St. Francis Society for Wayward Pets

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St. Francis Society for Wayward Pets Page 6

by Annie England Noblin


  Ronnie seemed torn between continuing his tirade against Tube Top and chasing after Leeann. Leveling another glare at Tube Top, he chased after Leann, calling her name over and over as he ran.

  Tube Top turned to the couple she’d stolen the beer from, smiled, and said, “I sure am sorry about that. Let me get you two another pitcher.”

  She ambled up to the bar and stood next to where I was sitting. She nodded her head at the barmaid and pointed to the table where the couple was sitting. The barmaid sighed, rolled her eyes, and nodded.

  I looked around for Holly, but when I found no sight of her, I tried to concentrate on the plate of food that had just been delivered to me. I was starving. I picked up a sweet potato fry and stuck it into my mouth and tried not to moan with pleasure.

  Tube Top turned around to face me. Her sparkly eye shadow glinted from the bar lights. “Hey,” she said. “Do I know you?”

  I tried to chew and shake my head at the same time. “No,” I replied, swallowing. “I don’t think so.”

  She furrowed her drawn-on eyebrows. “I swear, I know you from somewhere.”

  “I don’t know how,” I said. “I’ve never been here in my life before today.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.” I picked up my burger and took a bite. I wished she’d just leave me alone and let me eat in peace.

  “I’ve got it!” Tube Top said, slamming her hand down onto the countertop. “You look like this woman who used to come into the gas station where I work. Oh, what was her name? She had all these cats. . . . What was her name? . . . What was her name?”

  I set my burger down. “Annabelle?” I asked.

  “Yes! That’s her! How did you know?”

  “She was my mother.”

  Tube Top pulled her head back, eyeing me. “Annabelle didn’t have any kids,” she said.

  “She was my birth mother,” I replied. “I was adopted as an infant.”

  “Oh shit,” Tube Top replied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

  “I don’t think most people did,” I said. “It’s fine. She died and that’s why I’m here.”

  “I read her obituary in the paper, and it didn’t mention you,” she replied. “I have to work tomorrow, or I’d go to her funeral.”

  I stuffed another fry into my mouth, because I wasn’t sure how to respond. They were quite possibly the best fries I’d ever eaten, but I’d lost my appetite.

  “I’m Charlene, by the way,” she said. She stuck out her hand.

  “Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” I replied. “I’m Maeve.”

  “That’s a weird name.”

  “Most people call me Mae,” I said.

  “I don’t really have any room to talk,” Charlene, formerly Tube Top, replied. “My middle name is Lucretia.”

  “Family name?” I asked.

  Charlene nodded. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  “Maeve was my grandmother’s,” I said. “On my dad’s side. My middle name is Eileen. That was my grandmother on my mother’s side.”

  “When you say your mother and father,” Charlene said, “you mean the people who adopted you?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I don’t refer to them as my adoptive parents. They’re just my parents.”

  “Of course,” Charlene replied. “I’m being rude, aren’t I? I’ve been told I don’t have a filter.”

  “I’ve been told the same thing once or twice,” I said. “Don’t worry. It’s really okay.”

  “I bet the ladies of St. Francis can’t wait to get their hands on you,” Charlene said, eyeing me.

  “What?” I held a french fry in midair and stared at her. “Who are the ladies of St. Francis?”

  Charlene let out a throaty laugh and replied, “Girl, you really don’t know anything, do you?”

  I was about to reply with a question about whether these ladies of St. Francis were some kind of convent or a cult or something when the man I’d heard referred to as Ronnie came hurrying back into the bar, snaking his way around the tables toward Charlene. I braced myself for what was surely about to take place.

  “Hey, doll,” Ronnie said, embracing Charlene. “Thanks for tonight. It was your best ever.”

  “You’re welcome,” Charlene replied, giving him a sly wink.

  He pulled back and pressed a crisp hundred-dollar bill into the palm of Charlene’s hand. “Same time next month?”

  Charlene smiled. “You got it.”

