by Chris Cooper
“Are you nuts?” she asked.
“Remember, we’re living a little tonight, right?”
Bev lifted the shot glass and sniffed, snarling at the nose-burning odor.
“Do it,” Oliver said.
Bev took a sip from the glass and choked the whiskey down.
The shot made small talk with his mother significantly easier. He even found it slightly pleasant. Whenever they’d wander onto an awkward topic, Anna would jump in to course correct.
The mayor served as the MC for the evening and had even borrowed a sequined suit for the occasion.
A hat was passed around the bar as the first group took the stage. Martin had coaxed Harry, whose wife was the first casualty of the last year’s attacks, into playing guitar while Martin sang a few traditional Irish tunes. Although Martin was typically conservative in looks and demeanor, he came alive onstage. He strolled across the room and serenaded Madeline, whose cheeks were so red with embarrassment they nearly matched her cabernet.
“Izzy will wish she came when we tell her about this,” Anna said.
“Maybe not,” Oliver replied. “Eric’s got a video camera over there. We may be able to get a copy of the tape for posterity.”
Several others took to the stage that night, including a few Oliver had never met before. As the evening progressed, the crowd became more and more participatory.
Eventually, the night drew to a close, but before the mayor concluded the evening, he noted a late addition to the show’s lineup.
Heads turned as the woman walked toward the stage.
Bev snickered. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Looks a little out of place, doesn’t she?”
Oliver rolled his eyes and took another swig of beer.
The musician strolled across the stage, her tightly bound bleached-blond dreadlocks bouncing as she did. Her face shimmered in the spotlight, cheeks glittering with highlighter against pearly white skin—skin that seemed almost impossibly pale. Her coral eye shadow matched her vinyl jacket, offset against elbow-length leather gloves running underneath the sleeves.
Bev was right—the woman didn’t fit in, but Oliver grew annoyed as several other snickers emerged from the crowd.
The musician pulled a stool in front of one microphone and set her violin case on the stage next to her. She seemed undeterred by the crowd’s less-than-friendly welcome and tuned her violin.
“She realizes it’s not Halloween, right?” Bev laughed.
“Would you knock it off?” Oliver said. He looked at Anna to provide reinforcements, but she was busy chatting with a man at the table next to them.
“What?” Bev replied. “Not my fault she’s dressed like a slutty bride of Frankenstein.”
Oliver finished the rest of his beer in a single swig, refueling himself with liquid courage. “Remember the talk we had about being critical of other people?” He set his glass on the table hard, catching Anna’s attention.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I’ve upset him, apparently,” Bev replied. “He’s being a sissy, if you ask me.” She grinned.
“All right. That’s enough for me.” Oliver stood up and turned toward the door, but Anna caught his arm before he escaped into the crisp fall night.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“Home,” he replied. “Can’t deal with her anymore.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “You can’t just storm out and leave me with her. She had a few too many white wines, and the whiskey probably didn’t help. Cut her some slack.”
“Have yourself a girl’s night, drink, get up onstage, and sing the National Anthem—I don’t care—but you’re going to do it without me.” He pulled his arm away and was out the door before Anna could say another word.
He cooled off halfway through the walk home and felt guilty for leaving Anna alone with his mom. He had probably overreacted, but he couldn’t turn back now. Although he might have been overdramatic, he would not apologize, especially after their earlier discussion.
Oliver noticed the back-porch light was on as he approached Izzy’s house. Asher was sitting wrapped in a blanket and reading under the floodlight and perked up when he saw Oliver.
“Aren’t you freezing?” Oliver asked.
“I’m sorry. I hope it’s okay that I came out here. I needed a change of scenery. I hope you don’t mind—I had to get out of the house.” Asher seemed overly concerned.
“It’s fine. No one will see you, but I’m shocked you came out on your own.” Oliver pulled up a chair across from Asher.
“The music already wrapped up at the pub, then? Where is everyone else?”
“I came back early.”
“Why?”
“Long story—started when I was born, actually.”
Asher cocked his head. “Your mom?”
Oliver nodded.
“Want to talk about it?”
Oliver shook his head. “I’d rather just sit here for a while, if that’s okay with you.”
Asher nodded.
Oliver sat in silence for a few minutes while Asher flipped through a few pages of his book.
“It wasn’t reasonable for me to expect her to change overnight. I may have gotten through to her, but she’s still got the same cynical bones,” he said.
Asher set his book down. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it. What happened?”
Oliver smirked. “She made a few remarks and called me a sissy. I don’t think she meant it, but she’s said things like that before, and it always gets under my skin.” He felt silly saying it out loud.
On one particular occasion, he’d come home from college for the weekend with a new haircut—one he was particularly fond of. “It’s a tad feminine, don’t you think? Don’t want people to think you’re—you know…” she had said, flipping her wrists forward. He went back to the barber the next day and came home with a buzz cut.
“If it makes you feel better, my father used to drink my blood,” Asher said casually and cracked a smile. “I’ve been told that’s not a normal thing for fathers to do.”
“That puts things into perspective.”
“I’ve been having nightmares about him and Briarwood,” Asher said. “It’s so strange that the town’s just across the field. I can see the smoke rising over the trees.”
