Alora, Maine

Slowly I stirred, opening my eyes cautiously. The room was dark,
only a small amount of light filtering through the cheap brown curtains
illuminated the dank hellhole. I shut my eyes tightly, my head
throbbing. The sheets on the bed felt grimy against my bare skin, and
the mattress and pillow cheap. The water was running in the bathroom,
meaning that my companion was most likely getting ready for the day.
Possibly attempting to leave before I woke, hoping perhaps that if I
knew not his identity the previous night would be erased. Not so. I
still felt the hangover, and I still remembered his lackluster
performance. The digital clock on the table beside me said that it was
a little after eight in the morning. I lay back and closed my eyes
again. The next thing I knew, the clock said ten and the water in the
bathroom was still running. Slowly, I sat up. I swung my legs over the
side of the bed, the mattress squeaking horribly as I moved.
Hesitantly, I put my feet on the cheap carpet, worrying what my
precious toes might touch. I craned my neck, trying to see in the crack
in the bathroom door. Nothing. Slowly, I stood up. I tiptoed the six
feet to the bathroom door and knocked once. Then twice. Then a third
time. No answer. I slowly pushed my in, cautiously glancing around,
looking for even the most minute detail. The sink had a wrapped bar of
soap on it that was so small it looked like it would probably get lost
in the shower. There were also two plastic cups wrapped in cellophane.
The shower curtain was drawn, and steam was coming from it. That was
where the sound of the running water was coming from. I slowly pushed
back the curtain, hoping to lay eyes on the man I had spent the
previous night with. It took me a moment to notice, but he was very
dead, his gray eyes flat and dormant. I did a double take, like they do
in the movies. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. My mascara
was all smudgy, and my lipstick was gone. I looked at him again, a
grotesque red line across his throat where the knife had bit him. He
was slumped over, naked. All the blood had been washed away by the
shower, just like in that movie. His skin still felt warm, but that may
have been because of the deluge of hot water surrounding him. My hands
were shaking, and I was shivering. I backed slowly from the small, damp
room and into the slightly larger bedroom. Pulling on my discarded
clothing, I quietly let myself out of the room, as if he might hear me
and awaken to question what happened. I knew none of the answers, and
that was a frightening reality to face. I wouldn't know the answers to
anybody's questions. And that automatically would make me a suspect. I
snuck out to the parking lot, and looked for my car. It wasn't there.
Last night had been the one night when I had decided to be
environmentally friendly and carpool to the bar. I began to panic. What
would I do? There was a dead man in the hotel room where I had spent
the night. He was probably married, too, for all that matters. So not
only would the police be after me, but so would his wife, and all of
her friends. For some reason they worried me more than the police. I
closed my eyes and counted to ten in French un, deux, trois,
quatre&;#8230;that's when I gave up. I started to panic again. I
knew I had to keep my head clear, but that was as likely as bumping
into Ronnie Van Zant at the Wal Mart. Oh damn. Dead man. One night
stand. Wedding ring? Oh shit. I took a deep, cleansing breath. Yeah,
right. I slowly walked over to the bus stop, feeling the change in my
pocket. Just enough. I waited. And I waited. It seemed like forever
before the bus pulled up. I got off the bus about a block from my
apartment. Quickly, I walked up to the big brick building and up to my
floor. I let myself into my small, cozy apartment. Should I stay here
and just wait for them all to find me? Well, of course that's what I
should do. It's the responsible thing. To hell with that. I'm leaving.
I packed up my best clothes, and my favorite jeans. My sneakers and my
Birkenstocks. My teddy bear from when I was 4 and had the chicken pox.
A picture of me, my mother, and my sister. I took one last look at my
previous lair, and then I silently closed and locked the door, leaving
it all behind. I got into my little truck, and drove off into the
sunset. Or, really, the noon-time sun.
I don't know how long I drove for. I vaguely remember stopping
someplace for gas, and buying an apple juice. Then I drove some more.
