by Molly Harper
We arrived on the outskirts of a town called Hader’s Knob, which, it turned out, was in Missouri and only three hours away from the Hollow. We were fortunate to find just what I was looking for in the seedier part of said outskirts. In a town called Hader’s Knob, there were bound to be seedy outskirts.
“A pawn shop?” Collin asked as I led him down Canal Street toward Golden Scales Pawn. “But we don’t have anything to pawn.”
I lifted my chain from around my neck, dangling my engagement ring for him to see.
“No,” he insisted. “You can’t mean to sell your engagement ring.”
“Why not?” I asked. “We need bus fare. I am not going to marry Jason or anybody, really, unless my parents have arranged some sort of proxy marriage … which I probably shouldn’t mention around them, because it might give them ideas. Legally, Jason broke the engagement, so the ring is mine. Either way, it would hurt me a lot more to miss our deadline tonight than it will to sell this ring. So into the pawn shop I go.”
“Just you?”
“Yes,” I told him as we neared the shop entrance. “I’d like to handle this on my own. It’s a closure thing.”
He smoothed my hair back from my face. “Is this one of those mysteries I will never comprehend because I was born a lowly male?”
“You used the word ‘lowly,’ not me,” I called over my shoulder as I pushed the door open.
Everything that seems sketchy about pawn shops from the outside is doubly true on the inside. You can almost feel the desperation and broken dreams dripping off the merchandise. I was glad that Collin was outside. Lord knows what he would have picked up, vision-wise. I wound my way to the counter through displays of used laptops, weird random “art,” and, most heartbreaking of all, a row of kids’ bikes.
A large bear of a man with a shiny bald head leaned against the counter, poring over a comic book. His tidy black polo had a shiny gold shop logo embroidered over a well-built chest. I didn’t know whether I should be comforted or intimidated by his size, so I settled for clearing my throat politely. The man looked up from his Archie comic and smiled.
“How can I help you, hon?” he asked kindly. His head shimmered in the greenish fluorescent lights. I wondered idly if he waxed it to achieve such a sheen. He gave me a small smile and pulled a soft maroon cloth out of his display case. I guessed he knew that I was going to pawn jewelry, since I didn’t have anything else on me. I wasn’t carrying so much as a purse.
I stayed frozen to my spot, unable to step forward somehow. I knew I couldn’t keep the ring, didn’t want to, really. But selling it seemed so final. It made me a little sad to think of Jason’s family heirloom sitting in a pawn shop in the middle of nowhere. But I had to sell this stupid ring. I could not spend the rest of my life in a town called Hader’s Knob.
“I won’t bite, I promise.”
I fiddled with the chain around my neck. “I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s OK, this time of night. We call it the ‘Bad Decision’ shift. Let me see what you’ve got.”
I pulled the chain over my head, because snapping one off your neck is not as easy as it looks in movies. And I handed it to the clerk.
“Are you looking to sell or pawn?” he asked, holding the ring up to the light.
“Sell. I don’t really want to see it again.”
He frowned, taking out a jeweler’s loupe. “Let’s take a closer look here.”
I took the chain and stuck it into my dress pocket. Already, I felt a weight lifted from my shoulder. I wondered why I’d held on to the ring for so long, why I’d agreed to take it back in the first place. Maybe I should send Jason the remaining balance after we paid for the bus tickets, I thought. Surely we would have some cash left.
With his jeweler’s loupe still in place, the clerk looked up at me and grimaced. “Hon, I’ve got some bad news for you.”
“Did I damage the setting?” I asked. “I haven’t exactly been vigilant about getting it cleaned or inspected.”
“Since you broke off your engagement?” he asked. I nodded. “And your fiancé told you this was a diamond?”
I nodded. Wait, did he say “told you”?
I closed my eyes and waited for the verbal blow. “What is it?”
He grimaced, placing the ring in my hand. “What you have here is a high-quality cubic zirconia.”
“Would you excuse me for a minute?” I asked through a tight smile. He nodded sympathetically.
