Buzz Off Read Free

abbreviations are creeping into her spoken conversations. That’s what comes with too much money and too much spare time: useless habits. In Holly’s case, she has a text-speak habit.
    I try to keep up.
    “HT (translation for those more normal: hi there ),” she said, making her way over to me and picking up a filled flute. “Cool. A party. HUD ( how you doing )?”
    “Great. Free. Mellow. Did I mention free?”
    “GR2BR ( good riddance to bad rubbish ) . ”
    “Isn’t that the truth!”
    Holly had been in divorce court with me, along with Mom and Grams, so she knew Clay had been rotten to the core right until the bitter end.
    “Who brings a new girlfriend to their divorce hearing?” I said.
    “What an a-hole.”
    “See, you can speak proper English.”
    Holly laughed and took a sip of champagne.
    We both glanced over at Carrie Ann when she gave a little shout of surprise before saying, “Look out the window. Isn’t that Clay?”
    Unfortunately, she said it much louder than necessary. Customers crowded around the front window to see what was happening outside. I saw my ex-husband standing right in front of the store.
    He wasn’t alone.
    “Faye Tilley,” someone said, recognizing the woman with him, the same one who had been in the courtroom the day before.
    I couldn’t help noticing Faye Tilley was younger, taller, and prettier than me.
    “How old do you think she is?” a customer asked.
    “Mid-twenties,” someone else guessed.
    I really hoped Clay and his girlfriend weren’t going to come into the store.
    “She’s your spitting image, Story,” someone else said.
    That got them started.
    “No way, Story’s so much cuter.”
    “Look at the resemblance. He’s trying to replace Story with someone exactly like her.”
    “You’re right,” someone behind me agreed. “They’ve got the exact same color hair.”
    Our hair was sort of similar. The color of fall wheat, I liked to think about mine. But hers was wild and untamed in a way mine never would be. Shorter and wavier. Not straight as a walking stick like mine.
    Next to me, Emily Nolan said, “She’s your doppelgänger, Story.”
    “Oh, no! Don’t look at her!” Carrie Ann said to me. “You can’t see your own doppelgänger.”
    “Why not?” my sister, Holly, said.
    “It’s bad luck, really bad luck.” Carrie Ann tried to shield my eyes.
    “That’s ridiculous,” I said, pushing her hands away.
    Right then, Clay’s new girlfriend spotted us at the window. Her eyes scanned, finding me before I could duck or fade into the background. She smiled coyly before turning to give Clay an openmouthed kiss.
    I went back for more champagne.

Two

    My hometown of Moraine is in southeastern Wisconsin, tucked between two ridges that were formed during the Ice Age when two enormous glaciers collided. Visitors to this part of Wisconsin are always surprised to find hills and valleys instead of flat cow country. Like most small towns, Moraine’s enterprising founders planned the community along a highway to take advantage of travelers passing through. Since those times, however, faster, more efficient roads have been built that pass by us instead of through.
    Besides The Wild Clover, which is the only grocery story within ten miles, we have:
    • Koon’s Custard Shop: frozen custard is a Wisconsin favorite, much like soft-serve ice cream only softer and richer
    • A popular antique store with the less-than-original name of The Antique Shop
    • Stu’s Bar and Grill for beer, pizza, and other bar food, mostly breaded and fried
    • Moraine Library, with its herb garden outside and extensive collection of local history inside
    • A postage-stamp-sized post office
    • Moraine Gardens, across the street from my house, specializing in native plants
    • A seasonal roasted-corn-on-the-cob stand with all the trimmings that opens for several months in late summer and fall—like now
    • And Clay’s jewelry business—although I prefer to pretend