Sometime along the way I crossed the state border, from New Hampshire
into Maine. I was in a daze. There was a dead man in a bathtub, and it
was very likely that I would get blamed for it. So I drove some more.
They say that running away is the coward's thing to do. I don't care.
I'm running anyway. What had happened to him? Well, aside from the
obvious. Why was he dead? It most certainly wasn't natural, and it
really didn't look like suicide. Did he have an enemy? Who? Hell, I
didn't even know his name! What if the knife was meant for me? What if
somebody was out to get ME? Did I have any enemies? I didn't think so,
but one never knows. Oh god. I was thinking too much. I turned on the
radio.
"Everything you say to me&;#8230;"
Oh god, not that song. I flipped off the radio. I had danced with him
to that song. I remembered it vividly. His eyes, deep, dense jungles of
passion, gazing into mine as we gyrated to the music. We only danced
that one dance, then he led me out to his motorcycle. I was hopelessly
drunk at that point. Next thing I knew, I woke up in the motel room,
and he was dead in the bathtub. God, why me? Tears blurred my vision
and I could barely see. I pulled over onto the dirt shoulder. I wasn't
even aware that I was yet again right next to the ocean. I put my head
on the steering wheel and sobbed. Not really from sorrow of his death.
Perhaps I was being selfish, but hell, I barely knew him. But from
worry. Immense worry. What the hell would happen to me? I didn't have
the funds to disappear completely. Nor the talent. What was I going to
do? Maybe I should just go back home and face the music. "Takes me one
step closer to the edge" No harm in that, right? It would be the right
thing to do. But I couldn't do it. I'd probably be better off just
starting over again. But, God, why me? Maybe I should just drive
through the guardrail&;#8230;that would be so easy. I could forget
it all. Forget him, forget my farce of a life. Just slip quietly into
the next world, what dreams may come, I don't know, don't care. I
probably would have hit the gas, but a big red truck hadn't pulled up
behind me at that very moment. How trite, I thought. The door opened,
and a man climbed out. He had dirty blonde hair, like a Norseman. He
had great arms, and very sexy rough hands. He wore a plaid shirt, worn,
the hem torn, over a Pepsi tee-shirt which fit him like a glove. He
wore Carharts, the ultimate sexy hick pants. He did them justice, too.
He was not one of the men who looked like shit in work pants. He wore
well broken-in work boots. His skin was slightly tanned, just starting
out for the short summer out in the sun. He looked like he would work
outside all day. He walked towards my car, and I rolled down my window
numbly. I swiped at my tears, not wanting him to know I had been
crying. He spoke when he reached me, his voice deep and unbelievably
sexy.
"D'you need any help, miss?"
"Um&;#8230;no. No thank you. I'm quite fine" he looked at me, my
green eyes, my mousy-brown hair. His gaze didn't travel any lower
though. Interesting.
"You sure? You look upset."
"I'm fine" I repeated with a bit more emphasis
"Alright miss. Sorry to bother you" He turned and walked back to his
truck. He had a very nice ass. I opened my door.
"Um, actually" he turned around "Could you recommend a hotel around
here? I'm a little lost" I added, mocking sheepishness. He
chuckled.
"Piney Hill Motel. Go straight, first right, follow the road and you'll
find it"
"Thank you" I said, and we both went back to our vehicles. We drove
off, me in the direction he told me to go, him right behind. When he
caught me looking at him in the rearview mirror, he waved. I waved
back, hesitantly. He smiled. I smiled. Then he turned off. A mile
later, I turned.
The motel was rustic, made of logs with green painted wood doors. There
were three little cabins off in the woods. One door read "Office" I
went in, a little bell ringing as the door opened and closed. A large
woman was sitting behind the counter, reading "Cosmopolitan". She
looked like she had bought half of Mary Kay and wore it on her face.
