogs. He pulled into the driveway behind her car, his heart in his throat, and made his way to the door, his feet planting on her welcome mat.

He heard voices inside, even though her car was the only one in the drive. He started to pull away, not feeling fit for company, but Aunt Dottie opened the door before he got a single step closer.

“How’d you know…?” he started.

She just gave him herI know things, dearlook, but he caught sight of the open front shades and realized she’d probably seen the car’s headlights. Although still a bit too early for darkness to fall, it was a hazy, murky day, veering toward dusk, and the lights had turned on automatically.

“I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it,” she said. “The others showed up an hour ago.”

“The others?” he asked in confusion.

She tsked. “You didn’t get my text?”

Truthfully, no. But he’d been checking his phone only once or twice a day to avoid the Jezebel spam. Not that he wanted to admit to dodging those messages. His aunt studied them as carefully as a detective interpreting clues to a grisly crime.

“I must have missed it,” he said. “What’s the situation?”

“Come in, come in,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside.

He did, only to find Lurch, Josie, and a couple of current Buchanan employees sitting around the dining room table.

Each sat in front of a large pad of drawing paper, and a mass of colored pencils lay in the middle.

Was this some sort of art happy hour? It wouldn’t be the first time.

There were two empty places—one had obviously been Aunt Dottie’s seat given the intricate drawings on the page, and the other had apparently been left open for him.

“Oh, good, you’re here, River,” Lurch said. “My idea is to mix five different kinds of beer together—some of them limited release—and have a competition to see who can name all five. If they win, they get to drink it. What do you think?” He grinned as if expecting approval.

“Um, do you think anyone would want to win?” he asked.

Lurch twisted his mouth to the side and then shrugged. “To each their own.”

“There’s food in the kitchen,” Aunt Dottie said brightly. “Grab a plate! We’ve got a lot left to do.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” He nodded to Josie, and the employees who were still, well, employees, and led the way.

The kitchen table was crowded with platters of food, arranged in front of a little chalkboard sign readingInspiration Eats!

He sighed, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing a plate and helping himself. He hadn’t eaten since that muffin with Maisie, which he’d counted as a late lunch, and Aunt Dottie was a great cook when she wasn’t trying to make all the food black or brown. “Are you planning the employee party behind Georgie’s back?”

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