A Memory Away. Melinda Curtis

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      “I was...” She turned around slowly. Her gaze dropped to the Hawaiian boxers his mother had given him last year and then flew back up to his face. “I was just looking for my cat.”

      “You don’t have a cat.” There was a man in town who rescued cats. He’d been by a couple of times already to see if Duffy was interested in adopting one, and he’d been vocal in his disappointment that Eunice wasn’t a cat lover.

      “I...uh...heard a cat.”

      “Eunice.” Over the past few days, he’d been badgered about his past (met with dead silence), his love life (met with deadlier silence) and had his small sack of groceries inspected (met with near-dead patience). And now this.

      His toes were frozen. The cold nipped at his restraint. It must be barely forty degrees. It wasn’t good for either one of them to be out here half-dressed. “I’m not an interesting man. I make coffee in the morning. I go to work. I come home at night and make dinner. You know all that.” He’d caught her looking out her window at him a few times.

      She tried to laugh. It sounded as fake as he suspected it to be. “You think that I...” Ha-ha-ha. “It was the cat.” That was her story and she was sticking to it.

      “Whatever.” He wasn’t winning this battle. “Be careful looking for whatever it is you’re looking for. If you fall in my yard while I’m in the shower...”

      Her cheeks reddened, then she mumbled something he didn’t catch and hurried into her dark house.

      He’d checked out several homes before deciding on this one. Duffy was only renting with the option to buy the place. It’d suck to move again so soon, but he didn’t relish living next door to Peeping Eunice.

      * * *

      LATER IN THE DAY, Duffy was managing a crew who were caning the vineyards across the road from the Mionetti sheep ranch. The Mionettis, an elderly couple born and raised in the valley, had sold the property they hadn’t been using to the winery. Now it seemed as if they were selling tickets to watch Duffy and the other workers.

      Cars crowded the Mionettis’ long driveway. Several older residents clustered about. They squinted. They pointed. Eunice waved. Mr. Mionetti dragged out folding lawn chairs. Mrs. Mionetti brought out coffee and what looked like baked goods.

      “Get used to it,” Ryan, the assistant winemaker, who was recently out of graduate school, came up to explain. He held a pair of long loppers which he used to clip thicker vines. “We’re entertainment.”

      “All we’re doing is cutting the vines back and tying the remaining canes to the trellis system,” Duffy grumbled. There had to be close to twenty people loitering on the Mionettis’ lawn. It was another cold day. The sky was a crisp blue and the air bit at exposed skin. Surely at their ages, they shouldn’t be outdoors.

      Ryan shrugged his gangly shoulders. “Nothing much goes on in this town, so anything that does happen is watch-worthy. I’m told I’ll understand it when I’m seventy. But for now, the combination of you and activity in the vineyards? It’s like the Superbowl.”

      “More like Mardi Gras.” Duffy turned his back on the spectators and snipped off a vine with his battery-powered pruning sheers. There were eleven men in the vineyard—some cutting, some tying, some throwing cuttings into bins. Usually that meant lots of talking or music being played, but today the audience seemed to have thrown the workers off.

      A vehicle backfired.

      Rutgar pulled into the vineyard’s dirt driveway in his beat-up green truck, blocking Duffy’s car in. Rutgar lumbered out, a pair of binoculars in hand. He propped his elbows on the hood, and surveyed Duffy and his crew. He was close enough, he could have whispered a question as to how it was going and Duffy would have heard him.

      The old man’s arrogance. The town’s fandom. Eunice’s peeping.

      Duffy felt his anger rising. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He took a step toward Rutgar, only to be held back by Ryan.

      “It’s not worth it,” the younger man said. “You want less attention, you hope someone more interesting comes to town. Or you make close friends with someone who lives here.”

      From what Duffy had heard, until the winery began selling wine, the chance of anyone new coming to town was slim. “What do you mean, ‘make close friends’?”

      “Pick someone in town. Tell them a few things about yourself. They’ll become the conduit for town gossip and you get left alone.”

      Eunice in her pink curlers came to mind. Duffy suppressed a shudder. He’d rather recruit someone to move to town. “Hey, you don’t live in Harmony Valley, do you?”

      “I live in Cloverdale.” The younger man’s gaze slid away. “With my parents. Student loans, dude. They’re killer.” And then his trademark smile returned. “My moving here wouldn’t make any difference. I have three fairy godmothers—Agnes, Mildred and Rose.”

      With effort, Duffy turned away from Rutgar and his binoculars. “Don’t they feed you lunch?”

      “Yep.” Ryan gave a peace sign to the crowd. Appreciative shouts and laughter drifted back on a breeze. “And they do my laundry—which my mother refuses to do anymore.”

      Hello, mama’s boy.

      Duffy clipped a vine. “You’re quite the chick magnet.”

      “I’ll get there. I’d like to be debt-free first.”

      Having only recently had his financial burdens lifted, Duffy admired Ryan for that.

      “Did you have fun in Vegas last weekend?” Ryan asked.

      “Yep.” It had been great to decide Friday afternoon to go somewhere on the spur of the moment. Another few weeks and he’d make another trip somewhere. Anywhere. “I can’t wait to get away again.” Duffy loved the lack of pressing family and financial obligations, embraced the idea of leaving just because he could.

      What about Jessica’s baby?

      Duffy swept the thought aside. Jessica’s baby wasn’t his responsibility or any of his business.

      He, on the other hand, was still at the center of these Harmony Valley residents’ business. Increasingly so, much to his annoyance.

      He couldn’t wait for someone new to move to town.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      “WHAT’S A LITTLE RAIN?” Jessica asked herself sarcastically as she parked on Harmony Valley’s Main Street on Saturday night. The rain had been coming down steadily for the entire drive. Now it was pouring.

      She’d located the restaurant the other day before she left town. There’d been almost no one parked on the street then. Tonight, the diagonal spaces along Main were full. She’d had to find a spot a block away from El Rosal.

      “Perfect.” It wasn’t. СКАЧАТЬ