Page 38 of Christmas Home

I felt the tension ease slightly at the thought of enjoying Mrs. Cole’s amazing cinnamon rolls. She only made one pan a day, except on the weekends. Still, when we ran out, we were out. She said she didn’t have time to make rolls all morning with all the other stuff that needed doing around the café.

Her rolls never lasted past noon, and I’d only had one, and only then because it’d gotten smushed when we pulled it out of the oven. She wasn’t wrong, though. They were one of my favorite things we served.

I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth while Mrs. Cole waited for me, then followed her downstairs. She placed a giant cinnamon roll in front of me, then sat across from me with one equally big. “I-I could share this one,” I said, surprised she was taking two of her precious rolls out of commission.

“No, both of us need something sweet,” she said, smearing butter on top, gesturing for me to do the same before digging in.

“Oh, these are good. Did I ever tell you how I learned to make cinnamon rolls?”

I shook my head. We both knew she hadn’t told me the story, but I assumed there was a point to her telling me now.

“A woman blew in here, say, thirty years ago now. I was working for my mama and aunt at the time. They owned this before I did. The woman’s name was Elizabeth James. Ms. James was beautiful. Tall with dark curly hair that fell to her waist. I was half in love with her myself, although I’d never really thought of myself as bi or anything. Besides, she was way too old for the likes of me, or at least it seemed so back then.”

I cocked an eyebrow at Mrs. Cole’s apparent coming out, but quickly stuffed a bite full of the amazing fluffy goodness in my mouth before she saw.

“So, Ms. James had lived up in northern Missouri in a small town called Eagleton. She’d worked at a truck stop up there, and I guess these cinnamon rolls were known the world over. I don’t know if that’s true or not. What I do know is the moment she started servin’ her rolls here, people showed up asking for them.”

Mrs. Cole chewed another bite as she thought about her story. I didn’t interrupt, enjoying the downtime with her. “About six months after Ms. James came into town, she suddenly disappeared. No one knew where she went. One minute she was here cuttin’ up with Mom and my aunt, the next, gone.”

She put her fork down and sighed. “They found her body along the old abandoned railroad halfway between here and Mayville. Couple of kids out hunting. Traumatized them and the entire town. Found out later she’d been married to an abusive son of a bitch who’d tracked her here, and when he caught up to her, he beat her to death. Killed her and threw her out like an unwanted piece of trash.”

Mrs. Cole looked up at me then and sighed. “Baby, I ain’t never cried so hard in all my life than I did when we lost Ms. James. I asked Mama some years later if she knew about the husband,and she shook her head. Ms. James kept her personal life to herself. That’d likely caused her death. More than a few people had seen that man come into town. Some had seen her with him. Had we known, well, who’s to say, but my gut tells me had we known about her troubles with him, we’d have intervened.”

I stared at her, not knowing what to say. Was she chastising me for not speaking up sooner?

She put her hand over mine before I could go down that road. “Clyde, honey, you did right. First, by tellin’ me when you got here that something was amiss. I knew to keep my eye on you. The day you showed up with a busted lip, even though you didn’t tell me why, I alerted Sheriff Pat, and that’s why she and Darren started hangin’ out here more often. What I’m trying to say is you are a survivor. You fought that jackass, and because you stood up to him and told the sheriff what he’d done, you are here today. I just wish Ms. James had done the same. I still miss and mourn that woman. I never want to have to miss you like that, you understand me?”

I wiped at the stubborn tear that streaked down my face and nodded. “Now, Justin, he’s a good boy,” she continued. “Been around these parts all his life, and he might be small-town, but that don’t mean he’s not tough as an attorney. Let him fight for you. Letusfight for you. You’ll find the people of this little town will stand up to protect you if you let us, okay?” I nodded again. “Okay, well, you finish that up. I’m going to go get you a cup of coffee. Justin should be here any minute now.”

I stared at my barely touched cinnamon roll and thought about Mrs. Cole’s words. More than a few times in the past, I thought a man might kill me. Jimmy was certainly one of them. Even now, I think if he could get to me, he’d be a danger.

I looked up to see a handsome man in a tie and a briefcase walk in, and Mrs. Cole pointed toward me. I’d seen him in herea few times, although I’d never gotten his name or heard he was an attorney.

“Mr. Griffin?” he asked as he approached the table. When I nodded, he smiled and put his hand out. “My name is Justin Conner. Mrs. Cole said you might need an attorney.”

I spent the next week mourning the fact that Ruther had left town without saying goodbye. I’d seen Jake and Lance come in with the mayor and his husband, and asked about him. “Ruther and Corey went home to New York last week,” Jake said, then looked puzzled. He was likely surprised I hadn’t known.

It hadn’t exactly been a secret that Ruther and I had spent considerable time together.

In the end, it all worked out for the best that Ruther wasn’t here to watch as I navigated through legal troubles. Justin, after I officially hired him and paid him a retainer of a hundred bucks, which Mrs. Cole let me borrow against my next paycheck, came to meet me on a Thursday during my break.

“So, I spoke to the prosecutor, and I’ll be honest, with your priors, it was a bit of a negotiation to get something worked out,” he said. “But, the situation, plus your ex having priors in Georgia and being involved in an ongoing murder investigation, helped me to convince him you were acting in self-defense.”

“Murder investigation?” I asked, my stomach turning at the news.

Justin smiled sadly. “Alleged involvement, of course, but a situation not much different from your own. The guy with Jimmy when they came into the café, not the man who held you down, but the other one, was accused of killing his ex-girlfriend.The state hasn’t been able to prove it, but the investigation is ongoing. Apparently, they did all know each other before paying you a visit here.”

I swallowed hard. “And Jimmy? What were his priors?”

Justin opened his briefcase, pulled out a sheet of paper, and slid it in front of me. “Armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, and extortion, just to name the ones in Georgia. Sheriff Pat told me there were others in Alabama, but we’re waiting on those to come in.”

I gulped. “I walked right into it. Shacked up with a man who would’ve killed me without a thought.”

Justin just sat quietly, letting me process. Eventually, he broke into my thoughts. “Listen, I’ve spoken to the prosecutor, and in the past, we’ve done a piss-poor job of protecting victims of domestic violence. Gay or straight. I reminded him of that. He’s tentatively agreed that if you commit to therapy, he’d be willing not to press charges.”

“Wait, I can’t afford therapy.”

“Nor will you have to. The Crawford City Clinic has a therapist that comes down from Lebanon twice a week. We also have a retired licensed clinical social worker who volunteers there once a week. In fact, you might know her. She’s Jake’s mom. The clinic assured me, between the two, they would be able to fit you in, and they don’t charge as long as you qualify for their sliding scale.”

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