Page 80 of Beau Pair
Gordon
Beau won’t stop fidgeting in the passenger seat. His phone keeps blinking as he locks and unlocks it every few seconds, checking for updates. His thumb keeps playing with his bottom lip while he chews it raw.
No amount of reassurance or touch gives him any comfort. And I totally understand why. When my mom got sick, I almost grew my own lung tumor trying to get to her on time. In fact, I probably looked a lot like Beau looks right now next to me.
When we change states, I change the radio to a station with some mellow music, hoping it will soothe some of his worry, and what do you know, by the time we get to Salem Springs—which has a roaring population of 438—Beau has been lulled to sleep.
I stop at the gas station for refreshments and directions. With Beau still asleep next to me, I walk in and grab a bottle of water along with some chocolate bars to appease the sweet tooth I’ve had this entire trip. If my worry has made my blood sugar low, I can only imagine what it’s done to Beau’s, so he’ll probably need it.
The owner watches me as I pick everything up and take it to the counter for him to ring up, and he does so blindly, his gaze too busy to look at anything else.
“Twelve dollars and fifty cents,” he says plainly when he’s done, and I pull my card out.
He inspects it thoroughly before he scans it.
“Say, do you know where the Fleur farm is?” I ask him.
“Who wants to know?” He frowns.
“I’m a friend of Hadlee’s son,” I tell him. “We’re visiting—”
“A bit late for a visit, don’t ya think?”
Boy, this guy is protective of his townsfolk. I may have grown up on a farm, but we’d been a breath’s distance from New Harlow, so I never experienced this kind of close-knit community.
“Yeah, well, she’s fallen ill, so we’re trying to get there ASAP so we can look after her,” I tell him, and raise an eyebrow, daring him to defy me.
“We?” he asks.
“Beaumont and me,” I tell him.
His face softens immediately, and his lips curve into a smile.
“Little Beau is here?” he asks.
“Well,” I huff, “he’s not so little, but yeah, he is.”
“Terrible thing, what happened to Mama Hadlee. We’re all hoping it’s nothing serious,” he says. “I’m Landon.”
So it’s not just Beau that calls her Mama Hadlee. She must be well-loved around here if even a fifty, maybe sixty-year-old man calls her Mama.
I take his hand and shake it, introducing myself.
“You wanna take the next left and keep goin’ straight until you see an abandoned house. From there turn right, and it’ll take ya straight up to Mama’s,” Landon says.
“Thank you,” I tell him, and walk back out to the car.
“Hey,” Beau says when I close the door.
Crap. Did I close the door too loud?
“Where are we?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.
“Home,” I tell him, and squeeze his knee.
Beau looks around and rubs his entire face as if he’s confused.
“Oh. God. You mean Salem Springs. I thought we were home,” he says.