When she noticed me, she smiled, and got up, the stool creaking.
"What can I do for ya?" She asked in her down east Maine drawl
"I'd like a room please ma'am"
"For how long miss?"
"I don't know"
"Just you?"
"Yes" She wrote something down in a notebook, then handed me a
key.
"Room 6 sweetie. That's $30 dollars a night, 'til Memorial Day. Then it
goes way up. All those yuppie tourists and all. You understand" I
nodded and left the office. My room was at the very end or the motel,
view of the door from the parking lot obscured by a big pine tree. I
inserted the key into the lock, and turned. It opened easy. I flipped
on the light and closed the door behind me. The room was wallpapered
with a bamboo pattern, and the bedspreads had wildflowers on them.
There was a refrigerator and a stove in the little kitchenette, and a
small table topped with Formica. Two harvest gold chairs flanked it,
the vinyl shiny with wear. The carpet was harvest gold, too. There was
a painting by a local artist hanging on the wall over the bed. The
whole room smelt much nicer than my last motel room, though, and I'd be
willing to bet that there was no dead man in the bathtub. I gulped, and
checked the bathroom anyway. No bodies. I sighed with relief. I had
brought my suitcase in with me, and I moved it from next to the door to
the bed. I changed from my black leather pants and black bustier to a
more respectable pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt. I rolled the
sleeves up halfway and slipped on my Birkies. I touched up my makeup,
then exited my new harvest gold home.
I found the little grocery store quickly, as there was only one road in
the town with anything on it. The selection was limited, and the wares
slightly dusty, but I really needed to get a few food things. I picked
out my bread, my peanut butter, and some apples and took it up to the
single register. A little old lady stood behind it, looking slightly
like a bird that might attack at any moment, sort of like in the Alfred
Hitchcock movie.
"You wear too much makeup" she said to me and she scanned my three
items.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. A nice young lady like you shouldn't go around looking
like that" she tsk'd at me.
"Um, you have a nice day ma'am" I said hesitantly as I backed out of
the store, slightly frightened.
"You too Hon" She called after me.
On the way back to the motel, I stopped at the 5&;10. They had a
"Help Wanted" sign out. If I was going to sever myself from my past
life, I would need money and therefore, a job. The man who was at the
counter was also the owner. He was in his mid-forties and had dark
brown hair with bits of grey sprinkled throughout. He had a nice smile,
and a beer belly. He was a very kind man, and I was hired on the spot.
I was to work Monday through Friday from 10 to 6. A good schedule. I
smiled and thanked him profusely. His name was Hank Thorne. The
5&;10 was small-town store, stocked to the ceiling with everything
you could imagine, and some you couldn't. And there were enough cheap,
tacky souvenirs to make any tourist happy for months. The aisles were
narrow, and the green and white tiled floor worn, but it was nice. Like
the sort of place your grandfather took you to get bait when you were
little. They had stores like this in Mississippi, where I grew up. Only
they didn't stock snow shovels down there.
I went back to the motel and ate a sandwich, took a shower, and slept.
I woke the next morning at 5:30. I couldn't get back to sleep. So I
showered again: I couldn't seem to get clean enough, and got in my car.
I found the little restaurant where all the locals ate. It was called
Bunker's Dunkers. I parked in the cramped dirt parking lot, and went
inside. The place was filled with rough looking men, all wearing work
clothes. Most of them had big scruffy beards. They all eyed me
suspiciously as the hostess led me to a booth in the back. The vinyl
was cracked, and the plastic tablecloth was falling apart. I ordered
coffee and flapjacks. I looked around, taking in the scenery. The walls
were wood paneled, and were hung with pictures of the town from the
'50's. All the tables and chairs were just like mine at the motel, and
falling apart. The floor was linoleum tile, the type they have in old
elementary schools. The men, whom I figured were either fishermen or
lumberjacks, had gone back to their coffee and donuts, forgetting about
the girl from away in the flowered dress. I busied myself then looking
at the paper placemat on the table in front of me, with advertisements
for various local businesses. There was a nail salon; I'd have to
remember that. Suddenly, somebody sat down across from me. I looked up,
and right into the face of the man who had given me directions the day
before.