“I can take you to the edge. We could get a closer look,” Oliver replied.
Asher bristled. “I don’t know. Nothing good waits for me there.”
“You’re safe as long as you don’t cross the patch. No one can get to you without that key around your neck.”
Asher looked down at the table. “Perhaps it’s an adventure for another evening.”
Oliver planned to stay out until his mom returned home, but after an hour of sitting outside with Asher, the warm fog of beer and whiskey had worn off, leaving him with no shield from the cold, aside from a light jacket.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, standing up from the patio chair. “Don’t stay out here too long, or else you’ll get sick.”
“I don’t get sick,” Asher replied. “One perk of magical blood, I guess.”
“Lucky you.”
Oliver walked through the kitchen and into the living room to find Nekko. After a thorough search, he found the chubby tabby under the couch. She’d pulled an entire loaf of bread off the counter and was chewing through the plastic in a fit of hungry kitty rage. He’d forgotten to feed her before he went off to the show.
Oliver returned to the kitchen to fill Nekko’s bowl then carried it and the cat up to his room. While she munched loudly on the windowsill, he replayed the night’s events in his head while lying in bed.
Eventually, he dozed off before his mom wandered her way home.
Oliver awoke in the middle of the night when the creaking floorboard and hallway light pulled him from sleep. He assumed it was Asher coming to bed, but he rolled over and saw his curly brown hair peeking out from u
nderneath the blanket draped across the sleeping bag. Oliver checked the clock—3:00 a.m. As he pulled the sheet over his head to shield his eyes from the bright light, he noticed a pair of feet standing on the other side of the doorway.
Is Izzy sleepwalking again?
He waited a few moments, and eventually the person on the other side of the door turned around and entered the bedroom across the hall.
Chapter Ten
The alarm clock pulled Oliver from a delirious sleep—the kind of deep sleep that starts in a dream and ends in a state of temporary amnesia. As his momentary confusion faded, he turned off the alarm, and Asher shuffled in the sleeping bag on the floor next to him.
Oliver rubbed his forehead and cleared the sleep from his eyes before forcing himself to abandon the warm cocoon he’d created under the covers and flinging his limp legs over the side of the bed.
No matter how many times he woke up for his early shifts at the bakery, he’d yet to become a morning person. After he climbed over Asher, he looked back at him and felt a hint of jealousy creeping up his chest.
Izzy had left a while before but was kind enough to leave a half pot of coffee piping hot in the Butler. Oliver huddled around his warm cup and relived the last night’s events. Now that he had a few hours of sleep under his belt, his mom’s transgressions seemed less severe, and he wondered if Anna had been right—maybe the wine had gotten to her head.
Izzy had taken the station wagon to work, so he was forced to march the cold path to the bakery. Mist had settled in over the square, and all Oliver could see of the statue of Samuel Hale was a hand gripping a large cross peeking out over the crest of the fog.
The bakery sat like an island in the middle of a sea of gray. As he entered the front of the store, Oliver heard a flurry of pans in the kitchen. He turned the corner to see Izzy standing over a dropped muffin tray, cursing at the oozing batter slowly creeping across the tile floor like a B-movie creature.
Izzy looked up at Oliver with a glare that said “Don’t you dare ask me if everything’s all right.”
“Where’s Anna?” he asked instead.
“She no-showed on me. We’ve been working together for years, and she’s never just blown off work.”
“Did you call her?”
“You bet I did. Said she wasn’t feeling well. I took that as she was too hungover to come in. I like a glass of honey wine as much as the next, but that’s no excuse for missing a morning bake.”
“I have to admit I’m feeling a little groggy this morning too.”
“So you were her enabler!” Izzy pointed a rolling pin in Oliver’s direction.
“Hardly. I ended up leaving early.”
“Well, Bev must have had fun, at least. Didn’t hear her come in until three in the morning.”
“So that was her creepily standing outside my door.”
“Maybe she had trouble figuring out which bedroom was hers. The woman can put away some white wine,” Izzy said. “Give me a hand with this, would you? I’ve got to finish frosting a birthday cake and need to ice the pentagram cookies.”
“Pentagram cookies? Don’t you think they might be a little risqué for Christchurch?”
“They’re for Halloween, and I would never have any fun without some risk of controversy.”
Oliver knelt down and scooped the muffin batter back into the tin before tossing the whole thing into the sink. “Why didn’t you call me earlier? I could have helped.”
“I thought I could manage. Apparently, I was incorrect,” she replied as she pulled a pair of hot trays from the oven. “Once you’re done with opening the front, help me fill the display cases.”
After cleaning up the mess on the floor, Oliver started the coffeepots and ensured the front of the store was ready for customers. Although he felt bad leaving Asher alone with his mom, he enjoyed his time at the bakery over the last week, decorating the place for Halloween and finishing up the holiday mural.
He had decided against caricatures in favor of a haunted house. A large mansion sat atop a steep hill on the other side of a tall wrought-iron gate, highlighted by a bright yellow moon sitting behind it. He had dotted the eerie landscape with bright orange jack-o'-lanterns—one each for Izzy, Anna, and himself. He’d even created one for his mom, although its expression was slightly sourer than the others.