  “I better get back out to Leeann,” Ronnie said. “She was all over me in the car. I don’t even know if we’ll make it home.”

  Charlene watched him go and then placed the folded-up bill into her bra. When she looked over at me, I realized I’d forgotten to chew, the chunk of hamburger stuck in my cheek, like a chipmunk preparing for winter hibernation.

  “I gotta tell ya, I wasn’t sure if I could pull that one off tonight,” Charlene said, shaking her head. “I was afraid Leeann would deck me for real this time.”

  I chewed up the mass of burger and washed it down with several gulps of beer. “What . . . just happened?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Charlene replied. “I forgot you’re new in town.”

  I wondered how being new in town could possibly be an excuse for not comprehending what I’d just witnessed. “You pour beer over unsuspecting women’s heads for money on a regular basis?”

  “That’s Ronnie and Leeann Parrish. They’ve been paying me a hundred dollars every month for the last four years to pretend like Ronnie is my husband, and I’ve just caught him cheating on me with Leeann,” Charlene said. “Gets Leeann real hot, and it gets me another deposit into my dream vacation account. Saved up almost five grand. This time next year, I’ll be sittin’ on a beach somewhere with a drink in my hand while the rest of these suckers bundle up for winter.”

  “I don’t even know how to respond to that,” I said. “But good for you, I guess.”

  “Rich people are a bunch of weirdos,” Charlene continued. “Leeann and Ronnie live up there in that fancy gated community. He’s some sort of big-time real estate developer, and she’s the principal at the only private school in town. They come down here to Three Sheets, because they don’t think anybody will recognize them.” Charlene leaned in closer to me, her voice just above a whisper. “It’s the worst kept secret in town. Even if us working-class folks were too stupid to know who they were, their damn handyman is sittin’ over there in the back, drinkin’ five-dollar pitchers.” She rolled her eyes.

  I followed Charlene’s gaze over to the man who’d caught me staring at him when I first entered the bar. “Yeah, I noticed him earlier,” I said. “What’s his deal?”

  Charlene let out a snort. “What, you don’t realize it when you’re in the presence of greatness?”

  “A great handyman?” I asked. I knitted my eyebrows together. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Girl, that’s Abel Abbott,” Charlene replied.

  “Who?”

  Now it was Charlene’s turn to stare at me. “Abel . . . Abbott,” she said, this time more slowly. “You know, the Abel Abbott.”

  I could feel my face light up with recognition. “Abel the Adventurer?”

  Charlene nodded with satisfaction. “That’s him, all right. Of course, I don’t know if you could call him much of an adventurer anymore. He hasn’t gone on an adventure or written about a damn adventure in years,” she said. “Where’s he gonna go on an adventure in Timber Creek?”

  “So . . . he’s not a handyman?”

  Charlene laughed. It was a loud, infectious laugh. “I ain’t got the time it takes to explain that mess to you,” she said. “Suffice it to say that he hung up that adventure thing and picked up a hammer years ago. Now he likes to pretend he’s just normal folk like the rest of us, but he owns damn near half the town.”

  I tried not to look over at him, but I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t believe someone like Abel Abbott was living in Timber Creek. G
ranted, I didn’t know much about him. Most of my knowledge came from the back covers of books sitting on my father’s and brother’s bookshelves. He was a modern-day mountain man, which I guessed wasn’t far off from my original assessment of a lost lumberjack. He’d written several manly, outdoorsy-type books that men in cities read to make themselves feel like they were climbing Mount Everest. He wrote how-to books for would-be outdoorsmen, despite the fact that his core audience had probably never even been camping. Several years ago, while my brother was still in dental school, he’d all but skipped an important exam to go to a reading and book signing when Abel Abbott was at a Seattle Barnes & Noble. Eli kept the signed book in his office, and it was one of the first things anybody saw when walking in for a consultation.

  “He lives here?” I asked. “Like, right here in Timber Creek?”

  Charlene nodded and pointed to Holly’s untouched burger. “You gonna eat that?”