"Um, hi" I said, somewhat hesitantly.
"Well hi there" He replied, smiling profusely.
"What do you want?"
"Well, for starters, what's your name little girl?"
"Don't ask me no questions, I won't tell you no lies"
"Well, me, myself, I'm a country boy, every mother's son--you know the
type"
"Course I do-I'm a Mississippi kid"
"Preacher's daughter?" he asked. I giggled.
"You got that right, well, granddaughter"
"So what's your name?"
"Call me the breeze"
"Sweet little missy, I know that ain't you're name" The man smiled at
me, his teeth perfectly white.
"My name is Shadow. Anybody who can name that many Skynyrd songs
deserves to know"
"What a pretty name. I'm Grant. Pleased to meet you" he offered his
hand, I took it. We shook hands, smiling nicely. He really did have
pretty eyes.
I'd forgotten how boring cashiering in a small town can be. It was
eleven in the morning and there had been no customers. I yawned and
wished I'd brought a magazine or something to read. I turned in my
chair and stared out the window at the old-fashioned drug store. There
were several people sitting out on the little deck eating sandwiches
and milkshakes. The men tended to wear pastel Polo shirts with khaki
shorts, while the women favored flowered Capri pants with plain cotton
blouses. The children all wore shorts and tee-shirts, most likely from
LL Bean or a similar retailer. I groaned at the sameness of it all.
Gazing down at myself, I realized how being the same as others might
not be a bad thing. I may not have been noticed right off as new here
dressed in jeans and ratty tee-shirts with folk art angels on them, but
my Stiletto heeled boots and tight black jeans made me stand out. Or
perhaps it was the red satin bustier. All I knew was people looked at
me strangely as I walked down the sidewalk. I sighed and laid my head
on the counter atop my folded arms. I was sure to be found here.
Everybody knew I was here, knew that I didn't belong. All it would take
would be one cop up here looking for me, and BOOM! I'd be locked in an
interrogation room with the proverbial good cop/bad cop combo, accusing
me of all sorts of things, some truths, others not, just waiting for me
to break and admit to whatever they wanted me to, just so they could
get back to sitting around on their fat asses and look great for
solving all those crimes. C'est la vie, I suppose. C'est la vie. The
old fan blew down on me, rustling my hair and cooling the sweat beaded
on the back of my neck. I heard the cowbell on the door jingle. I
looked up. It was that guy again, the one with the green eyes. I
couldn't for the life of me remember his damn name, though. Grif,
Brant, Bruce? Something like that. I put my head down again, hoping he
wouldn't notice it was me. No such luck, of course.
"Hey, Shadow, that you doll?" he called as soon as he saw me. I looked
up again and managed a meek little smile. I nodded. "This sure is a
small world. I was just thinking about you. I'll bet you don't believe
me, but I was, sure as I'm standing here. God, it sure is good to see a
pretty gal like you. What say I take you out to lunch?"
"I have to work, that's why I'm here." I caught a whiff of his breath,
laced with Wild Turkey. "You been drinking?"
"Yep. Sugar, I'll take you out like you never been taken out before" I
rolled my eyes.
"I'm sure" I laughed. "Maybe later. I have to work right now"
"So do I doll, but you don't see me using it against you"
"You need to go home now, but don't let me catch you driving. You come
see me later before you've had a date with Little Miss Booze.
Ok?"
"Sure thing doll." And he stumbled out of the store. Weird. Oh well. I
shrugged and went back to whatever it was I had been doing.
