Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I swallowed hard. “I…yeah.”
“She said you gave her heartburn and a sweet tooth. I sold her maple cookies and told her the baby would love ’em. If you’re that baby, my prophecy has come true,” Annie said smugly.
“I…you’re sure it was her?”
“It was her,” Annie assured me. “She introduced herself. ‘I’m Rose Cunningham and this is my dickhead husband, Bruce.’ ”
I snorted. “She called my father a dickhead?”
“No, I’m ad-libbing, but she didn’t have to say a word. The rich geezer she was with peeled off a few bills and waltzed out the door like a real so-and-so. He was too good for these parts. I could tell she was embarrassed, and it made me mad on her behalf. So I wrote his name on my Dickhead list.”
“Your…what?”
“My Dickhead list. If anyone crosses me or my family, they make the list,” Annie explained. “Martin Fogerty from Fallbrook pissed me off in 1975. He’s still on the list. Yvonne Ingalls from Pinecrest made the list in 1962, but we patched up our differences in ’85 and I switched her to the Favorites list in 1999. Favorites get freebies…a cookie, a cupcake, a complimentary coffee. Dickheads don’t. The list is mainly for locals, but every so often, a tourist makes the cut, for better or worse. Like your father.”
“He’s not that bad,” I commented, biting into a piece of cookie. “He’s just…driven. He can come across as a bulldozer at times. Especially when it comes to business.”
She regarded me dubiously. “Imagine my surprise when he showed up five years ago. I heard him pumping Penny for info about Wood Hollow, and that got my hackles up. Wood Hollow has always been good for three things—logging, fishing, and football, but it’s the smallest of the Four Forest towns, and there’s not much else to do there. They don’t have a proper town square, and the main street is only wide enough for trucks to haul wood. Youngsters from Wood Hollow usually migrate here or to Fallbrook or Pinecrest after high school. Or…they fuck off to Burlington. So what on Earth would a city slicker, Cadillac-driving out-of-towner like Mr. Cunningham want with Wood Hollow? Now we know he wanted to buy the mill, deforest the hillsides, and rob us blind for a buck.”
“That’s not exactly true. We’re sustainable harvesters who—”
“Don’t give me that new-age hooey,” Annie groused. “You can put lipstick on a pig and it’s still a pig. Those business transactions were done in secret because your father knew he wouldn’t be welcome. Sneaky bastard. I’m sure you’re a nice man, but you’re here to do your daddy’s dirty work, and everyone knows it.”
This was where I was supposed to deny her accusations and feed her a line about having the best of intentions. It wouldn’t be a downright lie, either. But the mill was a business, and I was here for a buck, doing my father’s dirty work for my own personal gain.
I wasn’t sure how to sugarcoat the truth, so I fixated on the water bubbling at the base of the fountain. “Am I automatically on the Dickhead list too?”
“You shared your cookie, so…no. Or not yet. Maybe you take after your mom.”
“That would be cool.” I smiled at the thought. “I barely remember her. I was five when she died.”
Annie patted my hand. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry for your loss. She was lovely.”
I passed over another piece of cookie. “Thanks.”
We sat quietly for a minute or so. It was strange to think that my mom had been in that bakery, had seen this fountain, and had talked to this woman. I was hungry for details I doubted Annie could give, but she had other things on her mind.
“Just so you know, Denny told me that he met you in your hotel. He said to be nice to you. And he meant it.” She shifted on the bench to aim a grumpy look my way. “But I don’t want to be nice to you. I want to be mad, so what are you gonna do about that?”
“Uh…buy a lot of cookies?” I tried, pleased that her annoyed snort morphed into a chuckle.
“Hmph. I might be old, but I’ll kick your butt if you mess with him.”
“Denny and I are friends. He’s the first friend I’ve made here, and I don’t take that lightly. Maybe you’re my second?”
Annie rolled her eyes as she stood, fiddling with the buttons on her coat. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Maybe Denny’s right and you’re a good egg, but now you know why not everyone will be rooting for you, so…you’re welcome for the information. See you later, Henry.”
I stayed put long after Annie headed back to the bakery, my mind buzzing with rogue memories, old loss, and the confirmation that I was on a diplomacy mission. If what Annie had shared was true—and I didn’t doubt her—my father had misjudged the notion that the Cunningham name was an asset here. It wasn’t.