by Matt Moore
Georgina hadn’t rehearsed it like this. As Mrs. D’Angelo explained that the diner was closing, Georgina scanned the men’s faces, not recognizing a one. Not locals. They’d call her story of leaves and smells and death crazy. And might convince Paul.
“Coyotes caught him as he was walking home,” she said, echoing the police chief’s official statement. A statement that newcomers in Sunrise Village would accept. “Best to keep indoors—”
“You closin’ early ’cause a coyotes?” chuckled one of the men, turning to face Georgina.
“To a pack a them, you’d be a tasty morsel,” Mrs. D’Angelo spat over her shoulder, passing the order pad to Georgina. “Grab the beers, sweetie?”
Smiling at Paul, Georgina moved to the cooler.
“They’re from the construction crew working Highway 32,” Mrs. D’Angelo muttered to Georgina as they assembled the order. “Far enough south of Fellow’s Point now it’s almost the same distance to get here. We’ll be seeing more like them soon.”
Georgina couldn’t blame Mrs. D’Angelo for her resentment. Despite its dangers, despite her children leaving decades ago, the older woman loved Jefferson Hollow. Said she’d die here. Felt the Leaving forced a hardy, self-reliant character on its residents that most small towns had lost. But Highway 32 would change all that and this crew symbolized that inevitable change.
“It looks like you have your hands full,” Paul said while Georgina placed bottles on a tray. He stood, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Stay inside after dark,” Mrs. D’Angelo said, carrying the tray to the men.
Paul grinned. “I’ll be okay. It’s just twenty feet to the barn.”
Panic leapt up—icy, sharp. “Paul,” Georgina began, not sure what to say. “Really, you should . . .”
His eyebrows knit.
“What are you doing for dinner?”
“The same as usual,” he grinned. “Something in the oven or the barbecue. Did you have other ideas?”
Heart thudding. “You could come to my place.”
His grin widened. “I would love to. What can I bring?”
“Just yourself,” she replied.
“When and where?”
“Six o’clock?” Georgina gave directions to her house.
He handed over some bills covering his beer and a generous tip. “I’ll see you soon.”
Georgina watched him go.
“You’re glowing, sweetie,” Mrs. D’Angelo said, coming behind the counter with the empty tray. “Are you planning on having supper in an hour and sending him on his way before sunset? Or . . . ?”
Georgina grinned, heart still a heavy beat in her chest. It had been a while since she’d had a man in her life. But all of them had pursued her, asked her, made the moves. And they’d all been happy here in the Hollow. Farm kids. Sons taking over their dads’ stores. Tradesmen servicing cottages up and down County Road 625. High school educated or dropouts. None wanted something better. To get out.
Not since Colin.
“I don’t know,” Georgina said. “But I’ve got to get something for supper and showered—”
“Then go. I can handle these guys.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve done this plenty of times when your mother got sick. Go.”
Georgina kissed Mrs. D’Angelo on the cheek and hurried to her car.
From the parking lot, Georgina turned right onto County Road 625 and drove south toward town. This far outside town centre, only a few trees were bare. Someone passing through would hardly know anything was wrong.
Ahead of her, it was different.
But behind her, 625 followed a twisting path north into the city, over an hour away. Highway 32—straight, smooth, four lanes wide—would cut that time in half. Already it had transformed the small towns along its route into bedroom communities. Sunrise Village was the first step toward monotonous, vinyl-sided neighbourhoods, restaurant chains’ neon signs, and massive box store parking lots.
Though she understood Mrs. D’Angelo’s feelings, Georgina welcomed the change. Since she’d been a girl—hell, since Mrs. D’Angelo had been a girl—the town had remained the same. Even her girlfriends were the same ones from high school. The ones who hadn’t found a way out. Georgina envied them. Hard work in school, despite after school shifts, netted scholarship offers. But her mom’s condition got worse. So she’d stayed, working the diner and taking classes at the community college up in Fellow’s Point.
