Nothing Town
Page 3
“Hey!” He nearly tips over his chair in his haste to stand up but he catches it just in time. “I didn’t think you’d come. I thought it might be a set up.”
“Why would you think that?” I take a seat and drop my bag down beside my feet, aware that several heads have turned to stare at me.
“There aren’t too many females in my age group in this town. You must’ve been inundated with messages as soon as you posted your profile.”
I admit that I’ve switched off notifications and haven’t yet been back into the app to check the messages in my inbox. Stewart can’t take his eyes off my face, which is a little off-putting. I give him a bright smile as I begin my lead-in to telling him the real reason for our date today. “What do you do for a living, Stewart?”
“I’m a milk tanker driver. Euthanasia is smack-bang in the middle of agricultural country and there are plenty of dairy farms in the region. It’s a hazardous job but I like it.” He’s moving his hand across the tabletop, as if he’s hoping to hold mine, and I quickly move it and tuck it safely down in my lap. I’m not the hand holding type, especially not with a man who I’ve known for all of two seconds who thinks driving a milk truck is a hazardous occupation.
“Sounds like fun. I hitched a ride into town from the airport with a local farmer. You might know him – Sid Kenworth.”
Something dark flickers across Stewart’s face but he quickly shuts it down and smoothly blanks his expression. “I’ve heard of him,” he says vaguely. “What’s your job? And what brings you to Euthanasia?”
Yeah, he’s disappointed when he discovers that I’m not really looking for love but he agrees to answer my questions all the same. Half an hour later, Interview One is done and dusted, and thank you kindly.
Chapter Six
I go through my dating inbox that night as I chow down on the grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of tomato soup I’ve prepared for my dinner. Stewart’s comment proves to be correct; I have so many messages waiting for me that I scarcely know where to begin. I pull out a notepad and a pen and start working through my long list of admirers.
Reece texts to say he’s found a bus service that will bring him and Mom to Euthanasia tomorrow afternoon, which is great as I have no way of collecting them. I’d hoped Mom wasn’t arriving on the same day as he was so we could spend some quality brother and sister time together but that hope has now been dashed into a million little pieces. Resigning myself to the situation as it is, I text him a smiley face and go back to my date planning mission.
I decide I need to ramp up my efforts before my family arrive and suck up my time. I arrange two coffee dates in the morning, back to back. The first will be with Luke Pikestaff, a wispy blonde man with a large nose, and the second will be with Bud Feely, an outdoorsy guy who looks like he should be off somewhere climbing mountains or rescuing sheep.
It’s not until I’ve finished my dinner and logged out of the dating app that I remember the trees. I tip my head to one side to listen, but there’s no tap-tap of branches against the house and I can’t hear the wind. Satisfied that whatever quirk of nature it was that caused the phenomenon in the first place has moved on, I clean up the dinner dishes and retire to the sofa to watch TV for the remainder of the evening.
The paperboy manages to hit the front door with my newspaper the next morning, startling me as I’m drinking my morning coffee. I think it’s a nice touch that whoever rented this house to the TV station arranged for the newspaper to be delivered, even if I haven’t looked at it. I tossed yesterday’s paper straight into the recycling bin and today’s paper will be heading in the same direction. I’m not expecting to have much free time over the next few days, especially with my family due to roll into town.
I leave the house to meet Luke and I’m just stepping onto the sidewalk when I decide to double back to take another look at the silver birch trees. The silver birch trees that apparently no longer exist. The trees have gone. I just stand there, staring at the empty space where they were yesterday, and wonder if the final rusted screw holding me together has finally come loose. Perhaps I’ve gone quietly mad overnight and this is my new normal.
My heart is pounding in my throat as I run all the way around the outside of the house looking for the trees. Any trees. I don’t find any – the closest plant to the form of a tree is a small snarl of blackberry brambles on the north side of the house. The trees I saw only yesterday have gone, leaving no trace that they ever grew here.
Not gonna lie, if I was a smoker I’d be sending up smoke signals right about now that would probably reach all the way to Russia. This is some freaky shit. I thought this kind of stuff was all in my deep, dark past. Feeling uneasy, I make up my mind to look into the history of the house and town later on, after my dates. Yeah, yeah, I know I should’ve done all that before I flew out here but I figured the bad luck that led us to Gypsy Creek and the house on Pannier Street couldn’t possibly repeat itself. No one can be that unlucky.
Shit-a-roonie. There’s no sign the trees ever existed, not even a disturbed patch on the soil. There’s either some kind of psychosis-inducing drug in the water of this town or I’ve somehow managed to land myself once again in a stinking, rancid heap of occult occurrences. I’m not happy, I can tell you that much. I make up my mind that researching the history of the area is a priority, just as soon as I’ve ticked off my dates with Luke and Bud.
Luke isn’t at the coffee shop when I arrive, which is probably a good thing. It gives me a chance to sit down and sort out my thoughts. I consider searching the web on my phone while I wait, in the hopes of finding some information about the town that might be of use, but I opt not to go there until later. Given the history of this community and the research done into the mysterious absence of female births over that five-year period, I’m certain there will be hundreds of articles online about the town of Euthanasia. I don’t have the time to leap down that particular rabbit hole this morning. Instead, I search for disappearing trees but it seems it’s not too common, although there is a vague and disappointingly brief reference to an incident in the Ukraine.
