by Mary Frame
“Jude.” I don’t even have to look to know who it is. The nasal tone belongs to one of my regulars. She wraps her talons around my bicep, the sensation stinging even through my long-sleeve shirt and suit jacket.
“Hello, Melindra.” She’s a sweet young lady, a bit on the insecure side. She has a bet with her friends that she can get me into bed but I’m not that easy. Said friends stand a few feet away, trying to be nonchalant, but I know everything that happens under my domain. She’s not a bad sort. I’ve been trying to let her down gently, to little effect.
“Wow.” Her eyes pop open in a move too dramatic to be sincere and her hand on my arm tightens. “You look amazing in this suit. Did you dress up for me?”
I ignore her question. “I have some business to attend to. If you’ll excuse me, madam . . .”
But I’m not going anywhere because as if sensing my imminent departure, like sharks in the water smelling fresh blood, her friends walk over and now I’m surrounded.
“Where do you work out at?” one of them asks.
“Did you buy this online?”
“You are so hot. I love your beard.”
I’m no more than a piece of meat.
“Babies, have you played Uno yet? It’s my favorite game.” I turn them over to a table where a regular named David and one of his buddies are playing. “David is a king among men.”
He’s not. He’s entitled and egotistical, but I’ll call him anything if it will help extract me from this conversation.
I hand them some extra chips on the house, sneak out of the circle once they get to talking, and head over to Beast.
“Keep an eye on the ladies, will you? Make sure Mr. David doesn’t get too comfortable. I don’t know him well enough to leave him unattended.”
Can never be too careful. And like they say, if it’s got tires or testicles, it’s gonna give you trouble.
When I glance back, though, the three ladies are surrounding David, and his brows are lifted near to his hairline. “Although I’m not sure who we should be more worried about.”
I pat Beast on his massive shoulder, reaching up to do so, as he is nearly seven feet tall and a behemoth of a man.
Moving through the house, I’m only stopped a few times since most are out back, and I finally, finally make it into the back of the house to my own personal space.
I engage the locks, including the extra ones I had installed after Annabel went snooping through my things.
Mr. Bojangles is lounging on my bed, sleeping, but he wakes up upon my entrance and stretches a delicate white paw in my direction.
I pull off my jacket before picking him up and holding him to my chest, carrying him over to the closet where I store my workstation. I pull the system out, clicking on monitors as I go. There are cameras set up everywhere around the house, both inside and out, so I can keep an eye on the festivities.
Beast is a prince and a giant, but his lack of communicable speech lends a complexity to our situation. And one can never be too cautious.
With Mr. Bojangles purring in my lap, I check the secure messaging website where Grace has been leaving periodic notes of a most cryptic nature.
Nothing.
I hope she gets the cash I left in the trash can at the high school. I don’t have any idea how she has been moving about town without being spotted, but I imagine she’s been sneaking into more than just Elaine’s house to enjoy showers and sandwiches.
Left to my own devices, I search community pages but there’s not much online. Blue Falls itself is about ten to twenty years behind technologically. Most of the government offices still use paper files and CD-ROMs.
There are some emerging signs of social media—neighborhood-watch-type apps are growing in popularity, and the university students are somewhat adept, but that’s about it.
My inbox dings with an encrypted message.
There she is.
Tomorrow night she wants me at the middle school—all the way on the other side of town. To pick up something in the band room.
I’ve already secured a vehicle, knowing it might be needed. Plus it doesn’t serve to use consistent methods of transportation on a regular basis, or to use the same paths. Routine is dangerous. And with the people at the town hall meeting talking about suspicious vans . . . not as much of a long shot as one might think.
This whole venture has been a struggle. Even though we’ve been here for months, people in small towns are more paranoid than even I am. Helpful if you’re a local and in the know, but when you’re an outsider, you’re not quite one of them.
It would be useful to have a local on my side, but it’s hard to know who to trust and it may not be fair to involve someone who doesn’t want the complication.
Annabel might like the complication. And it would behoove us to have someone in the media on our side, except . . . I’m afraid her negative inclination toward my general person would be a hindrance and I could never do anything to put Grace or Beast in harm’s way. They’re all I have.
And yet, even more concerning—Annabel is all I want.
Chapter Three
I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will.
—Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
Annabel
Fitz’s teasing voice carries out to the hall as I’m walking in the front door. “I still don’t understand. Say it again?”
Reese’s quieter, higher tone meets his. “The acceleration is the derivative of the velocity function.”
“Yeah, doesn’t help. But you sure are cute when you talk like that.” Fitz laughs, the deep chuckle of someone completely satisfied and in love.
And then there is silence. And then the unmistakable sound of lips smacking.
Ew.
I turn into the doorway of the kitchen slash dining area—big mistake—and then immediately cover my face with both hands. “Must you do that in here?”
They’re sitting next to each other at the rinky-dink vinyl table. Fitz has pulled her chair close enough so her legs are between his and he’s leaning into her space. And they are absolutely making out.
I groan. “I’m so, so sad for my eyes right now.”