The rest of the week passed slowly. Day after day, sitting in the
5&;10, waiting on the tourists and the occasional local. Going to
the motel, watching reruns on the cheap veneered TV, then starting all
over again. I was very thankful when Saturday came around and I could
do whatever I wanted. That happened to be hanging out at the bar at
Bunker's Dunkers and get smashed. Or at least, try to get smashed. I
could only afford a couple of drinks. It was damn depressing, really.
Having to nurse a beer all night just because I didn't want to leave,
but couldn't afford to buy another one, or convince a willing man to
buy the next round. What a sorry state of affairs. I looked up at the
clock. It was 8:30 pm. I'd been at the bar for going on 5 hours. I'd
had 3 beers and a basket of onion rings. And I had a dollar left in my
pocket. I crossed my legs, making my black leather skirt show just a
bit more thigh. I smiled at the man next to me, leaning over a little
to give him a little glance down my corset style top. He glanced, shook
his head, and turned the other way. I jumped as I felt warm hands on my
bare shoulders. I turned around and saw that green-eyed guy (Still
can't remember his name) smiling at me.
"Doll, he's not stupid. He knows all you want's another beer." He sat
on the stool next to me.
"Why should I listen to you? Last time I saw you, you were drunk"
"I had a reason to be drunk"
"What's that?"
"Why are you trying to get drunk?"
"Don't change the subject"
"Want another beer?" He asked, and, before I answered, signaled the
bartender for another one.
"You changed the subject again!"
"Yeah," bartender put a beer in front of each of us "But you got
another beer out of it"
"Don't be a smartass" I retorted
"How come you don't cross your legs for me or let me look down your
top?"
"I don't need to. You already bought me a beer" he laughed and looked
at his lap for a second. He looked up at me again and smiled
devilishly. I winked at him. He seemed to like that. He winked back and
smiled even bigger. I smiled. "You know" I said "I don't even remember
your name"
"Grant. And don't worry; I'm not insulted you don't remember. You knew
me when you saw me."
"It's your eyes. Green eyes are rare" he downed the rest of his
beer.
"Want to go for a ride?"
"Sure" I smiled, then downed the rest of my fourth beer. I may have
been a little tipsy, now that I look back on it. But he did have nice
eyes. He led me out to his truck, a big thing that he had to help me
climb into. The seats were leather, which I assume is rare in trucks,
but very nice. It must have been brand new, because it still had that
new car smell. He climbed in and started it, the engine purring like a
fancy sports car. The radio was set to a classic rock station, and
"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen was playing. I started to sing
along&;#8230;"Mama, just killed a man&;#8230;" then I stopped,
remembering why I was here in the first place, sitting up high in the
leather seat of an expensive new truck with a hot guy. I bit my lip,
trying not to panic. My hands had started to shake, so I sat on them. I
tried to forget. I did. But with that song playing, I couldn't. I could
feel tears starting to form. I blinked them back, hoping Grant wouldn't
notice. He didn't, and I recovered.
"Grant, hon, could you turn that off please? I like it better quiet" I
asked as seductively as I could. He complied with a smile. We were
driving along a wooded road with little traffic. It was just stating to
get dark out. It was gorgeous. The hot day had cooled to a nice 70
degrees, and the humidity had gone down. Suddenly, the trees on my left
side ended and I was awarded with a clear view of the rocky shore and
ocean only 30 or so feet away.
"Wow" I murmured.
"Don't tell me you ain't seen out here yet doll. You been here, how
long, a week?" I nodded. "I got a surprise for you then. Think you'll
like it" He smiled, and turned his attention back to the road. We drove
for a few moments longer, then he turned left at a fork in the road.
Eventually, we pulled through a tiered parking lot with a very clear
view of the stormy Atlantic. I said "wow" again, and Grant helped me
out of the truck, taking my hand.
