“Wait, what?”
“Good morning, lovely ladies,” John said, entering the room.
“Coffee, John?” Margaret asked.
“I’ll have mine in a to-go mug this morning, Grams. I have to run into town and pick up a few things,” he answered.
“You and Emily should go together.”
“Grams,” he sighed, “First of all, Emily probably doesn’t like always being talked about like she isn’t here. And second, I’m going to the hardware store, not the grocery. I have to pick up some supplies to reattach the light fixture in your bedroom, and I need to get some slip grips for the bathtub.”
“Slip grips?” Margaret asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, I noticed how slippery it was this morning, and I wanted it to be sure to fix it before the rest of the guests arrive in a few weeks,” he explained.
“Okay, darling. Whatever you think we need,” Margaret shrugged, pouring John some coffee.
The coffee was sweet and hot. It was served it a white mug with a faded symbol on the side, like the ones you would get as a souvenir from a road trip. I was trying to make out the letters on the mug when John took a seat beside me.
“However,” he said with a smile, putting his extra-large to-go mug on the table beside mine, “If you would like a ride into town I would be more than happy to take you.”
“I’d like that. I didn’t end up renting a car,” I answered, “Just let me finish my coffee and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Neither of you have even touched your breakfast yet,” Margaret squeaked, throwing her hands up.
“Take your time,” he winked at me, grabbing a piece of sausage and taking a bite. He put his arm around Margaret and kissed her head, “Thanks, Grams. Breakfast looks great.”
I placed an egg on a piece of toast, cutting it open so that the bright yellow liquid soaked the bread and flooded my plate. John had taken his seat beside me again, nibbling at some sausages. To be honest, I usually didn’t mind being invisible. But John made it nice to be noticed. Not watched. Just noticed.
His car was a beat up silver something or other. I was never very good at identifying cars. It was small but functional. The inside was soft black fabric, and it smelled like cotton. The backseat was covered in tools, ropes, and electrical cords, which I assumed were from some of his unfinished projects.
He didn’t look much like a handyman, though. If anything, he reminded me a little bit of a hipster. He didn’t come across as the powerful intimidating type that I was used to, but he was still strong. His plaid shirt was loose and untucked, and yet, he still looked refined in his own sort of way.
I’d recognized his last name when we were introduced. I figured we might have had a class together in elementary school, or maybe I saw him in the halls of the high school before I moved away. But I didn’t really know him.
The images that passed outside the window of bright orange trees, brick buildings, and joggers who were all wrapped up in hats and scarves, all looked like a dream to me. Although, not my own dream. I had never dreamed of going back to Maple Creek. The town had nothing left for me. Not after my parents died, which was shortly after my leaving. I’d dropped out of school, moved out West, and never looked back.
I felt John’s hand on my leg, giving it a squeeze and making me jump, “Emily? We’re here.”
The car had come to a stop and we were pulled up to the storefront of the Maple Market. I had no idea how long we had been there. I hadn’t even noticed we’d stopped.
“I’ll be just down the street at the hardware store, but I’ll be quick. I’ll swing back as soon as I’m done.”
“Okay. Thanks for the ride,” I said, giving him a smile and stepping out of the car.
“And, Emily?”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to be okay.”
My hand came up involuntarily to the bruise on my face. I tried to play it cool and continued through with the motion, brushing my hair behind my ear.
“Of course, I will. I’m just picking out a costume,” I smiled.
He nodded slowly and I shut the door, practically running into the store.
Chapter 5
My chest was tight and my ears were ringing as I made my way up and down the aisles of the Maple Market. It was terrifying, which I hadn’t expected. The store was just as I had remembered it. There were a few updates, such as the new cash registers and a fresh coat of paint, but the rest was exactly like it was in my memories.
The floors were blue and white checkered, and the shelves in the aisles were just short enough that you could see over the tops to the next aisle without straining too much. All of the items were off-brand or local goods, and most of the price tags were unbelievably low compared to what I had gotten used to in California.
On the right side of the store was all the food, and on the left was the home goods, clothes, and a small pharmacy. In the back of the clothes aisle was a seasonal section, which that day was stocked with plastic turkeys, cornucopias, and a few Christmas wreaths and trees that were already starting to take over the aisle.
In the far back corner I could see a plastic skeleton with a missing arm who was peaking around at me from behind one of the trees. On a hook, just above him, was an assortment of leftover costumes. There was an adult extra-large male grim reaper, a girl’s size small princess, two teenage cowboy costumes, and a squished way in the back was the only woman’s costume left: a black cat.
It wasn’t even a good cat costume. The plastic bag on the hook contained a pair of cardboard ears on a headband, a clip-on tail that looked like it was made from a feather boa, a pair of fluffy gloves, and a little makeup set of black and pink gel goo.
