“Well, shit. Guess I’ll have the waffles,” Jake said, flipping over the menu, then tossing it down onto the tabletop with a shrug. He pulled his foot up on the bench and set his arm on top of his knee. “Looks like that’s the only choice.”
“We got eggs, too,” the waitress pointed out, tapping the second menu item with the eraser of her pencil. “Ain’t no law against havin’ them both.”
“Waffles and eggs,” Jake said, giving Lucy a wink. “Don’t that just beat the trumpet?”
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Lucy said, swatting at Jake’s knee from across the table. “He just had his heart set on a steak.”
“A big ol’ piece of red meat,” Jake agreed, patting his belly with both hands.
“No need to apologize,” the waitress said. “We got what we got, and we don’t what we don’t. You want the waffles and the eggs, son?” The woman’s name tag said Trudy.
“Sure thing, Ma,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take one of everything.”
“I’ll have that too,” Lucy said, smiling sweetly up at Trudy and handing her the menus. “Scrambled for me. Over easy for him.”
“Sure thing, darlin’. Be right out.”
They watched Trudy sway back behind the counter and into the kitchen, then Lucy gave Jake another swat. “Why you gotta be so mean?” she demanded, but it was hard to stay mad, this being their wedding day and all, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m not mean,” Jake insisted with a grin. “I’m just a man who calls it like it is.”
And Lucy had to admit, it was pretty strange, a 24-hour diner with only waffles and eggs on the menu.
But it was a decent plate of food, better than Lucy expected, and it reminded her of the waffles her grandma used to make when they’d visit her on the farm. It put her in a good mood, eating those waffles, and she sank back against the hard-padded booth, chewing and smiling and wondering how life had managed to get so good.
They talked about California—the places they’d see, the people they’d meet, the jobs they’d get, the lives they’d lead. Lucy nudged her eggs into a little beach across her plate and poured an ocean of syrup against it, making little sailboats out of waffle pieces. Jake shook his head, but he didn’t say anything mean. He was just as happy as she was that they were together.
“So y’all are headed out to California, huh?” Trudy asked as she pulled away the finished plates. “Where at, specifically?”
“Somewhere they got steaks,” Jake said, biting a toothpick between his teeth. He was always carrying toothpicks in his shirt pockets.
“Los Angeles,” Lucy said with a smile, closing her eyes and stretching her arms and pretending to feel the west coast sun. “I’m gonna be an actress, and Jake’s gonna be a mechanic to the stars.”
“Or anyone who’s got money,” he snorted, throwing his arm across the bench and leaning back.
“Sounds like you sure got a lot of aspirations,” Trudy said. There was a sadness in her voice. Probably regret, Lucy figured. That’s how it was with most people in the Midwest: lots of dreams, but no gumption, no follow-through. Well, that was their own problem. As for Lucy and Jake, they had drive and a map, and they didn’t need a single other thing besides each other.
Trudy tore off their check and laid it on the table. “Well, I wish you kids the best of luck,” she said.
Jake patted his pockets. He frowned. “Loopy-Loo, you got cash?” he asked.
“Some,” she said. She fished a few bills out of her pocket and flattened them out on the table. She frowned. “Just enough.”
“Well there you go,” Jake said, giving the waitress a smile. “All paid up.”
“Jake,” Lucy whispered, “there ain’t nothin’ there for tip.”
“There’s a few cents,” Jake insisted. Then he shrugged. “Sorry. I’m all tapped.”
“Hmpf,” Trudy said, stuffing the bills and the check in the front pocket of her apron. “No problem. Of course, it ain’t my place to ask, but do you kids have enough gas money to get to Los Angeles?”
Lucy’s eyes grew wide. She swallowed back at the lump growing in her throat and looked hopefully at Jake.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, suddenly irritable. “We’re fine.”
“Jake,” Lucy whispered, “you really ain’t got any cash?”
“We’re fine,” he repeated, his voice ringing like steel. “We’re just fine, Luce.”
Lucy’s heart sank. She knew that look. He didn’t have the money, and he was ashamed to admit it. He’d just get angry about it instead.
“Well, look,” said Trudy, “if you’re fine, you’re fine, and everything’s fine. But if it ain’t, then there’s plenty of work here in the Flats—odd jobs, short-term. Enough to put some money in your pocket and get you on your way.”
Lucy leaned forward across the table. “Do we need that, Jake?” She placed her hand over his.
He pulled his hand back and hid it in his lap under the table. He didn’t respond right away. He just chewed the toothpick, so hard that it snapped right in half. The free end dropped to the table and rolled off the edge, onto the floor. “What kind of work?” he finally asked, but he wouldn’t look Trudy in the eye.
The waitress shrugged. “I know Farmer Buchheit’s lookin’ for someone to lend a hand with his chickens, maybe work the fields a little. You any good with old tractors?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah.”
Trudy smiled. “You might just be what he’s lookin’ for, then. Just let me know if you want me to put in a call. I know he’d put you up in one of the properties on his farm. Free of charge, or else real cheap.”
Another diner patron piped up from across the room: “That new scientist has Farmer Buchheit’s place!”