I walked out the front door, to where Collin was waiting for me. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but I held up a finger. “You ASSHOLE!” I yelled. “Dirty, rotten, low-down PRICK!”
Collin’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he rushed toward me, glaring over my shoulder as if the shop was harboring some sort of junk-selling deviant.
“I’m fine,” I promised him. “Just give me a minute.”
I walked back into the shop, my fingernails biting little half-moons into my palms. “I’m sorry. I’m better now. Clearly, I was given some high-end Cracker Jack prize. So please explain to me how it didn’t turn my finger green or fall apart in the last year.”
“Oh, well, the band is fourteen-karat gold,” he assured me. “See this little mark on the inside of the band?” He held it up so I could see the tiny “JM” stamped into the metal. “That means it came from Jewelry Mart. Your fiancé probably bought a costume ring off of a home-shopping network and had the ‘stone’ reset in a respectable band.”
The pawn clerk reached across the counter and patted my hand. “If it makes you feel any better, this happens here a couple of times a week.”
“No.” I opened my eyes, fighting off hot, angry tears. “Sadly, that does not make me feel better.”
I walked out of the shop with two hundred dollars in my pocket. I was sure that the clerk overpaid me for the scrap gold of the setting, but he probably wanted to get me out of his shop as quickly as possible. Surely having a woman pitch the fit of a small emotionally disturbed child in front of the counter had to be bad for business.
Collin was hovering outside the shop door, his expression anxious. “I take it you did not get the price you expected.”
“You could say that,” I said, sitting heavily on the concrete curb, my skirt flapping up in my face.
“Are you all right, Miranda?” he said, crouching beside me in his silly plaid shorts as I tucked my skirt around my legs.
“Damn it, just—damn it!” I exclaimed, springing to my feet. “His mother never liked me. She said I was too flighty and frivolous because I thought it might be fun to go camping on our honeymoon, instead of the traditional Cordner trip to Niagara Falls. Who wants to take the same honeymoon that their parents took? I mean, most people would recognize that’s pretty damn creepy!”
“Miranda, please, calm down. Translate for me.”
I thrust out the four fifties I’d gotten from the pawn clerk for the gold setting. “It was a fake.”
“Your fiancé gave you a fake engagement ring?” he said, incredulous.
“High-quality cubic zirconia, according to the clerk. I should have known. He went on and on about how he’d found it at this great little jewelry store in Louisville the last time he was there. But he knew he was giving me a fake! His mother probably told him that I couldn’t be trusted with the real thing. All that fussing, all that handing the ring back and forth, and it never really mattered, because it was a hunk of nothing!”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I was waiting for an opportunity to reach a whole new level of humiliation, so this is great,” I griped, walking out of the parking lot. “I don’t get it, Collin.” I stopped, whirling on him. Collin nimbly sidestepped me while I ranted. “I am, by nature, a pretty cynical person. I wore silver jewelry around you for the first twenty-four hours, just in case you decided to get frisky. So how does someone go through life not trusting the people around her and still get screwed!”
“You wore si
lver jewelry for the first day we were together?”
“Just some rings and a bracelet. Nothing personal. I just didn’t know you,” I said, swiping at my eyes before the tears could form embarrassing tracks on my cheeks. “And you know what hurts? If he’d just told me it was a fake, I wouldn’t have cared. If he’d said he was giving me a stand-in ring until he could afford more, or as a backup to my real engagement ring, I wouldn’t have even blinked. Hell, I might have thanked him for not putting me in the position of destroying/losing/garbage-disposaling a priceless piece of jewelry. I’m just—”
I sighed, wiping my cheeks again. “I’m tired of being the fool. So please, please, do me a favor, and if you’re planning to trick me or lie to me or somehow make a giant ass of me in some fashion, just warn me ahead of time so I can prepare the appropriate face. I’m getting tired of making this one.”