I looked at the sticker on the bag and cringed. They wanted $30 for that sad getup. I shook my head at the thought of me showing up to the party like that. This must be what a High School Reunion feels like, I thought to myself as I took the bag to the register.
“Just now getting your costume?” the teenage cashier teased, putting the costume in a small white bag. She tapped her fingers on the touch screen, her black and orange manicure clicking against it as she did. “That’ll be $31.65.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking out a wad of cash from my pocket and handing her forty.
“Haven’t seen you around. Are you new here?” she asked, making my change.
“I’m visiting.”
“Well, it’s pretty nice here. There is a Halloween party in town tonight. My parents go every year, and they love it. And if you are ever looking for anything fun to do locally, there is a cork board up near the front doors where people can post events, classes, and yard sales. $8.35 is your change, have a happy Halloween.”
I took the change, putting it back in my pocket and scooped up my plastic bag. I couldn’t see John’s car in the parking lot yet, so I took her suggestion and wandered over to the cork board. There was a flier posted for a children’s book reading at the local library on Saturday mornings. I used to go to it when I was little, and I was happy to see it was still there.
There were also papers posted for holiday events at local restaurants, a few homemade signs made with sharpies for yard sales, and a ‘lost dog’ flier with a picture of some sort of scraggly Chihuahua.
I heard the crackle of pavement as John’s car rolled up outside the automatic doors. But just before I walked away from the board, a colorful stock image of a paintbrush caught my eye. I lifted up one of the yard sale fliers to see that underneath was an advertisement for painting classes.
Adult Painting Classes
Tuesday Nights @ 6
In the Gym at
Maple Creek Elementary
$5
A smile spread across my face. I used to love painting. In fact, I did it almost every day until I started working at Jacobson’s. By the time Hector and I were married, my art supplies had been so far from my mind that they somehow ended up in the trash pile during a spring cleaning of our house. I loo
ked over the flier one more time, making a mental note of the place and time before passing through the doors and taking my seat in the passenger seat of John’s car.
“Hey. Were you able to find a costume?” he asked, shifting the car into gear and pulling out of the parking lot.
“I guess you could call it a costume,” I shrugged.
“Yeah, they seem to skip from holiday to holiday pretty fast around here. I’m glad you were able to find something, though.”
“How was the hardware store?”
“It was good. They had everything I needed,” he said, pointing to the bag in the back, “I’m going to make sure no bathtubs hurt you again. Not while I’m around.”
A warmth spread through my chest, and my shoulders relaxed a bit. His voice was sincere. He made my face hurt, too. But not from the bruise. Instead, it hurt from the smile I couldn’t seem to control the whole ride back to the B&B.
Chapter 6
The costume was an even bigger disaster out of the bag. The ears sat crooked on my head, and the face paint looked like I had bright pink highlighter on my nose. I decided to put on my black sweater for the party to try and make my clothes match the costume a bit. At least it was slimming.
It was just past four o’clock when the first trick-or-treaters started to arrive. John was answering the door, passing out handfuls of lollipops and mini chocolate bars from a large plastic bin that was shaped like a cauldron. Meanwhile, Margaret was in the kitchen cooking an early dinner for us. I snuck out the back door, quietly, on my way to visit my own Halloween ghosts.
The backyard was cozy. The metal tables and chairs gave it a café-style feeling, and the late afternoon sun set the autumn leaves ablaze in the tall maples. There was no fence, so I was able to slip down the street silently, and into the surrounding neighborhood.
The trees seemed to get larger as I walked, and their shadows grew darker. I wandered the sidewalks until the scenery felt familiar again and I could feel the pull of old memories leading me down the lane. I could hear the heavy bells chiming in the steeple of the old Catholic church as I rounded the corner to my destination.
The graveyard appeared through the trees, enclosed by a spiked metal gate. Across the street from the church, tucked into a mess of overgrown shrubs, was a small cottage with chipped white siding and a red door; my childhood home.
I opened the cold metal gate to the cemetery and entered, taking my time as I stepped carefully around the gravestones. My heart was heavy, and my feet drug through the dry grass. My steps crunched beneath me to the other side of the graveyard.
Many of the gravestones were old and worn, some of which were completely faded and unreadable with moss and cracks all over their faces. I stopped beside a set of shiny newer gravestones sat snuggly against the back wall of the church, and I read the names out loud: Robert Heart and Mary Heart. My parents. Their death dates were only one day apart.
They had been strict, running a house of discipline, repentance, and piousness. We attended mass every week together as a family, and went to church a second time each week to attend confession. Even when I was very little, I was kept pristine. My clothes were plain and humble, and I was always looking down at my black shiny shoes. Not a word came from my lips. Children were to be seen not heard.
