Dinner was off the table for tonight, so the cellar wasn’t a place she wanted to be. Unpacking could wait another month or six. She went back upstairs, unable to shake the feeling of being a caged animal. The house was clean—the least she could do since Nate was at work all day (and night, most of the time), but she resented the housewife label. The problem was that there just wasn’t anything else to do. You couldn’t even take a ride with the radio blasting without offending this town.
On her first day back, she had been doing a little bit of house cleaning while rocking out to Black Flag. Nate hadn’t been gone for half an hour when his cruiser pulled back into the driveway. The new chief of police’s first order of business in town was a noise complaint leveled against his own house. Not one, but three of their neighbors had called to report an “ungodly racket.”
Talk about settling in on the wrong foot.
Trish jogged up the cellar stairs that led into the dining room. Her father was waiting at the table.
“I swear you’ve got worse hearing than I do, girly. I’m up here calling out your name, and you just go about your day. Told you it was only a matter of time before that racket you listen to blows your eardrums out.”
“What a great time for a lecture, daddy.” There was mockery in her tone. As much as she loved him, being in such close proximity was a disaster. He had a knack for making her feel like a child whenever they spoke. Effortless condescension. Besides, she was startled to see him—or anyone—inside her house. Dad was of the mind that he was entitled to go wherever he pleased in Forest Grove, especially his own daughter’s house.
“Didn’t come here for a lecture. I came to look in on you.”
“I don’t need a checkup. I’m fine.”
“What happened yesterday wasn’t fine. Christ, you scared me half to death. I ain’t ready to lose the only other woman in my life, ya know.”
“Chill,” she said and sprung to the tips of her toes to kiss his forehead. He stunk of cigars and beer. It was only a few minutes passed noon.
“I’ll ‘chill’ when I know you’re okay.”
“What’s to know? I went for a walk in the woods and you’re acting like I need an intervention.”
“You passed out.” He must’ve noticed her irritation because he stopped talking and took a second to reshuffle his delivery—a deep breath followed by a sigh. “Just tell me I don’t have to worry about you. You haven’t always made the best choices…”
“Hah, I’ve learned from the best then, haven’t I? You’re going to lecture me about choices after what happened with mom? Just cut the crap and ask me if I’m using again, dad. I know that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I can’t think of any other reason you might’ve lost consciousness while out hiking.”
Trish couldn’t either. She’d driven out to the trails around Lake Forest Grove yesterday to do some soul searching. There was a stigma around those woods that stretched back as far as she could remember, but her associations with it were always positive. For the graduating class of 2002, it was a place where they could escape the town’s oppression. Beneath that canopy of trees, they smoked a little dope, listened to popular music, and yes, surrendered their virginities.
On the night she lost hers to Chase Prescott, she had to stifle an urge to lather city hall in declarative graffiti. Thinking about the rebellious scrawl even now made her smile: I popped my cherry without getting popped! Fuck off Cyrus Hoyt! Chase had begged her to reconsider since it was senior year and he wasn’t about to risk his scholarship over something so trivial. He was almost out and wasn’t coming back. She agreed to let it go, but her mercy was more about sparing her father potential embarrassment, and not placating a boy toy jock she hadn’t much liked in the first place. Their attraction was purely physical, and screwing him that night felt like the last opportunity to rebel against a place that did its best to asphyxiate their youthful endeavors.
That was what Forest Grove meant to her. It wasn’t about unfortunate killings or whatever raucous had occurred before them. Something had happened here long before she was born, but even Dad would only talk about it in whispers, and never in her presence. None of that mattered though, because this was a town that wanted to prevent kids from being kids. Curious exploration and artistic expression were frowned upon, producing a community where high school graduates fled like thieves in the night. Those that stayed—Trish recognized very few people from her class—resembled Stepford zombies.
I was right to run.
