Free Gourdfellas by Maggie Bruce Page B

road. Cut rate prices—half my customers left. What they’re finding out is that nobody there cares about anything except making money. Thank goodness the rest of my customers still want to do business with a member of the community. Someone who knows them.”
    I nodded, not knowing for sure whether I really wanted his advice or just a quick in-and-out to buy what I needed.
    “I can give you something, though, a natural herbal remedy.” Joseph Trent’s face relaxed a little. “It’s called valerian. Try it first. And make sure you get at least forty-five minutes of exercise every day. Learn some kind of meditation or a relaxation technique where you do deep breathing. No caffeine after noon. And be sure you drink a glass of warm milk at bedtime. I’ll have your brother’s meds ready in fifteen minutes. And I’ll get you those capsules. Here,” he said as he went behind the counter again, reached down and handed me a brochure about good nutrition, “read this while I’m working on your order.”
    Of course, he was right, even though I bristled at his condescension. Until the night of the casino hearing, my usual pattern was to read for half an hour, fall asleep instantly, and stay asleep for seven hours. I didn’t need drugs. I’d look up valerian on the Internet when I got home. A glass of warm milk—that sounded so Laura Ingalls Wilder. But even though my little house wasn’t on the prairie, treating my insomnia with such a homey remedy felt like just the right thing to do.
    I was digging in my purse for my credit card when someone called my name. I turned to see Connie Lovett standing beside the lotions and skin creams, her face paler than usual. Even though a fuchsia and violet scarf covered her head and her nylon jacket matched the energetic hues of the scarf, something about her felt colorless, listless, as though all the vibrancy had seeped out of her. But she managed a smile as I approached.
    “Hey, Lili. I’ve been sketching designs, and I think I know what I want to do on that gourd we cut.” She waved a prescription and looked over at Mr. Trent, who nodded at her and went on typing Neil’s label. “Can’t tell if the new chemo is working. It’ll take about a month to see any results, the doctor tells me. Meanwhile, I figure it’s my job to enjoy myself. How’s your brother doing?”
    The way news seemed to travel—almost like that water in my ceiling—was one aspect of country life I might never get used to. If it were anyone but Connie I might even try to trace the path of the news about my brother’s accident and his recuperation at my house, just to satisfy my curiosity. Nobody else seemed to be bothered by relative strangers knowing the intimate details of their lives, but maybe that’s what made small town life work—fewer secrets meant better behavior.
    “He’s getting used to the idea that it might be a while before he can play ball again. Listen, I’d better get back with his medication before he hobbles down the road to see what’s keeping me. See you Tuesday.” I hugged her, taking care not to squeeze too tight.
    “Ten o’clock. See you then.” In the few minutes we’d been talking, some color had crept into her cheeks. Looking at her at that moment it was easy to forget that she was facing a life-threatening illness.
    Easy for me to forget. I’d wager that little fact was present every second in some corner of Connie Lovett’s mind.
    I drove home lost in a blur of thought, and tiptoed my way up the back stairs and then through the kitchen to the hall so that I could peek into the living room. As I’d hoped, Neil lay on the sofa, eyes shut and mouth open. His gentle snores made me smile. I was about to put the sleeping remedy in the medicine cabinet when the phone rang. I grabbed it before it could ring a second time.
    “Oh dear, poor Marjorie. And so close to your house. What’s going on, Lili? She takes a strong stand in favor of the casino and gets killed?