"Told you you'd like it" he said with a smile. He carefully led me down
the rocks, making sure I didn't fall in my less than practical
stilettos, to a natural bench not far from where the incoming tide
boomed into the rocks, splashing onto the ledge in a shower of salty
liquid. It was beautiful. There were no islands here to protect this
point from the forces of the sea, and the way the swells hit the rocks,
it was obvious. The sun had set, and darkness was settling. In the
distance, I saw the light of a boat blinking as it rode the waves. Soon
I began to see stars in the sky. Every now and then, a new one
appeared, like somebody had just realized the sky was dark in their
little corner and turned on a table lamp. I shivered. It was getting a
little chilly. Grant put his arm around my shoulders. I didn't want
romance, but it was a nice feeling. I'm not sure how long we had been
sitting there before he broke our relative silence.
"So what made you decide to move up here during the summer time?" he
asked.
"Why not? The weather's nice right now"
"It's just an odd time."
"That it is" we sat silently some more, him probably thinking about
getting me in the sack, which, at this point, he sure as hell would. I
was thinking about how it really was an odd time.
Grant drove me around the rest of the park loop, then dropped me off at
the motel. He walked me to my door, just like any gentleman
would.
"Would you like to come in?" I queried demurely
"Nah."
"Why not?" I pouted.
"We barely know each other"
"Well, I know how we can fix that&;#8230;"
"Shadow, no" he interrupted.
"What are you, gay?"
"No, I just don't like to treat a lady the wrong way"
"I'm a lady?" I was astonished; I'd never been called a lady
before.
"Yes, Shadow, you are a lady. You just don't always act like one." He
explained, looking me in the eye the whole time, meaning every word he
said. His eyes never lied, no matter what he was saying. It had only
taken me a short while to learn this. They were very pretty eyes, vivid
green, framed with long dark lashes. I loved his eyes.
"So I guess you won't be coming in, and I won't even get a goodnight
kiss" I sadly looked down at my feet, trying to make him feel bad. He
leaned down and brushed a chaste kiss against my cheek. Then he left. I
went into the room and slammed the door, slightly pissed. I sat down on
the little vinyl chair and flipped on the old TV, searching for a
decent show. Finding none, I laid down on the bed and looked at the
ceiling. I thought about Grant. How I'd never met a man like him
before. A gentleman. Even a relatively nice guy, that type has never
before crossed my path. But Grant. Oh my, Grant. I closed my eyes and I
could see his, green and sparkling like Midori. His smile floated like
the Cheshire cat's, mocking me. Why? Why would he mock me? Oh god, no.
No. It can't be. I loved him. I was in love with Grant. In love. After
seeing him for a total of a few hours over the course of a week. Love,
that does not make anywhere other than a Julia Robert's movie. But I
knew, I truly knew. I was in love with Grant. I smiled at the idea,
forgetting my panic. My first love. Grant&;#8230;Grant&;#8230;I
don't even know his last name, was my first love.
I woke up the next morning early, about 8. Just in time to go to church
services. I figure, just in case God really does exist, I might as well
make myself look as good as I can to him. That way I can meet Elvis in
heaven, provided he really is dead. A pulled a lightweight pale yellow
dress out of the little closet. It had thin straps and a full skirt,
with pretty little roses printed on it. Respectable, but not frumpy. I
topped it with a white cardigan and slid my feet into my Birkies. I
tied a ribbon and my hair and I was ready to go. No makeup, I can't do
that without looking like a slut.
The church was well removed from the town, and it took nearly 20
minutes to drive there. It was on a rural road, cutting through acres
of blueberry fields. Nobody was picking, as it was Sunday. I parked on
the side of the road about 100 feet from the church, climbing from my
truck onto the blueberry bushes beside the road. I walked up to the
church, up the stone steps. A few old ladies were standing about
outside chattering about recipes and the weather.
