Page 7 of Home to the Hollow

But I can’t correct Aldous because I don’t know if he knows about her behavior and condones it or is like most of the men in town who don’t have the foggiest what their spawn get up to besides things that win trophies.

“I’m sure that if Ophelia wants to put Charlotte in lessons, she will come to the open house so I can get her scheduled. Thank you for thinking of me, Aldous. It’s very kind of you,” I reply, keeping my tone bland. I don’t want him to get even a tiny whiff of the disdain I feel for his daughter and their compatriots. After all, they are the people most likely to have kids and be able to afford pricey lessons or buy art for their homes. I have to be smart and sustainable while I get my business off the ground.

“Little Charlotte excels ateverythingshe does. She’s in the top ten percent of her preschool class, and was potty trained by the time she was eighteen months old!”

I blink, stunned into silence. What in the hell has happened to parents in the US while I was gallivanting around Europe for years? Is this a recent development or is it particular to the income level of a town like the Hollow? I left teaching to pursue my psych degrees because the parents and admin in my inner-city school were so disconnected from the success of the children. If Aldous is a good example, these people aretooinvolved in their kids’ success.

Why would anyone in their right mind measure academic performance levels in preschool?

My bewildered thoughts are interrupted as the tiny man lets go of my arm and opens the door of the diner, making the bell tinkle. The din inside quiets as I walk in, and the eyes following me make the hackles on the back of my neck stand up. I paste on a fake smile, adopting the persona I’d left behind when I moved. Aldous follows me as I head for the counter, clearly puffed up at being the first person to locate me. I stop at the end of the counter, sitting on a stool as I watch the server clean up a place at the other end.

Aldous clears his throat loudly to my chagrin, the sound echoing in the diner like a socialite summoning a servant. This isnotthe impression I wanted to make on my first outing in town, and I certainly don’t want to offend either of the classes occupying the diner. The server is mid-forties and looks comfortable in her skin, her sharp gaze slicing into Aldous like a hawk that’s spotted a mouse.

“Aldous Basil Longworth. Do not make me tell you again. I do not appreciate the tone of your throat clearing when you get impatient, boy.”

Holding back a snicker, I study this woman. I don’t remember her, but since she’s thirteen years older now, she could be someone I saw daily. Anyone that makes a douche like Aldous shrivel in place is aces in my book. Before he can shoot the retort I sense is on the tip of his shrewish tongue, I hold my hand out, smiling. “Hello. I’m Jolene Whitley. I moved back to town last night, and I’m hungry as a bear.”

A soft gasp echoes through the room, and I frown.

What the hell did I say?

Her gaze sharpens again as she looks me over, and finally, her expression turns to a bright smile. “Jolene Whitley!” the server booms. “You are a sight for sore eyes! We didn’t expect to see you return, especially with the stories your parents told us about your adventures in Europe. I expect you’ll have to re-learn what life in the Hollow is like.”

I look around, feeling the gazes of everyone in the room on me as I turn back with a broad smile. I hope it doesn’t look forced, but with everyone studying me like a giant bug, I feel trapped. “I’m sure I will, and I know everyone in town will help me with that.”

“Just come see ol’ Hazel and I’ll set you straight. In a town full of smiling crocodiles, I’m the friendly lizard of the group. Now, let me get you a menu…”

When her back is turned, I frown. Her analogy puzzles me, and I’m not sure the other people in the diner liked it, either. The hum of people chatting and eating starts again with Hazel’s departure. I walk closer to the counter, noting a curious piece of artwork near the register.

Art always intrigues me, so I lean into the sculpture of the Greco-Roman amphitheater with a backdrop depicting people dancing and a large green scaly looking icon under the stage. It’s quite old, and I don’t recognize the design, which is weird considering I did a lot of work in Athens. There’s a small brass bowl at the forefront of the scene, and I chuckle. It must be her version of a tip jar picked up on some vacation or online with no thought to its actual purpose. Hazel arrives as I’ve liberated the few coins in my bag and dropped them into the bowl. Her smile widens and Aldous tries to cover a small gasp.

Holy shit, is he that big of an asshole that he begrudges me tipping the server? What a fucking tool.

The server in question glares as the odious little git and hands me a menu. “Here you go, Miss Jolene. You take a look while I check on some tables. Aldous, you have somewhere to be right now, I assume. Mayor Cornelia isn’t paying you with our tax dollars to idle in my diner.”

His eyes practically drip venom. But Hazel just winks at me and heads for the floor to check in with the suspiciously quiet people eating.

“Well. She’s an outstanding cook and has the best coffee for miles, but thatwoman…” Aldous huffs as if her lady parts had vexed him by existing.

“I like her. She seems very welcoming,” I reply, not looking up from the menu. I’m hoping he’ll follow Hazel’s instructions and fuck off. I’ve grown tired of pandering to the little snipe, but I know that it’s dangerous not to keep him happy. I’d like to get my food and head home in peace. I havenointention of inviting anyone into my home until I’m ready, and I feel Aldous might simply invite himself inside if he followed me.

“As the lady pleases, my dear. I trust you’ll be happy in the care of our lovely townsfolk. Alas, our server is correct in that I must bid youadieu, for I have important town business to conduct.”

Aldous looks as if he’s going to grab my hand to kiss it, so I feign reaching for a napkin. “I certainly will, Aldous. I appreciate your time and your thoughtful escort. Please give Mayor Cornelia my best.”

His chest puffs out, and he nods, turning on his heel to sashay out the door. A breath I didn’t know I was holding whooshes from my lungs, and Hazel chuckles. She appeared out of nowhere. It takes all I have not to gasp. I hand her the menu as a cover, smiling a little. “I think I’ll have the waffles with berries and cream, a peach milkshake, and if you have it, a large vat of coffee to go.”

“Oh, I’ll find something for you, dear. Moving isn’t easy, and I’m sure Niecy will be by with more groceries later, but you need sustenance while you work.”

I frown. “But I didn’t ask her to do that! She doesn’t have to?—”

Hazel shakes her head and gives me a knowing look. “Oh, but she does, child. Accept it and move on—you’ll both have an easier time.”

My brows furrow, and I open my mouth to ask her what she means. But the server has skittered off again. She’s surprisingly light on her feet, and I find myself alone at the counter while I wait for my order. After looking around to make certain that I’m not ignoring anyone, I reach into my bag and pull out my sketchbook and a pencil. I typically pass my time this way and being home won’t change that.

I start by sketching the shape of her frame, getting the lines right as I watch her move about the restaurant. Hazel is solidly built, but there’s a fluidity to her movements that makes her look almost serpentine. She glides through the tight spaces with ease, talking to patrons as she goes. Her ample curves make her look warm and matronly, despite the youth in her features. Her eyes belie her age—I could see the knowledge of her years in them as we spoke.

In fact, it almost seemed like she was older than I initially pegged her, but based on her appearance alone, I know that can’t be true. She definitely doesn’t look lifted or tucked, as many of the wives in town will when I see them again. It’s a bit of a mystery, though I suppose good genes trump all.

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