Addie's Adventurer

by Amelia C. Adams

  “So, you know that I’m here to write an article. What’s up with all that other stuff about excuses and reasons?”

  “Okay, maybe that part didn’t come from Addie. I can’t help but pick up on what your energy’s telling me. You’re like a neon sign glowing in the darkness.”

  He rubbed his thumb across the malachite, noticing that it had been polished to a nice sheen. “I can’t feel it doing anything.”

  “You have to be open to it. It’s okay if you’re not—you can just keep it as a reminder of your visit here.”

  “So how do I get the real story about this place without all the tourist stuff getting in the way?”

  “Who’s saying that you aren’t getting the real story?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She contemplated for a minute. “I’d hang out with a local and ask them what makes it tick. It’s too bad that you don’t already know someone who’s lived here for a while and knows all the members of the community . . .”

  He shook his head. “Point taken. I’ll go talk to Addie again in the morning. Our first talk didn’t go so well, though. I’m not sure she’ll want to help me.”

  “She’ll help you because that’s who she is. It’s up to you whether you deserve it.”

  Again, she had a point.

  “Thanks, Ambrosia. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

  “You’re welcome, and yes, it’s about time for me to take the eye of newt off the stove. I think I’ve boiled it long enough.” She laughed when she saw the expression on his face. “Get out of here. Your skepticism is ruining my atmosphere.”

  Jason put the malachite in his pocket and left, again shaking his head. This was the weirdest assignment he’d ever been given—he couldn’t wait to get out of there and move on to something a little more his speed.

  Chapter Three

  “I had a very interesting conversation with Ambrosia Dubois yesterday,” Jason said by way of greeting as he entered Quinn Valley Collectibles. Addie looked up from the boxes of T-shirts she was sorting and grimaced. Him again? Hadn’t they run him off yet?

  “And what did Ambrosia say?” she asked, picking up the stack of large white “In the Zone” shirts and placing them in their cubby.

  “She said that I should spend some time with a local and ask them to tell me about this place. I did some wandering around by myself and got a little overwhelmed, but she set me right. Talked to me about Pennsylvania and gave me a rock.”

  Pennsylvania? Addie wanted to know more, but she also didn’t want to ask. That would mean showing interest in what he was doing, and that might be misconstrued as showing interest in him, and she’d decided around three o’clock that morning that showing interest in him was a very bad idea and she wasn’t going to do it. Nope, no way.

  “Sounds about par for the course when it comes to a conversation with Ambrosia.” She moved back over to the box and began to take the plastic off the mediums.

  “So, new shipment?” Jason asked unnecessarily. It was obvious that this was a new shipment—he was just making small talk because he felt awkward. Well, she felt awkward too. That was something they had in common at least.

  “Yep. I sell this line of T-shirts that I designed to highlight some of the best features of Quinn Valley.” She held up one of the shirts. It read In the zone at Quinn Valley across the front, with a row of footprints trailing off the side. “What do you think? Because of foot zoning, see.”

  “And just what is that? Benny at the community center mentioned it yesterday.”

  “You met Benny? I love him. He tells the best stories.” She folded the shirt and moved on to taking the plastic off the next one. “Zoning is a kind of reflexology. Just more natural healing stuff.”

  He gave a little grunt that she couldn’t interpret—he could either be expressing his displeasure or indicating that he heard. It didn’t much matter—she was completely impassive to his thoughts, his feelings, or his actions. Her reactions were all that mattered, and she was going to stay nice and calm no matter what might provoke her. Like, his very presence. That was super provoking. No reaction . . . nice and calm . . .

  He wandered over to the display of Bigfoot merchandise. “And what’s going on here? Bigfoot helps you advertise this foot zoning thing?”

  “No, but that’s brilliant. Consider your idea stolen.” She joined him, pointing out some of the items she was the proudest of. “Here’s a Bigfoot mask, and this is like a duck call, but it makes a Bigfoot noise, and this—”

  “What do you mean, it makes a Bigfoot noise? No one knows what sound he makes. That’s because he’s not real.”

  “Shh! There might be children listening!” She looked around, and so did he, but they were alone in the shop. “You can’t just blurt stuff like that, Jason.”

  “Sorry. So, back to the point. How can there be a Bigfoot call when no one knows what he sounds like?”

  “It’s called using your imagination.”

  He picked up a small plaque that said, Please pray for Bigfoot. I haven’t seen him for a while, and I’m worried. “This is kind of depressing. Now you’ve got me worried about him.”

  She smirked. “That’s the power of marketing. Two seconds ago, you were saying he didn’t even exist.”

  “This is why you should have gone into advertising. You have a gift.”

  Shoot. She’d hoped to avoid that topic altogether, but then she was the one who opened the door. “I have gone into advertising. See? This merchandise, these slogans—I came up with all of it.”

  “For a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere. Think what you could be doing somewhere else, someplace where you’d actually be seen.”

  “I don’t know why this bothers you so much, Jason. This is my life and these are my dreams you’re talking about. They don’t have any impact on you at all.”