Oliver rushed around, frantically sliding Halloween-themed treats into the display cases. The furry bear claws turned out nice, although the Cthulhu cupcakes still needed work, since they looked more like a collection of snakes than giant octopus gods. Anna was typically the one to do the more advanced designs, but Izzy was trying her best, given the situation. Aside from the new treats, Izzy brought back a few favorites: pumpkin pielettes, brain brownies, and Frankenstein petit fours.
Izzy and Oliver prepped all the baked goods and filled most of the outstanding orders by the time the bakery opened. Oliver flipped the door sign to Open, then he and Izzy sat at the large metal table in the kitchen and had celebratory cups of coffee—a necessity if they were to last the day.
Although the cases were especially full and the coffee was piping hot, the bakery sat empty for the first few hours of the morning. Usually, the place was packed on Sundays as the Christchurch townsfolk took leisurely walks around town and stopped in for a bite to eat and coffee.
Just as Oliver was growing bored with staring out into the empty storefront, the bell jingled against the front door. Martin entered and slid into a booth.
“Hell of a night last night, wasn’t it?” Martin asked.
“Sure was. The rest of the town must have had a long night too. We’re usually swamped this time of day.” Oliver said, flipping over Martin’s cup to fill it with coffee.
“I didn’t see a soul on my walk over here aside from a dog walker or two. Granted, most everything is closed on Sundays. Maybe it’s the fog.”
“Or the long night at the bar.”
“Between you and me,” Martin leaned in closer, “Madeline couldn’t even leave the house this morning. She’s still in bed. I’ve never seen her with a hangover before. I promised to bring her a cup of coffee and one of those pumpkin-pie donuts. I’ll take a donut for myself too.”
“Be right back with that,” Oliver said, walking behind the counter to fill Martin’s order. “How did you like that girl with the violin?”
“She was phenomenal, at least according to Madeline. She had the whole place mesmerized, and you could have heard a pin drop, apparently.”
“Really? Surprised to hear that. She didn’t exactly receive a warm welcome. You didn’t stay to hear her play?”
Martin pulled his right hand from his coat pocket and held it up for Oliver to see. His wrist was wrapped in a compression bandage.
“How did you manage that? Rock out a little too hard onstage?” Oliver asked.
“Ha! That would have been a better story. No, I tripped walking into the bathroom at the pub and twisted it trying to catch myself on the sink. It’ll be fine, but it was throbbing so badly I went home early to wrap it. Kind of killed my social spirit for the evening.”
“Well, hopefully the performance helped raise a lot of money. I can’t wait to hear the totals.”
Oliver set the bag of donuts and to-go coffee on the table, and Martin pulled out his wallet to pay.
Madeline must be off her diet.
“Keep the change,” he said as he handed Oliver a bill.
“Thanks, Martin. Give Madeline my best.”
Martin swigged the rest of his coffee and headed toward the door.
“Seems like Madeline had too good of a time last night too,” he said, returning to the kitchen.
Izzy was busy rolling fondant over a cake she’d shaped to look like a miniature dragon. She’d crafted a modeling-chocolate birthday hat to go along with it too. “I must have missed out on all the fun. Sounds like quite the event.”
“Me too. I’m not sure what happened after I left.”
“I’ve had
my fair share of nights I don’t remember. Everybody needs to let loose now and then, even stodgy people like Madeline. It sounds like everyone let the night get away from them.” Izzy carefully pressed the fondant around the cake.
“I guess so. Did Bev say anything to you when she came in last night?”
“Not a word.”
Oliver returned to the front of the store and looked out the window into the mist.
The lull in business continued. Izzy used the time to get a head start on orders, and Oliver deep cleaned the booths. By early afternoon, they had completed every menial task they could think of, from scrubbing the kitchen to refilling the napkin holders.
“Let’s close ‘er up early today,” Izzy said as she took another look into the empty storefront.
“You’re the boss,” he replied. He flipped the Open sign to Closed while Izzy turned off all the lights.
Oliver pulled his coat tighter around himself as he climbed into Izzy’s car. They drove by the market, which was shut tight. The lights were off, and the sandwich board, which typically boasted its best deals, had been pulled inside.
The house lay quiet when Izzy and Oliver returned, and Izzy headed to the studio to paint. Bev lay sprawled on the couch, her paperback lying on the floor next to her. She was in the middle of a deep slumber and let out a dainty snore that reminded Oliver of the sound a bread knife makes as it saws across a crusty loaf. He crossed the room to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. He heard the scurry of Pan’s feet across the deck and stepped outside to see what was causing the pup’s excitement. Asher drew his arm back and tossed the tennis ball to the other side of the yard. Pan scampered after it, feet moving faster than his tiny frame could handle.
“Your mom’s been sleeping on the couch all afternoon.”
“She’s never been one to nap. Did she say anything about last night?”
“No, but she’s not very talkative around me. We mostly just sit in awkward silence. I’m used to silence, though. I don’t mind it.” He cocked his arm again as Pan waited eagerly.
“Did you notice her standing on the other side of the door last night? Creepy, don’t you think?”