"Why, I heard we're due for a hurricane Friday after next. You know,
the one gonna strike down to where Louisa is in Florida? Boy, I tell
you, Neila is going to be some tickled to hear that her predictions
were right"
"Well I never heard such a thing! She said that? I'm telling you, she
got that right from old Berla down to the grocery. She's a phony" the
woman began to stage whisper, "and I heard that she uses boxed cake
mix" the several old ladies gasped at that, one putting her hand over
her heart, partly obscuring the appliqu?d picture of a gray kitten
playing with yarn. I made my way up the cracked cement steps into the
church, and sat in the back pew, in the corner, where nobody would see
me. Some people were sitting in the front pews, talking in hushed happy
tones suitable for the setting. There was nobody under 60. All the
women had perms, making their silver hair stand up, while all the men
with hair had it meticulously combed, as if they still lived in the
50's. The pew I was in creaked as somebody else sat down. I looked up,
and Grant smiled at me.
"I'm starting to believe that you may be stalking me" I said playfully.
He chuckled.
"Nah, I just like spending time with you, that's all. You ain't sore
about last night, are you?" Oh, I wish I was sore
alright&;#8230;
"No, don't worry about it. I should thank you for treating me so
nicely, really. So thank you very much Grant. I don't get to meet many
gentlemen"
"Well I'm honored I'm one of the few." I rolled my eyes at him and he
smiled. I think he may find me a bit too entertaining. "So tell
me&;#8230;" he started, but was interrupted by the bells ringing.
All the old ladies from outside filed in and filled most of the rest of
the pews. The preacher took his spot, and the organ music began.
An hour later, church was over and I felt the same as when I had
started the morning. I stood up. So did Grant. We exited the
building.
"Shadow, doll, what do you say I treat to Sunday brunch?" I thought
about it for a second. I really had nothing else to do, and, hell, I
did want him. But I wasn't sure I trusted him.
"Sure" I replied with a smile.
The restaurant he took me to had a newspaper vending machine out front,
with the new paper in it, the Sunday "Ellisville Eagle". I scanned it
in passing, reading the headline. It took me a moment to process.
"Local Woman Found Dead, Foul Play Suspected" with a picture of the
woman who could be none other than the woman who checked me into the
motel. I stopped dead in my tracks, looking at it, reading and
rereading. I couldn't be looking at it right. I just couldn't. She
couldn't be dead. No, it couldn't be right. The headline was wrong,
maybe they ran the wrong picture, or I was seeing things. But she
couldn't be dead. I bent and looked at the text "&;#8230;found in
her bathtub, with her neck slit&;#8230;" Oh god. It was coming back
to haunt me. I was seeing things. I was going crazy. Grant stopped and
looked at me.
"What is it?" he asked, coming to look at the paper "Shit, Myrna" I was
numb. Myrna, the woman with half of Mary Kay plastered on her skin, was
dead, the same way the man was when I left home. And she very well
could be dead because of that man, because I left and came up here.
What if somebody was trying to get me? "Shadow, you alright?" Grant
asked. I shook my head, and finally let tears fall. I had been told
once never to let myself cry in front of a man, right after my father's
trial and death. "Never cry in front of them, Shadow, never, then
they'll just think they can walk all over you" my sister, Threnody's,
last words to me before she too found herself dead by the hand of
another. My whole family, murdered. And now I kept being in the same
place as dead bodies. My knees gave way, and Grant caught me before I
hit the ground. And then it all went black.
I woke up on a strange sofa in a strange room. I sat up slowly and
looked around. The walls were paneled with that fake wood stuff that
was popular in the 80's, and the carpet was brown and well worn. Tan
and green plaid covered the sofa I was on. A beer clock ticked away on
the wall above me, and a car calendar hung next to the dilapidated old
television six or so feet away. The coffee table that separated me from
the monstrosity was littered with magazines: Car and Driver, Guns and
Ammo. I looked to my left, where I heard the sound of somebody moving
about. There was a opening that looked into the kitchen and I saw
Grant. I kept myself from asking, "Where am I?" as I was sure that this
was his "bachelor pad", or, really, trailer. I'd have bet money that
there would be a blue tarp or an engine block in his front yard. An old
car grown into the grass in the back yard. Then I noticed him in the
kitchen. He was whistling. Whistling! I smiled. He was perfect. I stood
up on rather unsteady feet, and slowly walked towards the kitchen. He
looked up and saw me.
