Page 8 of Falling Stars

I can’t shake the feeling this is somehow my fault. Because nothing like this ever happened when my mom ran Bumblebee.

“The kids in this town are out of control,” Miss Rosie says. “Just the other day, Otis Schumacher went joyriding in his father’s tractor and took down five mailboxes over on Maple Street. I also heard he jacked off the postman.”

I choke on a laugh, surprised I can smile right now. “He jacked off Louis Bickman?” Because I can’t imagine even his wife gives that man hand jobs. He has the face of a schnauzer and the personality to match.

“Yes. Like this,” she says, waving her middle finger.

Folding my lips, I try not to chuckle. “You mean heflippedoff the postman?”

“Yes, dear. That’s what I said.”

Mentally, I scrub my brain of Louis Bickman getting a handy from anyone and grab my phone to take a few photos from the sidewalk so I can report this to the police. “Miss Rosie, give me a few minutes to call Sheriff Reynolds and sweep up the glass. I don’t want you to get cut.” Even though I probably can’t afford this, I pull out a ten-dollar bill and place it in her hand. “Why don’t you grab coffee and a pastry next door—my treat—and I’ll come get you when I’m ready.” She’s one of our oldest residents and probably shouldn’t be standing for too long.

“I can’t accept this and the free haircut.”

“Miss Rosie, it’s my pleasure.” Since I took over Bumblebee for my mom, I’ve been volunteering my services to women at the Maplewood Manor Nursing Home. They’re on a fixed income and can’t afford to get their hair done. The staff drop them off atmy salon and pick them up afterwards, or sometimes I go to the nursing home.

Her eyes twinkle in delight. “Only if you’re sure, dear.”

I pat her hand and smile. “I’m positive. Please go enjoy a snack.”

She turns but wobbles, and I jut out my hand to steady her. “You know what? I need a coffee too. Let’s head over there together.”

Hopefully, we can avoid Lorraine Ashbury, who owns a boutique on the corner. That family owns several businesses, but I’m most annoyed by Lorraine’s shop because all that woman wants to do is tell me how awesome her daughter Nicole is.Did you know that Nicole is teaching French at the high school? Did you know Nicole takes students abroad to France every summer? Did you know that Nicole used to date Maverick when they were younger?

Nicole can suck a bag of dicks.

Arm in arm, Miss Rosie and I stroll to the Blackbird Brew Coffee House and blessedly avoid Lorraine. Our pace is glacial, and my blood pressure spikes with each small step we take, but it’s not Miss Rosie’s fault some asshole decided to throw a rock through my window.

Today of all days. First the rent hike and now this.

Are these bad omens? I wish I knew, but I only get feelings about other people. Unfortunately, I can’t figure out jack shit about my own life.

When we get to the cafe, I get Miss Rosie seated, bring her the food, and then race back with my sad little decaf coffee to the salon where Rory is already sweeping up the mess.

“Bless you.” I make a mental note to pay her more when I can swing it.

She pushes up her glasses. “No problem,” she whispers.Rory is quieter than a church mouse. She recently moved to Wild Heart and does all the odd jobs I did in high school while she studies to be a librarian. “What… what happened?”

“I have no idea.” I take in the broken glass and wonder if this is some screwed-up metaphor for my life.

In the back of my mind, I hear my mom’s voice.Don’t be pessimistic, Baylee. This is just a hiccup. You’ll see Sean tonight, and everything will be okay.

I’m dying to call her, but if I do, I’ll melt down, and I don’t have time for that.

When Sheriff Reynolds arrives, he gives me a sympathetic smile. He’s sporting a shaggy gray mustache I’d love to trim, his brown uniform, and a cowboy hat. “Damn shame ’bout your pretty window.”

“Thanks for coming so quickly.” I’m bone-weary, and the day has just begun. I thought being an adult and having the freedom to do what I wanted would make my life easier. No one ever explains that the pressure of responsibilities will suck the fun right out of you. “I took some photos for you.”

He tips his hat. “Mighty smart. Can you email them to me?”

“Sure thing.”

“How’s baby Ella?” he asks as he looks around.

I smile because that sweet pea is the light of my life. “Perfect.” My best friend Paige had a baby last month, and Ella’s an absolute doll.

“And your mama? Is Sylvia still taking care of your grandpa up in Amarillo?”

---