Nostalgia had taken hold of her yesterday. She had driven out to the forest and followed the flow of memories around those woods; each recollection was like visiting old friends. It was the best she’d felt since moving back until she blacked out and collapsed on the trail. Booze wasn’t involved, and she was six years off everything harder than liquor, so the experience was baffling to no one more than herself.
Two teenagers—kids looking for the same experience that had defined her own high school career—stumbled across her. They were nervous that she wouldn’t wake up and called an ambulance.
Dad and Nate wasted no time coming hard with questions as soon as she came to in the hospital. If only she remembered anything. Her old drug habit was a topic of interest, one that she adamantly denied. The men tiptoed around the subject, but the accusation was in their eyes. She expected it from Dad, but to see Nate’s doubt was like a knife through the heart.
No wonder Dad was checking in today.
“Your concern is noted, Dad. Thanks for stopping by.” It was time to bring this inquiry to a close and get him the hell out. She’d rather be unpacking.
“Hold on a second. You know that I’m glad to have you back. Wasn’t easy to see my baby girl leave town in a hurry. You always said you would visit me and that turned into what? A few holidays each year?”
“Nate and I were always trying to get you into the city, daddy. And the one time we did get you out there…”
Dad rolled his eyes. “I hate that place. Know what New York City is? Bunch of assholes in a great big hurry to get nowhere.”
She laughed and she hated herself for it. It meant she was letting him off the hook. But maybe that was okay. The old man had done his best with raising a little hellion, and now that he was no longer chief of police, he didn’t have much to worry about—except his daughter.
Lucky me.
Retired Ron Sleighton was a jarring sight, almost unrecognizable when matched against her memory. His back arched like a bell curve and week-long stubble poked out from pink jowls. A Hawaiian T-shirt was misbuttoned, and he tugged constantly at the cramped shorts. The near-militant public servant that had lorded over her formable years was a ghost now, leaving a newly-minted Medicare beneficiary in his wake.
“We don’t have to do this dance again. I’m a city girl at heart and that’ll never change. I’m here because…well, because I’m being a dutiful wife.”
Dad wiped beads of sweat from his brow as Trish went to the kitchen and pulled a pitcher of homemade iced tea from the fridge.
“Too damn dutiful,” he said. “Still don’t see why Nate couldn’t work for those private firm guys. Real money’s there with much less red tape. He’d be the pick of the liter with them. Out here though…”
Trish handed him an ice-cold glass and took a seat at the table, kicking out the chair across the way. Instead, he turned toward the window and looked out on their quiet dead-end road.
“I thought Nate was doing fine,” she said. “That’s what you told me.”
“It’s all about perspective. Yesterday, your husband pulls Robbie Carmoody over for doing 55 downtown. We all know that Carmoody’s been out of work for a few years—ever since those sons of bitches at the plant favored cheap overseas labor. Who’s going to hire a sixty-year-old middle manager asking for 80k, right? Still, that’s no excuse to act like an asshole. Your husband lets him off with a verbal warning. Carmoody’s down at Lloyd’s right now, half in the bag and two pitch
ers deep.”
“So Nate’s building a little goodwill with his people.”
“Goodwill? You know what that will get him? A big old pile of dogshit on his doorstep.”
“I hope not, Dad, ‘cause that would mean shit on my doorstep, too.”
“Laugh. Be a smartass, girly. I’ll tell you this, if your husband wants to act like a pushover, it won’t be long before that’s the word on our new chief. Everyone respects the badge at first, but once they discover that the man behind it is weak…”
“Nate is not weak. Just because he let Carmoody off with a warning doesn’t make him an easy mark.”
“You want an easy mark? Try this one. Earl Bishop’s kid just moved into town last month…takes over his father’s store now that Earl’s on dialysis. Earl never sold alcohol on Sunday, on account of it being the Sabbath. A practice that we appreciated.”
“A practice that some of you appreciated, maybe. Nate was in disbelief when he couldn’t get a six of Blue Moon before a Sunday Sox game.”
“That explains it.” Dad’s eyes narrowed and Trish recognized the look. The same one he’d given after she and Jerrica were caught shoplifting at the outlets in Westbrook.