“It’s not like we’re naked.” Shoes squeak across the linoleum and then Fitz tugs my hand from my eyes. “Stop being such a prude.”
I give him a death glare, level three since we’re only teasing. “It’s not prudishness preventing me from wanting to see my brother dry humping his girlfriend where I eat my meals. It’s basic hygiene.” I set my purse on the counter. “Where’s my food?”
“There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”
I do a happy dance all the way there. I haven’t eaten since lunch, which was sometime before noon. I went straight from the office to the township meeting.
“Momma wants you to call her.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow.”
He frowns at me but doesn’t push. I’ve been saying the same thing every time he tells me to call her. I don’t have the energy for it.
“How was the township meeting?” Reese asks. There are textbooks and papers spread over the small surface. She’s dressed casually, her typical jeans and T-shirt. The shirt reads, Obstinate, headstrong, girl. A Pride and Prejudice shirt Fitz got her for their one-month anniversary.
“It was fine.” I shrug and put the cold pizza on a plate before sticking it in the microwave.
“Anything exciting happening around town?” Fitz asks. “More alien sightings in Mr. Johnson’s cornfield?”
“Not this time.” I smile and lean against the counter. “Just your classic case of weirdos patrolling the neighborhood in creepy vans and listening to Elaine talk about her secret fried chicken recipe.”
“A matter of national urgency,” Fitz says with a laugh.
“Oh, and Jude was there,” I mention super casually. “So that was weird.” I’m way nonchalant.
No one responds to my statement at all. Crickets.
&
nbsp; The microwave dings and I pull my plate out. “He was wearing a suit. And bow tie.”
“He looks mighty fine in a suit.” Reese packs her books into her bag.
I sit next to her at the small table. “You don’t think it’s odd?” I’m totally breezy.
Reese shrugs and Fitz watches her with a small smile, not even paying any attention to me or the conversation.
I frown. This is not progressing as expected.
“It’s casino night, so he was probably dressed up for the festivities. Oh, that reminds me.” Reese’s eyes shift to Fitz. “Will you pick me up from the library after your track practice? I’m loaning Jude my car tomorrow night.”
“Of course.” Fitz smiles at her, his whole face lighting up as they hold eye contact for way too long.
It’s so . . . exposed.
Gross.
“What does he need your car for?” I ask.
She shrugs, uncaring, her eyes still locked with Fitz.
“You’re just going to let him take your car without knowing what he’s gonna do with it?” I persist.
Her gaze finally flits to mine. “It’s not like he’s going to commit illegal activities or something.”
Humph. “You don’t know that.”
“What is it with you two, anyway?” Fitz asks.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re referring to.” I take a huge bite of pizza and chew slowly so I don’t have to respond right away.
“Nothing. Uh-huh.” His mouth firms into a skeptical line. “You’re full of it, Annabel Lee.”
I give Fitz the death glare, kicking it up to level five, chewing with a bit more vigor. “There’s nothing going on with Jude and me.”
He rolls his eyes.
“I wouldn’t walk across the street to piss on him if he was on fire.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He points at me. “If he means nothing, then why all the animosity? You know what they say about love and hate: two sides of the same coin.”
“There are no coins. I’m ambivalent.”
I’m lame and a terrible liar and I know it. Therefore, a subject change is in order.
“What are we doing on Thursday?” I ask Reese. We have a standing date to try something new every week—something outside of Reese’s comfort zone. It was her idea. She was a social recluse before meeting Fitz and now is on a mission to make up for lost time.
We’ve done ice-skating at the hockey rink a town over, a painting class at the small art museum with a bunch of six-year-olds, and ballroom dancing at the senior center. I get dragged along with her because she has no other friends, something she’s been attempting to remedy every time we go out, but most people think she’s a bit of an odd duck. She is, but it’s one of the things I love most about her. Besides, I kinda like having her to myself. Everyone else in this town sucks.
“I was thinking archery.”
“We don’t have to drive outside town again, do we?”
“I convinced Granny to buy the target and bows and arrows.” She grins at me. “She was really into it, actually.”
I snort. “I bet.” Reese’s grandma will likely use it as an excuse to collect enough artillery to outfit an entire army unit. The woman is as wily as a coyote in a chicken coop.
“They should be delivered in time, and there’s plenty of room on the farm to set it all up.”
Reese’s family home isn’t really on a farm, but there is a barn and lots of open space. There aren’t any animals in the barn, though, only moonshine.
“Speaking of Granny,” Fitz says, “are you coming with us for Sunday supper?”
While I would love to spend time at Granny’s, she is totally in love with Jude and I haven’t wanted to risk running into him. “No. I’m busy.”
They exchange a glance but then ignore my lame excuse.
I proceed to eat my dinner in relative silence while Fitz and Reese talk and tease and act all cute and generally drive me batshit crazy.
It’s not that I’m jealous. I’m not. If anything, I’m worried about what will happen when the honeymoon phase is over and real life creeps into their dreamlike romance. I don’t want to lose Reese as a friend because my dumbass brother screwed it up somehow.
