Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I was too distracted by this information to be embarrassed that he’d overheard. “You call Reagan… Mr. Important?” I grinned. I’d heard about the nickname tradition before—it was one of those quaint and quirky things I enjoyed about Honeybridge—but I’d somehow never known Reagan’s or even thought to ask until now.
“Yep. Figuring out a person’s true nature is… well, I suppose you might say it’s a hobby,” he said modestly. “That’s why Flynn is Firecracker, and Jonathan Wellbridge is Frog, and my boy PJ is Daydreamer—or at least he was, and I have faith he will be again.” Pop’s eyes twinkled. “Not surprised you’ve never heard Reagan’s nickname, though. Patricia’s sure as heck never called him that.”
“No,” I agreed slowly, registering the double meaning behind his words. “I don’t think she ever has.”
“You, on the other hand.” He set the final candy down and placed both hands on the counter before meeting my eyes. “I think you might understand why he earned that name.”
I shrugged. “Because he is important, obviously. He’s smarter than anyone gives him credit for and can succeed at anything he puts his mind to.”
“That,” Pop agreed easily. “Smarts is part of it, sure. Lord, he was a bright young thing. Biggest eyes you ever saw, and they didn’t miss a trick. But that’s not the whole reason.” He reached over and pulled out a stool so he could sit down, handed me my bottle of orange juice, and nodded at me to enjoy it if I wanted to. I cracked it open and took a sip, appreciating the cool, sweet slide of it on my parched throat.
“Reagan Wellbridge was born smiling.” Pop settled himself comfortably, like he was telling a bedtime story. “He was curious about everything, and I mean every dang thing. ‘Pop, what’s air? Pop, why’s it positively indecent for me to swim in the lake with no pants on? Pop, why’s my nanny watch that show about the doctors if it’s only gonna make her cry? Pop, what’s ‘children should be seen and not heard’?”
He chuckled, and I did, too.
“He still hasn’t learned that one, has he?” Pop asked fondly.
I gave him a half-smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think he’s learned that one too well.”
Pop looked at me frankly and nodded. “Maybe so. Maybe so.” His eyes went unfocused as he recalled himself to his tale. “All his life, wherever he went, Reagan made other folks smile, too. Turned out that curiosity of his was really a natural talent for setting people at ease and making ’em feel like they’re the only one in the room when he gives them his attention. When tensions are high, he’ll deliberately cause a ruckus just to get folks laughing, and when they’re sad, he’ll talk ’em ’round. He always seems to know just what people need… except himself.” He smiled ruefully.
“I think you’re right,” I managed, my chest tight.
“He’ll figure it out in time, though. Got a heart as big as the whole world hiding inside him, and those eyes still don’t miss a trick. Honeybridge wouldn’t be the same if he wasn’t around, and for sure the Wellbridges wouldn’t—their noses would’ve been too high in the air to get oxygen if Reagan wasn’t around to bring them back to earth. He’s the glue that holds ’em together and the grease that keeps ’em humming along. Nothing more important than that, far as I can tell.”
“Have you told him this?” I demanded hoarsely. “Have you ever explained why you gave him that name?”
Pop glanced at me in surprise. “You know, I don’t believe I ever did. But then… telling a man he’s important is all well and good, but showing ’em they’re important, the way Reagan does… well, that’s a different and better thing altogether, isn’t it?”
It was. Assuming you were the sort of person who knew how to do that.
Pop slapped his hands to his knees and pushed to his feet with effort. He threw my empty juice bottle in a recycling container and put my candy in a bag.
“I don’t think I want to know what you’d nickname me,” I said as I pulled a twenty out of my wallet.
He hit a button on the big register that made the cash drawer open with a satisfying ding. “That remains to be seen,” he told me seriously, handing me my change. “But I sure hope you’re around long enough for me to figure it out.”
After I said goodbye and took my candy haul, I stepped out into the cold and texted McGee to come and get me. Despite it being just after five o’clock, the sky overhead was already a dusky gray-blue, and what little sunlight remained had gathered into a single white-gold band above the treetops on the west side of town. My breath fogged the air, and I huddled deeper into my coat. I hadn’t anticipated how much colder it would be when the sun was gone.