Then Colin—
Then her mom—
In town, oaks, maples, and elms stretched bare grey branches to the sky. Cars hurried up and down Main Street, people finishing errands before sunset. Black leaves blew through the parking lot behind the grocery store as Georgina got out and rushed inside.
The same store, Georgina reflected, run by the same family. Only the high school kids at the cash changed.
But Paul was new. When he’d first arrived, intent on cleaning up the farmhouse and selling it before going back to his life, she’d allowed herself impossible little fantasies of city life—managing a small restaurant, visiting little boutique shops, going dancing. And dating Paul.
But after a week he’d taken a liking to the town. “Never been here,” he’d said. His grandmom always visited them. “Might keep the house for weekends and vacations. Maybe ask a friend in the county office up in Fellow’s Point if there’s any open positions.”
That’s when she started shaving her legs again and wearing make-up to work.
An announcement that the store would be closing in five minutes on account of the curfew pulled Georgina from her thoughts. She got in line at the checkout, rehearsing what she’d tell Paul about the Leaving. Reaching the cash, she didn’t recognize the girl tallying up her things. Probably another kid from the Hollow starting an after-school job, but what if she was a newcomer living in Sunrise Village? Had someone warned her? A teacher? A friend?
Paying, Georgina wondered how many others wondered the same thing across Jefferson Hollow.
Heading for her car, black leaves crunching under her feet, she considered what would happen when Highway 32 finally passed through Jefferson Hollow and hundreds—or thousands—moved here? When the next Leaving started, it wouldn’t just be one boy the first night.
But she’d tell people like she’d tell Paul. And after tonight, Paul would help spread the word.
Tonight. Even with what she had to tell him, the thought of what else might happen tickled her all over.
Georgina’ stowed the vacuum in the closest just as the door bell rang. Opening the door revealed Paul, slacks and a polo replacing jeans and work shirt, a bottle of wine in hand. Beyond, daylight was a marmalade stain on the western sky, painting everything in a fiery glow through the bare trees.
“You look fabulous,” he said, smiling.
She wore a simple white blouse, jeans, and flats. No time for anything else. And not like she had anything nicer. “So do you.”
Georgina shut the door against the shifting leaves and animal smell.
Wine opened, brie and crackers set out, they sat in the glass-walled sun room off the den, watching the black leaves stir and chase themselves across the lawn. They talked, debated, bantered. He asked about the boy in Sunrise Village, which led to how rare, puzzling deaths motivated him. Seeing justice done. Fitting seemingly unimportant pieces together. Like unravelling the full life his grandmom had lived by her books and photos and mementos.
He asked about Georgina’s life in Jefferson Hollow. She explained how her mom had died before Georgina finished college, leaving her the diner and the house. Plus a mortgage, student loans—Paul could sympathize—and staff. Because her mom had used her savings on drugs and experimental therapies, Georgian had nothing. Except the diner. Thankfully, Mrs. D’Angelo knew the business inside and out, but for seven years Georgina barely made ends meet and had been unable to find a buyer.
With the sun down, the sun room’s glass walls became black mir
rors. Georgina admired how the two of them looked together—cozy, comfortable. Sunset also meant he was spending the night.
She had to tell him.
Then Paul’s stomach rumbled. They laughed and he apologized. While Georgina put the finishing touches on dinner—a simple chicken recipe—Paul browsed her bookshelves, commenting on titles they had in common.
Dinner served, he raved about it, wondering why it wasn’t on the diner’s menu. “Because,” Georgina replied, “the Hollow’s a deep-fried chicken kind of town.” The conversation shifted and flowed. Wine poured. Georgina repeatedly took a deep breath, preparing to explain the Leaving, but every time she came close Paul described some outrageous memento he’d found tucked into a closet or crawlspace and had her laughing.
More wine opened. Georgina’s head—and other things—tingled pleasurably. He was smart, confident, funny. The way his eyes lingered on her.