Disappointment.
“What does that explain, exactly?”
“Earl’s boy, Scotty, just decides ‘screw it.’ Starts leaving the iron bars up above the liquor and alcohol cases on Sundays, available to any and all. There were complaints and Brady came down on the side of Scotty. ‘In this economy, every dollar earned is make or break.’ That’s what he told me.”
“Dad, this is stupid.”
“Stupid? You have to get your man in line. Hell, both of you could use a little shaping up. After your stunt yesterday, people are wondering what’s going on with you as well as your husband.”
“Let them wonder. Fuck, I hate small towns. Everything is everyone’s business. I’m waiting for Ken Hammond across the street to tell me that something’s gotta be done about the weeds in my front yard.”
“Things are the way they are around here for a good goddamn reason.”
“Some things change, and it’s never the harbinger of doom you make it out to be. Of all the problems in this town, and around the world, selling alcohol on Sundays is the least of ‘em. If Scotty wants to sell booze on the Lord’s Day, God bless him! Hallelujah!”
“How did you get to be so damn liberal? I thought all those tattoos and piercings would’ve been a phase.”
“Look at it another way, then,” she said, ignoring the crack about her appearance. “Lloyd’s dive bar isn’t the only place to get drinks on a Sunday. Now we’ve got a competitive economy. Hey, it’s a start. And if our state decides it’s not kosher for us to have a drink, they’ll put it to a vote. Your dedication to some outdated way of life isn’t something I can relate to. Just because Nate isn’t adhering to every dumb unwritten law of the land doesn’t mean he’s doing anything wrong.”
“That’s exactly what it means to some of them.”
“It can’t be easy to live up to the legacy of Chief Ronald Sleighton, Lord Protector of Forest Grove. Nate wants to give this place a modern day facelift. He doesn’t have a choice if he wants me to pop a kid out in this place.”
“I know how it looks to you kids, but people here are a fickle bunch. I want my son-in-law to prosper, so maybe you mention something to him.”
She laughed. “This is why you dropped by? So that your daughter can do a little heavy lifting? Help mold Nate Brady in your image?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” he said.
“Well save it. Nate is so concerned with this town that he hardly comes home ‘cept to sleep. I haven’t talked to my husband face-to-face in a week. And when we do talk, it’s never about anything except this fucking town. The one I tried so hard to escape.”
Sleighton’s eyes were heavy. “That’s how I feel every day.”
And then he left.
***
Melanie hoped she would be as spry as Desiree Rosemott when she was eighty.
That’s in less than forty years…
The elderly owner of Desiree’s Bed & Breakfast didn’t look a day past sixty-five and her spring-loaded step suggested she could’ve passed for even younger. She’d insisted upon carrying Melanie’s bags up to the third floor suite and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Melanie’s adamant refusal only irked her.
“Okay, dear, but I’m not thrilled about my guest trudging up two flights of stairs lugging their own bags. What kind of customer service is that?”
“It’s no problem, Ms. Rosemott, really. Glad to be doing something after four hours in my car.”
Melanie followed the woman up the skinny stairwell, tugging a suitcase as two shoulder bags dangled off her arm.
The bed and breakfast was quaint, outfitted entirely in old rustic charm. The walls were lined with black and white photos of downtown Forest Grove, from the year it was founded to a modern day snap that accented the town’s march through time. The hall was equipped with wall-mounted candlesticks, each of them showing melted wear and tear, suggesting that Desiree lit them nightly. Floors were heavy hardwood and the eyesore wallpaper (baby blue, with white, pearl-shaped designs) suggested it hadn’t been updated since Desiree was little.
“Up these last few steps.” Desiree took a few heavy breaths. “And you’ll find yourself in the best room we have.” The woman pressed a hand to the small of her back and grimaced. “Just give me one minute to rest and…”
“Ms. Rosemott, please don’t go through the trouble. I can manage.”