“I don’t mean that moldy old barn, Everett. I mean the nice place, out by Route 40. That one’s still open. And don’t eavesdrop. It’s rude.” She turned back to Lucy and Jake. “Anyways, it’s not a bad deal. Think about it. I’ll get you both a cup of coffee while you talk it over. On the house.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said, giving her best smile and fighting off the urge to cry. Not even past the state line, and everything was already falling apart.
“Regular,” Jake threw in gruffly.
“Nah,” Trudy said, giving Lucy a little wink. “You don’t want the regular. Trust me. I’ll fetch you some decaf.”
“Seriously?” Jake said, glowering as she walked away.
“Jake, don’t,” Lucy said quietly. “It’s free.”
He sighed and began tearing at his napkin, ripping off little strips and dropping them onto the table. Lucy couldn’t tell if he was thinking or sulking. It might have been both.
“Jake? What do you think?” she asked gently. “Do we need the money?”
Jake shook his head slowly, pulling a second napkin from the holder and ripping that one to pieces, too. “I’m gonna get you to California,” he said. “Goddammit, I am.”
“I know, babe. I know that!” She smiled and reached for his hand again. This time, he let her hold it. “But if we ain’t got the money for gas, there ain’t no shame in working for it.” She traced her fingers along the inside of his palm. “In fact, I think it’s...kind of sexy,” she said, giving a quiet giggle.
The corner of Jake’s lips pulled up into a piece of a smile. “Yeah?” he said.
Lucy nodded. “Come on. Let’s stay here a bit, get the money together, and get to L.A. right. I don’t wanna be homeless on the side of the road in Mexico.”
“New Mexico,” Jake corrected her.
“New Mexico—right. Let’s just stick it out here a few weeks and see what happens. It’ll be fun.” She laughed a little louder than she expected herself to, and she covered her mouth in embarrassment. “It’ll be like campi
ng,” she whispered from behind her hand.
Now Jake’s smile broke out into a full grin. “All right,” he said, bobbing his head. “But only because I think I like the idea of hiding you from your daddy so close to his own backyard.”
“I like that part, too,” Lucy admitted.
When Trudy returned with the coffees, they told her the news. She smiled, looking a little relieved, and patted Lucy’s hand gently. “That’s great, honey. Real great. I think y’all will really like it here. Anomaly Flats has a...certain charm.”
“For a while,” Jake said. “It’s just for a little while.”
Trudy nodded. “Sure, honey. It’s as long as you want it to be.” She clapped her hands excitedly and beamed down at the newlyweds. “I’ll go give Farmer Buchheit a ring,” she said. “We’ll get you all set up. Oh, I think you’re really gonna like it here!”
•
The house wasn’t anything like Lucy expected, but still, it had its charms. It was little more than a cabin, built from strong logs and hammered together with wooden pins. There were only three rooms—a bedroom, a washroom, and an open area with a kitchenette, a fireplace, and a flimsy little couch—but it was cozy. There was a root cellar, too, with the storm doors opening out to the backyard, and even though the cabin had running water, there was an old well a few hundred feet behind the house, and Lucy smiled when she saw it. It made her feel like she was living in Little House on the Prairie, that show her mama used to watch on her VHS tapes.
“I like it,” she said, stepping up to a window and running the lace curtain between her fingers. It was old, yellowed with age, and moth-eaten, but it was nice, all the same.
“It’s a piece of shit,” Jake said in that off-handed way he sometimes said things, like he was so superior. It drove Lucy crazy, but she didn’t blame him, not this time. A cabin in Missouri was a far cry from an apartment in Los Angeles, and this wasn’t anything like where they thought they’d be when they ran out of the courthouse, happy and hollering and itching to be on the road. She could let him be crabby for a little while.
“I’ll make it homey,” she promised, throwing her arms around his neck with a grin. “Now pick me up and take me back outside. We just got married, and you didn’t carry me across the doorway.”
•
Farmer Buchheit was hard on Jake. That was clear right from the start.
He’d come home from a day of work, dirty and sore and stained with sweat, though that wasn’t the problem; Jake was used to hard work. But when Lucy asked him about his day, he’d grumble and spit some curse about “that old bastard” before going to wash up—or even worse, some days he wouldn’t say anything at all. He’d just push past her, go into the bedroom, slam the door, and yell out for her to holler when dinner was ready. He wouldn’t say much else about it.
Lucy didn’t know what it was Farmer Buchheit did that got under Jake’s skin so bad, but she shrugged it off as best she could. Jake could get his hackles up about being bossed around by another man; it probably wasn’t anything more than that. And besides, it was only temporary. In a few weeks, they’d have enough to get them all the way to California and find a nice little place there, too. So Lucy busied herself while Jake worked, tidying up and mending the curtains with little bits of thread she found stuck inside the pockets of her shorts. She did laundry in the kitchenette sink and hung it out on a clothesline like a real prairie wife, and it was just so funny that she giggled every single time. Jake would usually come home with vegetables from the farm, and Lucy got pretty good at being creative in the kitchen. When he brought home beets, she made a stew. When it was potatoes, she made a mash with some wild asparagus she’d found growing out back, near the woods. When they had cabbage, she made slaw, and when he brought beans, she breaded them with Corn Flakes and fried them up on the stove. She racked up a pretty good bill at the general store, but that was okay; Jake was making money now, and they’d be able to pay it off on payday. It gave her more options for their suppers, and Jake almost never complained. The only thing she had trouble cooking was the corn.