I wash my one dish while they go into the living room to watch TV. Or pretend to watch it.
Then I follow them into the living room and throw myself in the faded recliner while they snuggle on the love seat. But I can’t even focus on the cheesy sitcom because they keep giggling and whispering to each other.
“I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.” I stand from the chair, hoping they get the hint. “Good night, y’all.”
“Good night,” they call out as I walk away.
Once safely ensconced inside my room—with it’s own bathroom, thank the lord for small mercies—I take a deep breath that isn’t choking in romantic bliss and set about brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed.
I have a routine. I brush my teeth while staring at the bulletin board on my wall. It’s cluttered with random poetry from E. E. Cummings, Emily Dickenson, and Sylvia Plath, mixed with literary quotes and one solitary picture from my semester at UT Austin. I have more, but I’ve hidden all but the one of me standing outside the “Greetings from Austin” mural on South First. I was only there for a semester. I wanted to eventually apply for their MFA program in writing, but it wasn’t meant to be. At least not yet.
The early meeting wasn’t only some excuse to escape the happy couple. We do have a weekly meeting at the paper and I’ve got to write up the town hall meeting before ten, when we send everything to the printer.
I am grateful for the job, even though small-town papers are about as exciting as staring at the ground in the dark. It’s a good job, even though I don’t exactly love it, and it pays the bills. Who loves their job anyway? That’s why it’s called a job.
And Fitz no longer has to live at Jude’s, which means it’s easier for me to avoid him.
Fitz lived there for only a couple weeks before moving in with me. He couldn’t live with me at the time because I was rooming with a couple of friends from college who had just gotten married. There was no way all four of us could have lived together. I didn’t want to live with the lovebirds, but I had to wait for an apartment to come on the market before I could move out. Fitz’s sojourn at Jude’s worked out well, even if he ultimately lost his room there to Reese, because I needed the time to save up some money for first and last month’s rent. And even better, it gave him the chance to meet Reese. Now they’re nearly inseparable, though at least they are mature enough to see that living together after knowing each other for two weeks would be a bad idea.
I get into bed and kill the lights, shifting in the soft sheets and trying to get comfortable.
Laughter permeates the thin walls and I roll over and punch my pillow a few times to fluff it up.
They really seem happy together.
With that thought, something inside me clenches, but I shove any thoughts of a bearded man in a suit way down inside the cave of my mind and try to sleep.
After hitting snooze on my alarm three too many times, I’m rushing to get out of the house. Late. No time to make coffee, have to pick some up on the way.
I fly through the doors of the Finer Diner, across the street from the paper. I worked here all through college and know the entire staff like family.
“Cathy, I need coffee to go like ten minutes ago.” I’m hopping from one foot to another, like if I make a full stop, everything might crash around me.
“I got you covered. You can pay for it at the end of the week.” She’s already moving behind the counter to grab the carafe and filling a to-go cup.
“You are a lifesaver.” I glance down at my watch. I have three minutes until I’m officially late.
Someone sitting at the counter next to me clears her throat on a strangled cough and I glance over. I stop my weird hopping and everything inside me stills.
Tayl
or.
She’s gazing at me with wide eyes, like she’s as shocked to see me as I am to see her.
I avert my gaze and focus back on Cathy.
“You want sugar, darlin’?” she asks.
“No, it’s fine. Thanks so much, gotta run.” She hands over the coffee and without another word I’m out the door so I can breathe again.
“Stan, what have you got for the weekend edition?” Bruce is the editor of the Daily Blue. He’s nearly seventy with white hair and an even whiter moustache. He always wears cowboy boots and says things like, “yer darn tootin’ ” and “I can tell you a thing or two about a thing or two.”
The building is old and small. We have our meetings in the reception area. Behind the front desk is where the staff works, a set of three blue-toned cubicles. There’s only one separate office for the editor. Even the bathroom is a simple one-holer in the back. The break room is barely large enough to fit one table with four chairs and a single coffee pot.
“I have a piece on the new restaurant,” Stan says.
He just wants an excuse to go drink since it’s a bar and grill.
“How many words?”
“Five hundred thereabouts.”
Bruce nods.
Jane the receptionist taps her pen on her notebook. It’s what she always does before she wants to speak. “They’re starting auditions for A Christmas Carol.” She doesn’t actually write any articles. She mostly formats, copy edits, and sends everything to the printer.
“Who wants it?” Bruce’s gaze lasers at me but I don’t bite.
Mike volunteers to cover it, plus he has the new cases at the courthouse, usually neighborly disputes, loitering charges, jaywalking, etc.
He starts droning on and on and my thoughts flicker back to the night before, when Jude told me to be careful. What was he talking about?
And why do I care? Why does he keep peppering my thoughts like an overspiced steak?
Maybe I need to get laid. Get some bad sex so I can remember why it’s all a terrible idea. Stringless, unsatisfying sex. Yep, sounds great. Especially since all I’ve ever really known are awkward fumblings in the dark with men I knew wouldn’t be around for long.