“Horsepucky!” she snapped with a smile. “Don’t go giving me that kind of pity. This place is my responsibility until I’m in the ground.”
Melanie took point on the first step. “Please, Ms. Rosemott, go back downstairs. I don’t want to be any more of a bother for you…”
“You’re sweet.” The old woman pushed her aside gently. “But I have my way of doing things. In the fifty years that I’ve owned this bed & breakfast, I have always brought my guests to their room. A touch of arthritis ain’t stopping me now.”
She resumed the climb and flung the heavy door inward, stepping aside to allow her guest a view.
Melanie placed the suitcase at her feet. The room spanned the floor’s entire length. In front of them was a kitchenette furnished with a stove, a refrigerator, and cupboards. A round breakfast table sat against the far window overlooking the rear parking lot. The carpeted living area sported a sitting area fashioned around a tube television. On the far end of the suite were two rooms: a spacious bedroom furnished with a queen size bed, closet, and two dressers. The other was a spotless bathroom.
“Wow,” she said. It was the only word she could manage.
“You’re going to be happy here, dear. Unfortunately, this suite doesn’t get much use these days. But I like to keep up with the cleaning. Keeps me busy, you know?” She walked to the bathroom and stepped inside, motioning for her with the wag of an emaciated finger.
Melanie gasped as she entered. In the corner was a sparkling bathtub shaped like a curved slipper. It was off-white and the bottom rim was onyx black. It reached down onto the marble floor with thick pearl legs. Vintage, but expertly maintained and outfitted with some modern attachments. It overlooked the quiet country road, but a folded room divider leaned against the far wall in case one got mindful of peeping toms.
“Just added a few of those detachable heads last year. Ain’t ever used it myself, you’ll be happy to know, but it gets nothing but raves.”
It promised more comfort than she wanted. This wasn’t a vacation and Melanie would feel guilty if she wound up enjoying any of her time here.
“You might be happy to know that we’re completely set up for wireless Internet, too. Wasn’t crazy about adding it, but apparently rustic country living is only desirable when modern amenities aren’t too far behind.”
“I hadn’t thought about that, but that’s great.”
“Well, I’
ll let you get settled. You’re a bit too late for breakfast, but I’m happy to make you a sandwich if you would like some lunch.”
“I think I can wait until dinner. I’d rather get unpacked.”
“Well, I’ll give you a knock around 4 and see what you feel like. You’re my only tenant, so let me see what I got in the kitchen and I’ll cook you up something special. How would that be?”
“That would be wonderful.”
Melanie saw her to the door and waited for a moment, making sure the old woman got down the steep stairs without falling. Then she unpacked, taking full advantage of the bedroom’s walk-in closet. It was great to be able to splay out her wardrobe and see exactly what she had with her. It suddenly seemed like she hadn’t brought enough, though the plan was still to get the hell out of here in a few days.
She stripped off her clothes, deciding on a jog before dinner. Melanie ran a palm over her toned stomach, making sure she hadn’t added any unwanted poundage to her physique. She’d fallen out of her routine this week and decided it was time to get back into it. It wasn’t like she needed to look good for the man who wasn’t in her life, but she enjoyed keeping up with herself. Even when sleazy little students made untoward comments about her ass behind her back—it was flattering in the most degrading way.
The loose t-shirt dangled off her shoulders and Melanie slid a pair of black running shorts up her thighs. She laced her Asics and fitted her iPod to its arm holster, jacking in the earphones as she trotted down the steps. Hitting the open parking lot, she cranked up Kylie Minogue’s Kiss Me Once and banked a left toward Forest Grove.
The town was awash in the kind of tranquility that small town champions always sang of. Stu’s Gas Station still offered a welcome ding whenever a new car pulled up to the pump, and an attendant in overalls came jogging out of the garage not only to pump the gas, but to check the oil and wash the windows as well. Jennifer had once insisted on stopping there for a carton of Marlboros—the night before her murder. It hadn’t changed much in the twenty-five years since.
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