Her heart sank a little. On Laura’s last night in Toulouse, Madison had bet her that she and Brian would move back to Toulouse one day. But she had been teasing; she hadn’t actually wanted to be right. She knew how excited Laura had been to leave.
In theory, Madison and Laura should never have been friends. Madison was always making fun of the cheerleaders in high school, and Laura was too busy rooting for the team (and Brian Landry) to notice. But they bonded one night over a joint and a bucket of Smirnoff Ice at a house party. Madison couldn’t believe someone so popular would want to talk to her all night, while Laura couldn’t believe someone so cool would want to hang out with her. The rest was history.
Madison paused in the parking lot to quickly send a reply.
Ugh. I’m sorry, love . . . Call when u get here!
As much as it pained her to hear that Laura was going through a hard time, it was kind of refreshing to know that she wasn’t the only one. As Madison opened the door, jiggling the metal bell hanging on the handle, the store’s smell of ICEEs and beef jerky washed over her. Mr. Gary looked up from the newspaper spread before him on the checkout counter.
“Hello, my dear,” he said, shuffling the sections together and folding the paper back up. Strands from his thin gray comb-over were going every which way, and his Hawaiian print shirt had a glaring mustard stain right on the front. Madison couldn’t decide which was more tragic.
“Hi, Mr. Gary!” she said, walking up to the counter.
“How’s your daddy?” he asked, looking concerned.
“Can’t we just talk about me instead?” She flashed a cheeky grin.
The old man chuckled. “You’re definitely your daddy’s daughter.”
“Thank you for confirming that. I was starting to get worried,” she teased but then grew serious. “He’s doing okay. I don’t know if you heard, but he had to quit working.”
“I didn’t,” he said, taking off his thick plastic-framed glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. His specs were so old that they were actually on trend again. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It is what it is, I guess,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “I’m actually looking for work right now, so I can help out.” She made her voice soft but strong, a trick she learned when she was little. “You don’t happen to have anything available, do ya?”
Mr. Gary stroked his patchy beard for a second. “I’m sorry, Mads. I ain’t got nothing right now.”
She sighed and flashed a smile. Coming here had been a last-ditch effort; if even Mr. Gary wouldn’t give her a job, who would? “No worries. If anything comes up, you’ll call me, won’t ya?”
“Yes, dear.”
Madison quickly changed the subject, trying to ease the sting of rejection. “Well, while I’m here, can I get a scratch-off? One of the lucky shamrocks, please.”
He nodded and turned his back to her, moving slowly as he grabbed the lottery ticket behind the counter. Madison put her bag up against the candy display in front of her and shoved a few Snickers bars in it. She had been doing this for years. She loved the thrill of taking something and knowing she’d gotten away with it.
“That’ll be two dollars,” he said, finally turning back around with the ticket in hand.
She reached into her bag for her wallet. “Thanks, Mr. Gary!” she said, putting the exact change on the counter. “Have a nice day.” She walked back to her beat-up truck, praying it wouldn’t die on her way home. At least she’d have some Snickers bars to survive on if it did.
The truck continued to make the rumbling noise on the six-minute drive back to her house. She pulled into her driveway and got out just as the front engine started smoking. The last time this happened, it had meant a six-hundred-dollar mechanic bill and a week of bumming rides from her friends. That should make the job hunt even more fun, she thought bitterly to herself.
Inside, Madison followed the smell of coffee through the foyer, past the living room, straight to the kitchen, where her parents were sitting with a man she didn’t recognize. He put down his red HANDSOME DEVIL mug—a present from her mom for her dad’s birthday one year—and looked up at her with striking green eyes. Madison was just relieved they hadn’t given this guy the MY DAUGHTER IS A GENIUS mug she so humbly made in middle school art class for Father’s Day.
“Hi, honey,” her mom greeted her. “This is George Dubois. He works with your dad.” She paused. “Worked.”
The man ran his fingers nervously through his neat brown hair and stood up. “Nice to meet ya,” he said with a thick southern drawl, shaking her hand with a firm grip.
“You, too.” She gave him a once-over as their hands met. He had to be in his early thirties at most, but dressed like he was already someone’s embarrassing dad. His jeans were high-waisted—and not in a cool retro way—and he’d tucked in his ill-fitting red button-down shirt. But his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and Madison’s eyes lingered on his tan, muscled forearms . . . and the gold and silver Rolex glinting on his wrist. She cleared her throat as they let go of each other’s hands.
“George is the CEO of your dad’s company.” Her mom took a sip of coffee.
Madison watched as he sat back down at the table. So this was the “youngun” her dad was always griping about. . . . “Young spoiled rich kid gettin’ the company from his daddy . . .” he’d say.
“He just came to pay a visit to your dad to see how he was doing,” her mom continued. “Isn’t that nice?”
“Sure is,” Madison agreed, voicing the extent of her thoughts on the subject.
“I was tellin’ your daddy the crew really miss him.” George tapped his fingers awkwardly on the table. “Some guys are even raising extra money for him with a Ping-Pong tournament next week.”
“Did you know I was the Ping-Pong champion over there?” her dad asked with a proud, goofy grin.
“You learn something new every day,” Madison said, grabbing a Coke from the fridge.
“So, I heard you just graduated from Toulouse High,” George said, turning to her.
“I did—a few months ago.”
“Congrats.” He shifted his eyes from Madison, to the kitchen sink, to her dad, back to Madison in the span of one second. “Heard that’s a mighty fine school.”
She paused. Was he being serious? She was able to pass all her classes despite skipping approximately one-third of them. Her teachers didn’t even notice she was missing. “Um, thanks,” she said, opening the can.
“Why don’t you have a seat, sweetie?” Her dad pulled out the chair next to him.
“Just for a minute,” she said, plopping down reluctantly. She knew the visit was important to her dad. “So, where do you live?” she asked George politely.
“I used to be in Lafayette, but I just bought a little place over here on Darby Lake.” He took another sip of the coffee. “I needed some fresh air.”
“Fresh air?” She chuckled. “You know there’s a paper mill five miles away? Smells like fart all the time in this town.”
Her mom shot her a disapproving look.