Luke puffs in a few minutes later, full of apologies and excuses. He’s even wispier in real life than he looked in his profile pic, the type of man that would probably blow away in a stiff breeze. Like the phantom breeze that whisked those silver birch trees away. Feeling like Dorothy after the tornado, I force a smile to my face and politely introduce myself to Luke Pikestaff.
Unlike Stewart, Luke doesn’t try to hide his irritation when he finds out this isn’t a real date but merely a poorly disguised attempt to get an on-the-spot interview with him. “What do you mean, you’re a reporter? So you telling me you’re a fake?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m being as honest as I can. I’ve told you I’m on an assignment and the rest is up to you. You don’t have to stay.” I nonchantly pick up my coffee cup and take a sip. I never have been averse to a bluff or two. “I’m happy enough to sit here and finish my coffee on my own.”
“I’ll stay,” he says grudgingly. “Can’t remember the last time I talked to a woman of my own exact age. It’ll make a nice change to sit down and pass the time a female born around the same time as me. As you probably know, there are very few girls in these parts.”
My investigative reporter instinct kicks in. “Now that’s what interests me. Why have all you single guys stayed in Euthanasia rather than looking further afield for a girlfriend?”
He seems surprised by the suggestion. “Euthanasia is my home. I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else but here.”
“So unless you decide to choose a much older or much younger woman as your partner, you’re looking at remaining on your own for the rest of your life?”
“I guess. The few women who do live around here have plenty of men after them already. They’re all spoken for.” He sniffs loudly and I watch his large nostrils vibrate and twitch. I’m reminded again of rabbits and potential rabbit holes. He places his large,
work-worn hands on the table and goes to stand up. “I might get a donut. Do you want one?”
Chapter Seven
I have half an hour to kill between my date with Luke and my meeting with Bud. I leave the coffee shop a few minutes after Luke, who ended up chatting to me for a full hour after his mini meltdown. He also asked if he could see me again if I have a spare moment between my family arriving and my stack of other first dates. I told him I’d see what I can do but I didn’t make him any promises. I’m pleased to be gathering together some useful information for my story. So far, these guys have been happy to open up to me about their feelings of loneliness and isolation in this male-dominated town.
It’s strange to walk down a street and see very few other women. There are a few little old ladies doddering along here and there and a cute pair of three-year-old twins in a stroller, pushed by a woman who must be their grandmother. The little girls appear to be minor celebrities in their own right with their matching blonde pigtails and pink polka dot dresses but other than that, all the other pedestrians are men. To tell the truth, it’s more than a little creepy. I can feel the men’s eyes on me as I pass, their gaze crawling across my body like a writhing nest of spiders, and it’s not a sensation I’m fond of. Although a nest of flies or maggots would be worse.
Flies, ugh. I saw a hypnotist a while back in the hopes of getting over my lifelong fly phobia. I’ve never been able to shake it and even several intensive sessions with my therapist failed to cure me, although we did manage to pin the beginnings of the fear down to what I saw in the Nothing Room when Dad opened the door to toss Grandma’s dead body inside. Anyway, we both decided it was time for Ellie Friedlander to take charge of her fear rather than her fear retaining control of her so I booked an appointment with Rodney Castlereagh, Hypnotist Extraordinaire. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out too well.
My hypnotist was a bland little man with very white skin, blue veined hands, and a penchant for beige suits. He peered out at me from behind his half-open office door when I knocked, reminding me of a turtle peeping out of its shell, and he seemed in two minds as to whether he should let me in or not. Anyway, I finally got past that barrier and into his office to find it consisted of only an uncomfortable-looking chair and one of those psychiatrist couches on which the patient is supposed to recline to bare their soul. I glanced at the framed certificates on the wall before going across to lie on the couch, only to have Rodney stop me. Oddly enough, it seemed that the couch was for him and the uncomfortable-looking straight-backed chair was for me.
The session itself went well enough. I think. To be fair, I can’t remember too much about it. Rodney sat in front of me on the low couch, pulled out a pendulum on a chain, and began to talk softly while swaying it in front of my eyes. He told me to concentrate, to let his voice roll over me and to allow my body to relax. I think I might’ve zoned out for a while there because the next thing I know, Rodney is efficiently snapping his fingers and saying we’re done.
He sent me on my way after that, supposedly cured, but on the very next afternoon a stray fly landed on my hand while we were out in the van and Michael nearly had to scrape me off the roof. I considered going back to Rodney to ask for my money back but I never got around to it. I figured that maybe I’m just one of those people who can’t be hypnotized. Or that my fly phobia is just too enormous and too ingrained in my psyche for anyone to fix. However, I did notice that after my session my sleeping habits improved.
