Small-Town Girl

The coffee was good. Hot and strong. Julie sipped and wondered if lack of caffeine had been her problem this morning. As she contemplated the improbability of this, another woman came in from the street. Her hair—wildly curly and vividly auburn—drew and held Julie’s gaze.

This red was nothing like Heather Sweeney’s obviously natural, glowing shade. With tints of pink and mauve, it had to have originated with a variety of chemicals Julie hoped she never had the misfortune to encounter.

The woman however, was cheerfully unaware her hair was a disaster. She smiled at someone—or maybe everyone—in the front booth, then sat at the counter on the stool right next to Julie’s.

Given that every single other stool was vacant, her choice baffled Julie.

“Hi, I’m Adrienne. You must be Julie.” The newcomer held out a hand, with fingernails frosted blue. Donna Werner appeared from the back again and poured the ubiquitous cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Donna. I really need my fix this morning. First day of school you’d think the kids would be excited and get out of bed on time for a change. But no.” She spilled sugar into her coffee, then poured cream to the top of the mug. “How ’bout your son? He’ll be the new kid today. Was he nervous?”

Disconcerted that these people, who were perfect strangers to her, seemed so familiar with her life, Julie kept her answer brief. “Ben’s recovering very well, thank you.”

“Oh! Nice accent. I didn’t know you were from England. I heard you met Russ while you were in university.”

“My father’s company transferred him to Vancouver for a few years. I decided to go with my parents and study journalism at UBC. I’d intended to return to London with my family, but then I met Russell….”

She’d fallen in love that autumn, with everything. The university, the city, most of all the amazing, unflappable man who was so kind and gentle and funny in a silly sort of way she found quite adorable.

“What about you?” Julie asked. “Have you lived in Chatsworth long?”

“All my life, give or take a year,” Adrienne replied, apparently proud of the fact. “I took my beauty training in Yorkton. And now I have my own salon. Run the business in my basement. Let me give you my card. It’s kind of inconvenient to drive to Yorkton every time you want a trim—” she examined Julie’s hair “—or a little color touch-up.”

This woman was a professional hairstylist? Julie took the card and relegated it to her purse, certain she’d never refer to it.

“Well.” Adrienne stirred her coffee, oblivious to the liquid spilling over the edge of the serviceable white ceramic mug. “What do you think of Chatsworth so far?”

“The lake is lovely.”

“Like to swim, do you? You’ll have to give the golf course a try, too. We cross-country ski there in the winter. A shame you didn’t move in a few months earlier. We had a real celebrity wedding in July. Didn’t we, Donna?”

“Catered from Yorkton” was Donna’s only comment.

“You’ve read Warren Addison’s book, haven’t you?” Adrienne asked.

“He wrote Where It Began, didn’t he?”

“You bet. We went to school together. Grades one through twelve. This summer he married another girl from our class. Miranda James.”

“Don’t know why they bothered to have the wedding here in Chatsworth. Ordered everything from food to bouquets from Yorkton.” Donna wiped up the mess Adrienne had made on the counter, then placed a clean napkin under her mug.

“Well, we don’t have a floral shop, for one thing,” Adrienne pointed out. “Though I do think Miranda would have done well to have her hair styled at my shop. I offered my services free. As a wedding gift,” she elaborated, in case Julie might get the idea to request the same deal for herself.

“Nothing but the best was ever good enough for Annie James’s daughter,” Donna stated.

Julie had no idea who any of these people were. But she had to admit the conversation was interesting. Her book club had read and discussed Where It Began. “Does Warren Addison actually live here?”

“Last winter he moved into his parents’ deserted farmhouse to work on his new book. He and Miranda live in New York most of the time.” Adrienne sighed, as if imagining another world, far, far removed from the one she’d always occupied.

“You should have seen the press,” she said after a moment. “They were everywhere that day.”