"Whatcha up to?" I queried seductively.
"Making you tea" he replied as he handed me a steaming mug. It had
flowers on it, and I was sure it used to be his mothers. I took a sip.
Then another. It was quite good, not at all what I expected.
"Thanks"
"Your very welcome. You OK?" Oh god, he actually looked
concerned.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry about me."
"I can't help it"
"Yes you can." I sat down at his kitchen table, a folding card table
that he had probably bought on sale at Ames or Wal-Mart. I hoped he
thought that I was smugly thinking how good I was. In reality, I was
thinking about how good HE was. How much I loved him. He had no
idea.
I ended up staying the night in Grant's extra bedroom, and I was glad I
did. I don't think I could have gone back to that motel, not after
Myrna. I know the chances of the two being connected are slim, but I
had an eerie feeling anyway. And I had enough nightmares as it was.
Grant's dog, Lola, a completely adorable chocolate lab, slept in the
bed with me, and I kept my arm around her all night. The presence was
reassuring. Sure, I would have rather had that presence be Grant, but I
know that will not happen. Maybe he's self conscious, worried I'll
laugh. Or maybe he's a virgin. Hell, he's probably married to some
actress in Hollywood or a CIA undercover agent. That would be just my
luck, now wouldn't it? Especially if she was hot, or at least had
bigger boobs than me. I rolled my eyes and went back to watching a soap
opera on Grant's TV. He had told me to stay here until he got back from
work. I was not going to argue.
There was a knock on the door, and I looked up, debating whether or not
to answer it. Before I could come to my decision, the door swung open
and a young woman, about my age, looking very much like a very feminine
Grant walked in, carrying a grocery bag.
"Who are you?" we asked each other at the same time. "I'm Grant's
sister. I brought him food. Who are you?"
"I'm Shadow. He said I could stay here because of what happened at the
motel yesterday"
"My name's Christine. Nice to meet you. He treating you ok?"
"He's been nothing but a gentleman."
"Well that's nice. Are you coming to dinner tonight at the house
then?"
"Am I invited?"
"If you're staying with him you are. Wear a dress, look nice, you know,
like you're going to church or something. That's the way mom likes
"proper young women" to dress. She's not a prude, but she thinks
fashion trends are stuck 50 years ago." Christine said matter-of-factly
as she sat down next to me.
"Ah"
"Terrible thing, Myrna. Terrible. I think that her husband did it. Now,
I'm really not supposed to say anything, but, she was having an affair
with Hank down to the 5&;10."
"Very interesting"
"Well, I can see that I'm boring you&;#8230;"
"No, you're not, really, I'm just thinking about something else. Kind
of preoccupied, I guess"
"Well, I best be getting off anyway. I've so many things to get done
before the day is out. Remember what I said though, about wearing a
dress. You'll thank me tonight."
"Alright. I'll do that. G'bye"
"Buh bye!" Christine called as she was already out the door, the sound
of her voice slipping in just before the door slammed shut. I turned my
attention back to General Hospital, laughing as the greasy looking
mafia type guy yet again threatened to kill somebody.
I awoke to the sound of the door slamming as Grant came home. At least
I assumed it was Grant as I opened my eyes and turned to look at
him.
"Hi" I said groggily.
"Christ. I don't think I want to know what you were dreaming
about"
"Huh?"
"I don't know what to think about that look on your face"
"Oh. Nice to see you too. Your sister came. She invited me to dinner at
your mother's. I assume you're going too"
"Which sister?"
"Christine. Are you going?"
"Yeah. You best go get ready though, we should be there in half an
hour."