  “I know that. I just . . . I hate to see you waste your talents.”

  “Who says I’m wasting them?” They’d had this argument so many times, it was a script burned into her memory. She was going to shake things up this time, though. She wasn’t going to fall into the same traps and rehash the same talking points. “I love what I do, and that should be enough for you. Again, this is none of your business. Our lives aren’t connected anymore, and that’s a good thing. We each have a ton more freedom than we would otherwise, and I’m at liberty to sell as many Bigfoot calls as I want to. These are a bestseller here, by the way.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad.” He paused. “I thought Bigfoot was in Florida.”

  “He’s been sighted here and there all over the country, including here in Idaho just two years ago,” Addie explained. “The main reason for the merchandise is just for fun, though—Kelsi Clapper over at River’s End Ranch is convinced that he lives in the mountains on their property, so we carry this line to perpetuate the myth.”

  “Has he ever been spotted at River’s End Ranch?”

  “Not so much,” Addie responded, “but that’s not the important part. It’s the belief that’s the important part.”

  Jason shook his head and moved on to the next rack. This one held hand-tooled leather purses. He glanced at them, but didn’t comment. After a long moment, he said, “So, will you help me with this article? I know you’re busy, and I know we aren’t really seeing eye-to-eye right now, but maybe for old times’ sake . . .”

  “I wouldn’t want to do it for old times. Let’s leave the past in the past, all right? I’ll help you because you’re here now. And because I’m getting a little worried about how this article is going to come out. I want to make sure you portray our town in a positive light.”

  “And not a green glowing light descending from the sky . . . possibly cast by alien spaceships?”

  She laughed. “Yes, something like that.”

  The door to the shop opened, and a mother, father, and five teenagers entered. Addie was kept busy for the next several minutes helping them find their sizes in
T-shirts and choosing out a snow globe for their grandma, who hadn’t been able to make it on this trip. After they left, Addie turned back to Jason, who had kept himself entertained looking at postcards.

  “Meet me at the diner in an hour,” she said. “You kind of owe me—you ruined my lunch yesterday.”

  “I did? How?”

  “By showing up.” She wanted to say “by existing,” but she figured that didn’t sound very friendly. “It was cold by the time you left.”

  “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll buy you a new lunch—not only to make up for that, but to thank you for helping me. I really appreciate it, Addie.”

  “You’re welcome.” Something had gone a little vulnerable in his expression, and she felt a little flutter in her gut. Stop it, she told herself. She wasn’t going down that road again. It was a bad, bad road with too many twists and turns and not enough guardrails. “See you later.”

  “Yeah. See you later.”

  He turned and left, leaving her to her thoughts. She wasn’t sure if being alone to think about him was better or worse than having him standing there right in front of her.

  ***

  When Addie walked into the diner, she hoped Jason wouldn’t be there, that he would have changed his mind and decided not to meet her after all. But there he was, sitting at a booth toward the front, and she smiled and gave a little wave before hanging her coat on the rack in the corner.

  “Who’s the guy?” Sammi asked as she passed by, her arms full of menus.

  “I’ll catch you up later,” Addie replied.

  Jason grinned when she slid into the booth. “Hey. Thanks for meeting me.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, feed me.”

  He laughed. “What would you like?”

  “Bacon cheeseburger, onion rings, Coke with lots of ice.”

  “That sounds familiar. Still got your old favorites.”

  “Well, that’s why we develop favorites—because we like them.”

  Sammi took their orders and their menus, and then came that part of a meal that Addie always dreaded—trying to figure out what to say while waiting for the food.

  “So, how long have you been reading my articles? And is this the first time you’ve ever commented?” he asked.

  “I’ve read all your articles. Even your tiny little column in that first magazine. And no, I’ve never written in before.”

  “You’ve read all my articles?”

  “Pretty sure I have. You sound skeptical. Don’t believe me?”

  He looked embarrassed. “Well, it’s just that I did some extra work on the side to pay the rent a few times there at the start—comparisons of different brands of mayonnaise, for one, which I don’t consider my best work.”

  “You know what, I read those too.”

  The look of horror on his face was majestic. “You did not!”

  “I did too. I think my favorite part was the paragraph extolling the virtues of tomato sandwiches.”

  “Well, they are delicious.”

  Sammi came by with their drinks, which was a blessing because Addie’s mouth was completely dry. She took a few sips, then said. “It’s been fun to see the different places you’ve gone.”

  “I’ve had some good times. This new thing, traveling the country—it’s been fun, but I do feel a little confined. I haven’t left the country in months.”

  “You feel confined because you have to limit yourself to one country? Kind of a first-world problem there, buddy.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He played with his straw wrapper, not looking at her. “I really have everything I want in life, and I shouldn’t complain. When I’m not on the road, I have a great apartment and lots of friends, and when I am on the road, I get to see and do and experience all kinds of things that most people would never dream of. I don’t know, though. Sometimes it seems pointless.”