  “I am,” came a voice from behind us, and we both turned to see Holly standing there, her hands on her hips. “Sorry I got caught up,” she said. “Christine couldn’t get the girls to sleep, and so I had to sing to them.”

  Charlene looked Holly up and down, and I thought for a moment she was going to eat Holly’s food anyway. Instead she jumped down off the stool and gave us both a nod, then disappeared into hazy smoke and noise.

  “What did I miss?” Holly asked, staring after Charlene. “Seriously, did time stop in this town?”

  “I’m not even sure I can explain it,” I said.

  In the corner, Abel Abbott stood up. He didn’t even look in our direction as he paid his tab, despite the fact that Charlene had kept on talking about him loud enough for him to hear. It seemed as if every woman in the bar swiveled her head around to watch him go.

  “Oh my God,” Holly said, poking me in the side. “I know who that is! I know who that is!”

  “Shhhhh,” I hissed at her.

  “It’s Abel Abbotttttt,” she continued, ignoring me. “Mae, it’s Abel Abbott!”

  For a moment his eyes rested on me as he moved past us, a mix of amusement and surprise settling on what I assumed was normally his very serious face.

  “He heard you,” I said to Holly as soon as he was gone.

  Holly shrugged and picked up her burger, taking a giant bite. “Well,” she said, once she was done chewing. “This sure has been an interesting night.”

  I found myself wondering what kind of a town harbors famous writers, secret societies named after saints, and people so rich that they’d pay someone for foreplay, and how, exactly, I’d managed to land myself right smack-dab in the big middle of it.

  Annabelle

  April 1984

  ANNABELLE WATCHED ALICE SLEEPING. SHE’D FALLEN asleep sitting up, slumped near a family-sized bag of Doritos and several empty cans of Tab. It amazed Annabelle the way her friend could fall asleep nearly anywhere, in any position. She’d once fallen asleep in gym class using a basketball as a pillow.

  Annabelle had never been that way, and she envied it. In fact, she’d had trouble going to sleep at night for the last three years since her parents died. She was sure anyone else would say it was trauma from losing her parents, and they were right, but it was partly because she missed her bedroom with her little twin-sized bed. Like most people in their neighborhood, her parents hadn’t had much by way of money, but what they did have, they spent trying to keep their only child happy and comfortable. Losing her parents had been the hardest thing Annabelle had ever had to endure, and she often thought that if she could just go back to that cozy bedroom, everything would be better somehow.

  Knowing that her old house, her old bedroom, were right across the street from the ramshackle, dingy, cramped quarters where she lived now with Alice and her family made that thought nearly impossible to bear.

  “Anna?”

  Annabelle turned from her thoughts to see Billy standing behind her, a beer in each hand. “Hey,” she said, standing up, making sure not to disturb Alice, who was quietly snoring.

  “You, uh, want a beer?” Billy asked. He held one out to her.

  Annabelle shrugged. She didn’t really like to drink, but it sounded better than anything else. “Sure,” she said.

  “I rented a VCR after work,” Billy said, motioning her over to the worn-out love seat. He’d gotten it secondhand from a woman at the factory, and the arms were duct-taped, but it was comfortable. “Have you seen Trading Places yet?”

  “No,” Annabelle said. She sat down beside Billy, suddenly very aware of how close they were. “What’s it about?”

  “It’s about these two guys who trade lives with each other,” Billy replied. “One of them is rich and the other one is poor. It’s got Dan Aykroyd and Eddie Murphy in it.”

  “Sounds good,” Annabelle said.

  “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge too,” Billy replied. “Sorry, I don’t really keep much in the house.”

  “It’s fine,” Annabelle said. “I’m not that hungry. We’ve been eating junk all day.” She popped the top on the can of beer. “Alice didn’t think you’d be home at all tonight. Are you sure it’s okay for us to stay?”

  “I don’t mind,” Billy said, turning to look at her. His dark eyes locked with hers. “I don’t mind the company.”

  “She thought maybe you had a date.”