“Oh, excuse me.” I’m so caught up in my daydreaming that I almost step on the heels of a man who has decided to stop in front of me to read the notices in the grocery store window. He turns around with a smile and my heart sinks. He’s a Sheriff. Wonderful. A prime example of one of my least-liked type of people, holding the same low level as flies and zombies in my mind.
“No problem at all.” He grins at me but it annoys me that I can’t see his eyes as they’re hidden behind his mirror sunglasses. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you passing through or are you staying in town?”
I keep my voice polite but noncommittal. “I’m staying. At Windfell.”
I go to step around him but he holds up his hand to bar my way. “Vacation?”
“Sort of.” I’m not keen on giving him too much information. It’s not as if I’m doing anything illegal and past experience has shown me that it never pays to confide too much in cops. It certainly didn’t do my Dad any good. I sidestep the subject by pretending to be friendly. “My name’s Ellie Friedlander. I’m enjoying finding my way around Euthanasia. It sure was nice to meet you, Sheriff.”
He nods and I see my twin reflections moving up and down in his mirrored lenses. “Likewise.”
“I guess I’ll see you around,” I say cheerfully as I go to move away again. “Oh, what did you say your name was?”
He puffs his cheeks out for an instant, obviously proud of his title and moniker. “Sheriff Dixie Normous.”
I snort with laughter before I realize that he’s not laughing. In fact, he looks fairly grim when he sees my reaction. I turn my laugh into a cough and bang my fist into my chest. “Sorry. Frog in my throat. Bye, Sheriff Dixie.” I shuffle away after that, feeling as if all is right with my world. Dixie Normous’s mother clearly either had a sense of humor or she hated small town cops as much as I do. I can feel his eyes following me but I don’t look back, knowing I’ll laugh in his face if I do.
I step into the bookstore to have a quick look around but now I’m killing time more than anything. The bookshelves look dusty and cobwebby, as if the books haven’t been touched for a long time. I buy a magazine, mainly because the storeowner is watching me suspiciously, and then I walk back out to the street. I check the time and decide I should start to wander back if I don’t want to be late for my date with Bud Feely.
A battered pickup pulls into the curb as I start pass the grocery store. I’m pleased to see Sid Kenworth climb out of the driver’s seat. “Hi, Sid!”
He looks at me then looks away again, as if he doesn’t know me or hasn’t even seen me. I say it again as he walks around the back of the truck and steps up over the curb, aware that he has cataracts and that his hearing might not be too good from this distance. “Good morning, Sid.”
He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t even blink, he just limps straight past me and into the grocery store. I stare after him, wondering if he’s one of those old men with really bad memories or if he’s just ornery like my curious old bastard of a grandfather was. Either way, it’s no skin off my nose. If he doesn’t want to acknowledge me that’s his concern. I turn around and head back the way I came, wrinkling my nose as another stinking livestock freighter rumbles past.
Chapter Eight
Bud Feely is a warm, gregarious man and I like him immediately. He’s wearing a red flannel shirt and a pair of steel cap boots and I wouldn’t be surprised to see an ax leaning up against his chair, parked there beside him while he takes a break from his lumbering and jacking. As it turns out, he’s not a lumberjack at all but he does manage the local hardware store.
Still amused by my encounter with the local law enforcer, I roll out a joke about good old Sheriff Dixie’s name but it seems to go right over Bud’s head. He looks at me blankly before going on to explain that the Normous family arrived from France a couple of centuries back to settle on a piece of land close to what is now known as the town of Euthanasia. I try again with another lame Dixie joke before giving up – perhaps my sense of humor is just too juvenile for this town. Anyway, my date saves my embarrassment by delivering a seriously witty Pokémon joke and we move on.
I really do like Bud. He’s sweet and funny and he has the kind of looks that I go for in a man. I feel comfortable with him and he doesn’t seem bothered when I explain the real reason behind my dating profile. He answers my questions, giving similar replies as the other men about how lonely life can be for the males here in Euthanasia, and he appears genuinely interested in what I do for a job.
“Are your three brothers still in town? Are any of them married?” I forgot to ask Stewart and Luke this question and I make a note to remind myself to ask my future dates. It might pay me to start keeping a tally of the percentage of men in the target age range who have managed to find themselves a bride.
“My brother Joe moved to Massachusetts a few years back. He met a girl named Mary-Sue there and they married last year. He’s the only one of us who is married, though.”
“And your other two brothers? Are they still in Euthanasia?”
A scowl drops down onto his brow, as black as the wings of a raven. “Monty works at the bank but Charlie moved out country.”
I’m perplexed as to why this is making him frown and I tell him so. He reluctantly expands on his comment. “We don’t have much to do with Charlie nowadays. We expected him to stay in town with the rest of us.”
“What difference does it make?” I remember what Sid Kenworth told me about keeping my dating exploits confined to town. “Why is there such a divide between town and country in this neck of the woods? Euthanasia is a small place. I would’ve thought the community would embrace the wider area.”
He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “It was a whole lot easier to visit with Charlie when he lived in the next block.”
“Do you know many women personally? Older or younger women, I mean. Grandmothers, aunts, nieces – that type of thing.”