“I don’t like corn,” she said the first time he brought home an armful of ears. She made a sour face. “I don’t like the taste.”
“How can you not like corn?” Jake snarled.
Lucy’s face fell. There was a burning in Jake’s skin, and that was a bad sign.
“I just—”
But he didn’t let her finish. With a scream, he hurled the ears clean across the room. They smashed against the wall, spraying the logs with their sweet juices and falling to the floor, all mashed in. “Pick that shit up and just make some goddamn dinner!” he shrieked. Then he stormed away, back into the bedroom, and slammed the door so hard the curtains fell off one of the windows.
Lucy stood shaking in the center of the cabin, tears streaming down her red cheeks. She walked quietly over to the mess of corn on the floor, picked up the ears, and scooped the loose bits into her palm. She sniffed back her sobs as she brought the corn into the kitchen and got to work.
She made Jake a watery corn chowder.
She made something else for herself.
•
Almost two whole weeks passed before Lucy first heard the voice.
She was out in the back, pulling dry laundry down from the line, when the stones of the old well caught her eye. She hadn’t inspected the well yet, because truth be told, she was a little scared of it. She had visions of tripping or slipping and plunging right over the edge, bashing her head against the rocks, hitting the bottom and breaking her neck. It was silly, of course; all she had to do was be careful. But there’d been a little boy who had gotten trapped in a well not 100 miles from her house when Lucy was ten. They couldn’t get him out in time, and that little boy died, and it was the big news on every channel for a while.
It was something Lucy never could shake.
But she was a grown woman now, already in her twenties—on her own and married and everything. It was time to show her memories who was in charge. She bundled up the laundry and dropped it onto the grass, since it was so dry out, and she marched right over to the well and put her hands down on the cool stones.
Her heart thudded as she peered over the edge and down into the hole. She couldn’t see the bottom, it was so dark down there. Her palms were slick with sweat, and they slid on the stone. She pulled back and wiped them on her shorts, then leaned back on the rocks and lowered her head to the mouth of the well. “Hello,” she said. She expected an echo, but the darkness and earth swallowed her words and gave nothing back. She tried again, louder: “Hello!”
“Ruuuuuuuuun,” hissed a voice from the bottom of the well.
Lucy jerked backward, stumbling in the grass and falling on her back. She gasped for air as she clawed herself back from the well, kicking trenches into the dirt with her heels. Her eyes wide, her heart pounding, she pushed herself up to her feet and ran back into the cabin, forgetting the laundry, and as she threw open the door and slammed it shut behind her, she could swear she heard the rasping voice again.
“Ruuuuuuuun.”
•
Lucy tried to put the voice out of her mind. It was crazy, a voice coming from the bottom of a well. Who would be down there? It was just the wind whistling through the loose stones, or maybe even an animal rasping down there in the dark. When she thought about it that way, her heart broke a little; the thought of a poor woodland creature falling in and getting trapped down there in the dark…it was just too horrible to imagine.
That was what she brought up to Jake: that she thought there was an animal down in the well. She’d pretty much convinced herself it was that anyway. And besides, if she told him she thought she heard voices coming from down there, he’d lock her up and throw away the key.
“Ain’t no animal,” he said, sounding annoyed when he came back into the c
abin, clicking off the flashlight he’d found beneath the bathroom sink. “There ain’t nothin’ down there at all, Luce. Just a little water.”
“Oh.” If it was an animal, Lucy hoped the poor little thing hadn’t drowned. But then again, if it had, wouldn’t it be floating on the water? “It must have escaped,” she said, brightening a bit.
“Ain’t no animal,” he said again. Then he lay down on the couch and shut his eyes for a while.
Lucy noticed a small bruise on his right temple. She clucked her tongue and crossed her arms helplessly as he shouldered into a more comfortable position. She didn’t want to disturb him, but she couldn’t think what might have caused such a mark. Something on the farm, for sure. She made a mental note to ask him about it later, when he wasn’t so tired, and when he was in a better mood.
But she never really found a good time.
•
Another week passed. One morning, when Jake peeled himself out of bed and started putting on his boots, Lucy rolled over and asked him about the money.
“What money?” he growled. He turned his head, but just a little. He wouldn’t look at her.
“The money you’re making. How much longer you think we’ll be here?”
“You don’t like it here?” His voice was shaky, but somehow sharp, ringing through the air like a knife.
Lucy drew back and pulled the covers up to her chest. “I like it just fine,” she said. “It’s just, we’re saving up the money for L.A., and I just—”
“There ain’t no money,” he snapped. He stomped his feet down into his boots and grabbed his shirt on the way to the bedroom door.
It Came from Anomaly Flats Page 12