  “That’s you—always up for an adventure.” She looked at him curiously. “Tell me more about that. Why is it pointless?”

  He lifted a shoulder, then said, “If I go out there and participate—well, let’s say in your bachelor auction. If I participate in that and write about it and then move on, it fades into the background of my life because I’m not there to see what happens next. I feel like I’m participating in a lot of first chapters or middle chapters of other people’s lives, showing up as a side character before I fade into the next story.”

  “So . . . why aren’t you the hero of your own story? Why aren’t these experiences all your own middle chapters?”

  “Because I’m not connected to anything. I’m the drifter, the traveler. I don’t have substance. I don’t have roots.”

  She shook her head. “You might need this place more than you realize. Look at you, getting all philosophical about things. When did that happen?”

  “When I woke up about a year ago and realized that it honestly wouldn’t matter to anyone if I didn’t do my job that day. For one minute, it was liberating, and I thought about going back to sleep and then watching a football game and finishing my article later, but then there was the realization that yes, I could rearrange my work schedule, but in the broader scheme of things, I wanted my actions to matter.”

  “A year ago? Was that . . . was that when you went to Tibet?”

  “Yeah, I decided to try to find myself. The monk there told me I wasn’t lost. That was kind of disappointing.”

  She laughed, although she didn’t mean to. “What advice did he give you?”

  Sammi reappeared and slid their plates in front of them, disappearing again as quietly as she could. She must have sensed that this was a private conversation, and Addie appreciated that.

  Jason waited until Sammi was out of earshot, then replied, “He said I needed to unlock the cage within myself so I could be free.”

  “And you think we’re weird around here?” She picked up an onion ring and shook it at him. “You’ve been dealing with weird stuff long before you showed up here.”

  “I know.” He grabbed the ketchup bottle and squirted it all over his fries. “And then your crazy incense-burning friend gave me a rock that’s supposed to loosen me up inside too. Apparently, all these spiritual types are diagnosing me with the same thing.”

  “Is that worth looking into?” Addie asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, it’s not like there’s a way for them to know for sure—they aren’t psychologists or psychiatrists or anything. I feel like they want to mess with my head without knowing what they’re doing.”

  “So, you don’t think you need to unlock the cage within yourself?”

  He let out a sharp breath and looked away. “Dang it, Addie, what do you want me to say? That I’m a broken human being who shoves everyone away because I don’t want to get hurt again? That I’m still carrying the scars of losing my parents when I was five, and so I’m incapable of a real relationship? I don’t need a shrink to tell me all that. I live with it. I know.”

  Addie pressed her lips together, wishing she could take back her question. She hadn’t meant to egg him on. She was just trying . . . well, to help him, maybe? But she wasn’t trained in anything either—she sold T-shirts for a living. What did she know about the heart?

  Aside from the fact that she had one, of course, and that she’d watched it break and heal countless times in her life. Not only watched it, but felt every last crack and jolt and injury. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, you’re fine. I shouldn’t have gotten on your case. Eat. It looks good.”

  It did look good, and she had been looking forward to this ever since her last one went in the trash. But she wasn’t hungry anymore. “So, what did you do last night?” she asked, hoping to shift the conversation to something potentially less painful for both of them.

  “I went to Quinn’s Pub for dinner, which was pretty good, and then I went back out to my trailer and started writing out some notes for the article. And that brings us back full circle to you, a local who can te
ll me all about the town.”

  She picked up another onion ring, thinking that she’d better eat while she had the chance because inventory wasn’t going to finish itself, especially not with the new shipment that had come in that morning. She’d had enough boxes that Alan had to break out the dolly to get everything off the UPS truck. “What do you want to know?” she asked after she swallowed.

  “Well, first of all, why Quinn Valley? How did you settle on this place?”

  “I knew I wanted to own a little shop somewhere. I could picture myself bustling around, helping customers, being part of a community, seeing the same people daily and knowing them all by their first names. In my daydreams, I pictured myself wearing a frilly apron and selling lots of candy—I might have gotten some Willy Wonka mixed up in there too. Not sure. Anyway, I asked my real estate agent to run a search for available businesses, and she printed me out a list of possibilities. I think I knew as soon as I saw the listing for this one that it’s where I was supposed to be.”

  “Yeah, I remember that,” Jason said. “You were babbling about something, and I wasn’t listening.”

  “And that’s too bad because the way everything fell into place was nothing short of a miracle. But you were never much for miracles, either.” She shook her head. “You were such a killjoy, you know that?”

  “Yeah, and I probably still am. Hence why I’m struggling so much with catching the vision for this article.”

  “So hang on to your rock and let’s see if we can get you to loosen up.” Addie thought about it for a second. “Are you going to be here through Valentine’s?”

  “No, I need to get on the road before that.”

  “Too bad. You mentioned the bachelor auction, and I started to think that sounded like fun.”

  He held up both hands. “No. No way. That’s not happening.”

  “Not even for a good cause? All the proceeds go to the local food bank.”