“I can’t lie to you,” he assured me as we turned in the direction of Euclid Avenue, where the clerk had told me to look for the bus station. “I’m terrified of you, you crazed, hyperviolent hoyden.”
“I have a feeling that when I look up ‘hoyden’ in the dictionary, I’m going to be really pissed at you.”
The Hader’s Knob bus station was a short walk through a rough part of town. The houses were run-down and dark. The cars were rusted-out and seemed abandoned rather than parked. I dodged piles of broken beer bottles on the sidewalk. I wasn’t worried about us being attacked, because, frankly, Collin could use a snack. He seemed uncomfortable with my silence, unsure whether I was plotting revenge against him in the name of the Batmobile or Jason’s viciously executed testicular “downsizing.”
He kept squeezing my elbow, as if he was trying to gauge my temper or prompt one of his visions. He even followed me into the bus station, staying close as I purchased two tickets to go as far as we could get—Marion, Illinois. There was a bus leaving in the next twenty minutes, which gave me just enough time to take advantage of the bathroom and buy a suspicious-looking turkey sandwich from a vending machine.
“Are we going to be OK?” I asked, eyeing the bus meaningfully as we boarded. “No tire blow-outs or mechanical failures to worry about? No terrorist plots that will result in my being used as a human shield?”
He stepped away from me and stared off into space. A frustrated look passed over his features, and he stepped even farther away.
“We should be fine. Probably … Most likely …” But by the time we boarded, Collin was practically quaking. Even though I was standing right next to him, his proximity to this many people in such a small space had his gift on overload. He saw everything, every possibility, every choice and its consequences. The whirlwind of images must have been nauseating.
“Too loud?” I asked. He nodded, his eyes squinched tight. I slipped my hand into his and thought of all of the hijinks I could get up to on the bus, picking a fight with my fellow travelers, chewing gum while I was trying to fall asleep, having it stick in my hair or choking on it. My personal brand of chaos worked its magic, drowning out the weak, humdrum hijinks of the other passengers. Slowly but surely, the tension bled from Collin’s face, and he was able to relax.
“Thank you,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Please don’t let go.”
We held hands in the aisle, even if it meant struggling to maneuver around the people slinging bags into the overhead compartments. We settled into our seats, and Collin wedged his case against his legs. Shuddering at the crowd’s potential fates, he leaned his forehead against my shoulder.
The little old lady sitting across the aisle from us glared at him, her dentures flashing. “She’s allowed to walk on her own, sonny. You don’t have to keep ahold of her.”
Collin’s jaw dropped, and his hold on my hand tightened.
“It’s his first time on the bus,” I assured her. “He gets carsick. He’s just a little nervous.”
“Never could stand a clingy fella.” She sniffed. “Grow a pair, sonny.”
To keep from laughing, I bit my lip so hard that it bled. He leaned in and licked the wound closed for me. The bus started and rolled forward. We got comfortable in our worn leatherette seats. I rested my chin on his shoulder and whispered, “You know what I’ve noticed? People don’t like you.”
“I’m very likable!” he protested.
I looked over to the old lady, who was shaking her head.
“I like you,” I assured him. “I like you very much.”
“Well, that’s a comfort,” he said, pouting slightly. I leaned forward and caught his lip between mine, biting down. He groaned, pushing me back slightly. I could hear the little old lady chuckling.
Just then, the headrest of the seat in front of me slammed back, whacking me in the temple. “Oof! Really?” I griped. “Before the bus even pulls out?”
“I paid for the seat, lady,” groused the mountain of a man sitting in the seat in front of mine. “Deal with it.”
Collin’s fangs snicked out, but I squeezed his hand and shook my head. He put the fangs away and settled for glowering at the back of the man’s head.
Unfortunately, the giant pile of misanthrope sitting in front of me didn’t limit himself to rearranging my face with his headrest. For the next hour, the poor woman next to him had to hear his opinions on the health-care crisis, the economy, and “kids today” and how the current president was responsible for it all. And vampires. And any other minority you could think of. All in a loud foghorn voice that reminded me of my uncles after a few beers.