Dishes in the sink, they moved to the couch. Logic born of wine and lust concluded that since Paul was spending the night, there was no need to ruin it with talk of the town’s curse. She straddled him, kissing him, feeling him swell beneath her. His hands—warm and right, cupping her neck, stroking her skin. She slid off, reached for his pants, undid them, teased him. She kissed his neck, nipped his earlobe and said, “You’ll need to come down every weekend.”
“Georgina . . .” He pulled her hand away. “I should . . . I need to tell you something.”
She pulled back. “What?” A wife? Kids?
Straightening up, he said: “I’m selling the house. The Sunrise Village developers approached me. They’re buying up everything past Fuller Avenue. They offered me . . . quite a lot. I couldn’t say no. These past few days I’ve been working out the details. Last night, I was in the city signing papers. I wanted to tell you earlier, at the diner . . .”
Georgina stared. “So what does that mean?” For us, she wanted to add.
“With the money,” Paul continued, “I can repay my student loans and pay off a good chunk of the condo. I still want to buy another place in the country. It would probably be smaller and closer to the city—”
“Closer . . .”
“That doesn’t mean . . .” He shut his eyes. Shook his head. “I’m not explaining myself well.”
Alcohol and shock and the longing to be touched coiled and spun. She wanted to scream at him to get out.
Just like she’d screamed at Colin. Right in this room.
He was standing, adjusting his belt. “I should go.”
“No,” she said, fighting back an irrational rage that wanted him to go out into the darkness. “You’ve been drinking—”
He was down the front hall. Georgina followed. He opened the front door. The animal stink flooded in.
—slamming his hands against the backdoor, flaps of skin hanging from his face—
Georgina grabbed Paul’s arm. Turned him around.
“Don’t—”
Outside, a ripple moved through the black leaves blanketing the lawn.
“My car is right—”
—His motorcycle steps away. He could make it, he’d promised—
“It’s not coyotes,” she blurted.
Paul shifted his weight. “I don’t—”
“The kid. In Sunrise Village. It wasn’t coyotes.”
“What are you saying? You know what killed him?”
She’d prepared for this. Rehearsed it. But not after two bottles of wine and every bit of her aching for him. “We don’t know what it is. We call it the Leaving. Every couple of years, in September, the leaves turn black over a couple of days and then, overnight, fall off the trees and this smell comes. When it happens, you don’t go out at night until the smell fades. Usually a few days.”
“Don’t go outside . . . Why?”
“You end up like that little boy.”
Paul rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious!” She clenched her jaw, straining to keep it together. “Eleven years ago. Someone found a teenager under a porch out ’round your grandmom’s place. Every inch of him had been sliced up. Turns out he’d run away from home and was trying to reach his uncle who lives here.”
Expression sceptical, Paul opened his mouth to say something. Before he could, she said: “A few years before that . . .” She paused for an instant, letting her nerves settle. He wouldn’t take her seriously if she lost it. And if she lost it and he left, Paul was dead. “A drifter . . .” she continued. “Out where the train tracks used to be . . . throat sliced so deep he’d almost been decapitated.”
“What were the causes of death determined to be?”
She had him. At least enough to keep him inside. Shutting the front door, she shook her head. “During a Leaving, no one asks too many questions.”
“There must have been coroner’s inquests or police investigations.”
Georgina crossed her arms, hugging herself, wishing Mrs. D’Angelo were here. She’d have explained it better, had the answers. Damn it, Georgina scolded herself, she should’ve told Paul at the diner. Brought him in the back or something. “I don’t know. This is just how it is. The stories go back over a hundred years.”
He took her by the shoulders. “Georgina, my grandmother left me a letter in the will. Told me if the leaves went black and a smell came up, to ask someone in town who I trusted about it. You’re telling me it’s a spook story?”
“It’s not a story!” she shouted with a venom she didn’t expect, pulling away.