  “No, that’s over.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, Annabelle turned her attention to the television set, which was, she noticed, entirely too nice for the rest of the house.

  “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Billy said.

  “I wasn’t thinking that,” Annabelle said, even though she had, in fact, been thinking that a little bit.

  “I’m a drug addict, not a thief,” Billy replied, a half smile forming on his face.

  “Don’t drug addicts turn into thieves sometimes?” Annabelle asked.

  “Sometimes,” Billy admitted. “But I don’t use anymore.”

  “I know.”

  “People still talk about it, though, don’t they?” Billy asked.

  “Not to me or Alice,” Annabelle said honestly. “Alice would punch anyone in the face who talks bad about you, even though she says she hates you.”

  “The girl I was dating?” Billy asked. “Lorna Ferrar—do you know her?”

  “A little bit,” Annabelle replied. “Her dad’s the manager of the grocery store where your mom works, right?”

  Billy nodded. “He hates me.”

  “Is that why you aren’t dating her anymore?”

  “She didn’t really like me,” Billy said. “She liked making her daddy mad.”

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. “She’s a bitch anyway.”

  Billy laughed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  From the couch, Alice let out a snore so loud she nearly woke herself up, and Billy and Annabelle had to stifle their laughter.

  “She snores like a freight train,” Annabelle whispered.

  “She’s always been that way,” Billy replied. “Mom used to come into the bedroom and hold her nose until she woke up.”

  “She still does that,” Annabelle said, grinning.

  “What about you?” Billy asked. “Mom and Pop treating you okay?”

  “I don’t hate it,” Annabelle said.

  “But you don’t like it either.”

  “It’s just different,” Annabelle replied. “It’s not awful. It’s a lot better than the foster home I could be in, I know that.” She looked down at her hands and then ventured a glance up at Billy. “It’s just that some days I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid that this is all there is now, and I’m starting to forget what my life was like . . . before.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” Billy said. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

  “It’s okay.”

  Billy pulled the cigarette away from his lips and said, “It’s not okay.”

  “No,” Annabelle s
aid. “But I keep hoping someday it will be.”

  Annabelle thought that Billy was reaching for his lighter, but instead he placed his big hand on top of her little one and said, “Life can be shit sometimes.”

  Annabelle nodded, furiously trying to blink away a tear that was threatening to roll down her cheek. It’d been such a long time since she cried. There just didn’t seem to be a point to crying, not anymore. But here, in the quiet and safety of Billy’s house, his warmth, she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Hey,” he said, sidling closer to her. “Hey now, don’t cry.” He released his hand from hers and wiped away the wetness with his thumb.

  His kindness only made it worse, and Annabelle found herself sobbing into him, each tear more painful than the last, until she was left exhausted and depleted, gasping onto his shoulder while he held her.

  When she finally pulled away from him, his shirt was wet, and Annabelle was embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” she said, realizing her voice had gone hoarse. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “Seems like you needed it,” Billy replied, his half smile returning. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

  “I guess I did.”

  Billy got up and turned the volume higher on the television set and then sat back down. He leaned back against the couch and then slowly, deliberately, pulled Annabelle toward him until her head was against his chest. He didn’t say anything to her, and Annabelle didn’t want to break the spell they both seemed to be under by speaking, and so she just relaxed against him, breathing his scent until she felt her eyes grow heavy and the world around them disappeared.

  It was the banging outside the door that woke her up. It woke all of them up, and Alice jumped up out of a near coma, her eyes wild and hair tangled.

  “What in the hell is that?” she asked.

  “It’s the door,” Billy said, groggy. He lifted Annabelle off him and stood up. “It’s probably Aaron. I told him to stop by, and he always seems to think that means two a.m.”

  Alice groaned and lay back down. “Tell him to go away.”

  The banging continued, even after Billy told whoever was at the door to “Shut the hell up.”

  Before he could even unlock it, the door was flung open, and the figure of Alice and Billy’s father stood before them, furious and gasping. “Where are the girls?” he demanded, stepping over the threshold and into the house. “Where are they?”

 

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