“I’m going to kill him just to shut him up,” Collin muttered.
“I’ll help you hide the body,” I promised.
The braying political commentator finally quieted, and I saw his seatmate’s shoulders relax. He stood to get something out of the overhead bin. As he moved, the zipper from his jacket whipped against my face. I winced, rubbing my hand over my cheek. Collin arched his eyebrow as my fingers snaked up. When the jerk sat back down, I had the contents of his wallet—two twenties and a handful of ones—crumpled into my palm.
Collin’s mouth popped open. “What are you—”
I shushed him gently, waiting for the woman in front of us to lean toward the window. When her head turned, I slipped my hand through the gap in the seats and dropped the cash into her breast pocket. I considered it hazard pay. The loud guy plopped back into his seat, none the wiser.
Collin whispered, “Morlock the Magician?”
I smirked. “I was always good with sleight-of-hand. Birds, not so much.”
“I’m continually amazed by the skills you have picked up along your way. What will you take away from your time with me, I wonder?”
“A profound fear of ravines and root cellars,” I muttered.
“The root cellar wasn’t all bad,” he murmured.
“A commitment to carry an industrial-sized can of anti-automotive-boob touch-up paint in every car I drive?”
He squeezed my hand. “I would hope that wouldn’t happen to any person more than once.”
“A distrust of any man bearing jewelry, family heirloom or otherwise?”
He chuckled. “I will remember you said that when we reach a gift-giving occasion.”
I shot him an incredulous look. He expected us to reach a gift-giving occasion? He said “when,” not “if.” He planned to spend more time with me. I tamped down the excited butterflies swooping through my belly. I didn’t know how to respond, what to say. So I just smiled and kept his hand clasped in mine. I kept him entertained with observations about our fellow passengers for the three-hour ride.
“When we arrive in the Hollow, what are your plans?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “A lot depends on how Iris reacts to her car being vaporized.”
“I told you, I’ll take responsibility for the car,” he said. “Do you think you would be interested—”
The driver’s voice boomed over the PA. “Folks, we are five minutes away from our stop in lovely downtown St. Louis. Please rem
ember to stay seated until the bus comes to a complete stop. Standing to reach items in the overhead compartment can result in fallen luggage and cranky seatmates.”
I smiled slightly. “Would I be interested in what?”
“Driving me back home?” he asked sheepishly. “I don’t think I would trust anyone else with my safety.”
“Well, that’s just sad.”
FRIENDSHIPS SHOULDN’T BE FORMED IN PARKING LOTS
11
Marion, Illinois, was home to one of the highest-security prisons in the country. The inmate Hall of Fame included Noriega, John Gotti, and, most chillingly, Pete Rose. Needless to say, I was a little bit nervous when the driver unceremoniously dropped us at a bus depot five miles from the prison. Knowing my luck, there would be a jailbreak, and I would end up cannon fodder in some sort of standoff. I stuck close to Collin’s side as we exited the squat little concrete building marked “DEP T.” I think someone had stolen the O.
“How much time do we have?” I asked.
“Two hours until midnight,” he said. “What now?”
“I was really hoping you had some ideas,” I told him. “I am fresh out.”
The depot parking lot was dimly lit by badly maintained streetlamps, casting long shadows over the handful of cars parked there. In the far corner of the lot, a tall man with dirty-blond hair was leaning against the side of a dark blue El Camino, talking on his cell phone. On his bumper was a large blue and white sticker that read, “Howl, Half-Moon Howlers, Howl!” I edged a bit closer and saw that the bottom of his license plate read, “McClure County.”
“No way.” I laughed. “He’s from Half-Moon Hollow!”
Collin drew his brows up. “Yes, and you seem very excited about it.”
“We could ask him for a ride,” I said, pulling Collin behind a partition outside the station so we could watch the man discreetly.
“Are you serious?” he scoffed. “You’re nervous driving past a prison, but you’re willing to solicit a ride from a stranger?”