“The leaves are likely some cyclical disease,” he continued. “As for the deaths, some psychopath or cult could be using the legend—”
“But I’ve seen it!” she screamed. “Nine years ago. It killed my boyfriend in front of me!” She wanted to stop. No one knew this. But a momentum had her, yanking out the words, hurling them so they hurt. “My mom was in the hospital again. So Colin was spending nights with me. Like revenge ’cause Mom hated him. Long hair and drove a motorcycle. Worked at a garage. Always talking about getting out. Mom told me I could do better. ‘Men like him, like your father, are unreliable,’ she said. She said if I kept seeing him, she’d kick me out. Cut me off. All my money for school gone. I’d have nothing. But I loved him. So we kept it secret. And when he had enough money, he’d get me out of here.” Tears welled up. “But the Leaving started. It was afternoon and Colin was over. Said he’d made a pile fixing up this old Mustang. Wanted us to take off the next day. But I couldn’t leave my mom in the hospital. So he asked ‘When?’ and I didn’t know and he said I’d never stand up to my mom. I yelled at him and he said he was going to leave without me and tell my mom about us anyway. I told him to get out.” She couldn’t quite catch her breath, holding back the tears. Paul’s arm was around her shoulders and somehow they’d wound up on the floor. “He—” Her breath caught and a sob escaped.
Words tumbled from her about Colin opening the back door. And the smell. Georgina had been too proud to take her words back and Colin too manly to show fear. It was just dusk—probably safe. Colin ran across the small porch and down the steps, disappearing from sight. There had been a moment of nothing—just the small wooden porch and growing darkness.
Then screaming.
“I called the cops in the morning. Not sure what I did for the rest of the night. Said he tried to break in at sunrise.”
“Did they believe that?”
“I guess. My mom never asked me about it.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” Paul replied.
Silently, they held each other.
Eventually she led him upstairs. Without a word, he disappeared into the spare bedroom.
Georgina sat on her bed, holding her pounding head.
Something pulled her up and out of sleep. A siren, far away. Pale grey light illuminated her small bedroom.
The front door opened. Clicked closed.
Paul, Georgina realized. Leaving.
She flew to the window. Trees—dark grey angles ag
ainst light grey dawn. Below, Paul got into his car, started it, backed out of the driveway.
After a moment to be thankful it was bright enough, she wondered if she’d see him again.
At least, she told herself, he knew. He’d be safe.
Unlike whoever that siren was for.
By the time Mrs. D’Angelo arrived for the breakfast shift, the usual crowd had assembled at the counter. Rumours drifted over coffee and eggs and toast. Two boys in Sunrise Village. Camping in their backyard. Parents discovered them come morning. Tent shredded, boys cut to ribbons. House had a fenced-in yard. Probably thought they were safe.
Mrs. D’Angelo tied on her apron. “How was your night?”
Georgina over-poured a mug, coffee slopping over the edges. “I told him about the Leaving.”
“And?”
She’d known Mrs. D’Angelo would ask, tried to prepare for it. “He sold the house, Mrs. D. Getting some place closer to the city.” She grabbed a rag to wipe up the spill.
“Oh. Well.” Mrs. D’Angelo’s hands went to her bun of hair. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, sweetie, so maybe with this news, now’s the time. I’m moving to Austin.”
Georgina almost dropped the cup.
“One of my boys got a job with Dell. He can pay for the move. And I’ve enough stashed away to afford my own place.”
“But . . .” Georgina sputtered.
“I know what you’re going to say. But the town I love is gone, sweetie. People like Paul, selling it bit by bit. And this place won’t last when they open an Applebee’s or Fuddruckers right off the highway.
“And I don’t want to be here for the next Leaving. With all the new people, we’ll either warn them and word’ll get out. Or we won’t and there’ll be too many deaths. Then what? The army? Guys in lab coats?” Mrs. D’Angelo shook her head. “Time for me to go, sweetie. Maybe for you, too.” She went onto the floor to take an order.
Georgina placed the coffee before a local plumber. “Terrible tragedy,” he said to the man next to him. “Should’ve listened to the police,” the other replied. “Might be someone else tonight,” someone offered. Going to be worse next time, they all agreed.