When I turned 16, I cut off my long golden locks and ran away to the West Coast with a group of friends. We fell out shortly after, but I was able to find a job as a low level secretary at a dental office. That was where I met Hector Jacobson. We started dating, and shortly after he filled out paperwork hiring me at his company as his personal secretary.
That Christmas, I had opted out of seeing my parents when they invited me back home. I left with the intention of never going back, and I meant to keep it that way. But that same week, their car, like many others that year, had spun out on the ice and tumbled into a ditch. My father died in the car, and my mother died in the hospital the very next day. Hector didn’t give me the time off to go to the funeral. And part of me, at the time, didn’t want to go.
I knelt down by the stones, tracing the names with my frozen fingertips. Halloween was the day that the dead were said to walk the Earth, but the graveyard was empty and silent. The wind picked up, rustling the dead leaves around me. They weren’t there. They were gone. I had begun to shiver. I had forgotten how frigid the air was as the sun set in Maple Creek.
I picked a few stray leaves from the headstones, and with a single tear, I turned and left, going back to the B&B. The walk back was freezing as the sun sank down, but I was still too uneasy to go inside the house. I slumped down into one of the deck chairs out back, laying my head down on the cold metal table. I felt dizzy and I tried to focus on my breathing as my breath hung in an icy cloud in front of me.
Behind me, I heard John’s heavy steps come up behind me and stop. I didn’t move.
“You okay?” he asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I sighed, sitting up and re-adjusting my flimsy cat ears, “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head.
“Well, dinner is ready. And if there is anything in this world that can cheer me up when I’m down, it’s stuffing my face with pumpkin pie.”
I cracked a smile, “Can’t argue with that.”
“Good! Here, let me help you up. You make a cute cat, by the way.”
“Thanks. Are you putting on your costume after dinner?”
“Yeah, mine is a bit hard to eat in.”
I followed him into the warm house and almost immediately the feeling began to come back into my face. Dinner was a delicious herb roasted chicken with corn on the cob and pumpkin pie. John poured Margaret and I each a mug of hot apple cider from a pot on the stove, which I assumed he spiced himself. And, to finish off the holiday spread, he placed an orange bowl in the center of the table that was overflowing with candy.
Everything on the table had that homemade feel to it, and I found it comforting, which was probably why I ate more than I should have. The conversations were light and Margaret didn’t have time to get pushy about anything in particular because the doorbell was ringing constantly with eager children giggling and grasping for candy.
Stuffed, I returned my plate to the sink and took a minute to go to the bathroom and touch up my makeup while John was putting on his costume for the party. When I was finished, I waited for him in the living room on the light blue velvet couch. The walls were painted cream and were decorated with old family photos. A few of which, I could see were of Ms. Margaret and John when they were both much younger.
On the opposite side of the couch was a white fireplace covered in Halloween decorations including fake spider webs, bleeding candles, and a plastic jack-o-lantern. I could hear John’s steps approaching and turned to see him enter the room with a black and red cape fluttering behind him. His face was painted white and his hair was slicked back.
“Lewts duh dis,” he garbled, smiling at me through a pair of plastic white vampire teeth.
I couldn’t help but laugh, and I started to feel a little better about my own costume. We walked out to his car and he opened the car door for me. Everything felt so normal, but my stomach still hurt.
Chapter 7
I was glad I was wearing black. I could already feel sweat stains forming on my sweater as we entered through the main doors of the town hall. My hair was shorter and my face was more mature than the last time I had been to the town. I was also dressed like a cat, and I was hoping that would be enough to not be recognized.
The conference room that they had transformed into a room for the Halloween party actually looked pretty great. There were streamers of black, silver, and orange hanging from the ceiling. The snack table was cleverly skeleton themed with a punch bowl in the shape of a skull, and the finger foods were all stacked up in plastic ribcages. Over the speakers they played holiday classics like the ‘Monster Mash’ while a small group of people danced in the stro
be lights
“Shall I get us some drinks?” John asked, spitting through his fangs.
The thought of him leaving my side at the party made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to hang out on the side like a wallflower all awkward like a school dance, and even worse, I didn’t want to be recognized and pulled into a conversation by someone I wasn’t exactly excited to see.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll get the drinks. You are supposed to be here to mingle. I’ll find you,” I answered.
“Okay, miss independent,” he smiled.
I hugged the wall, making my way around to the punchbowl and spooning the blood-red juice into two clear plastic cups. My eyes scanned the room for John, who had already joined in with the crowd. I found him in the middle of the floor, laughing and swaying to the music with a small circle of people.
I carefully made my way through the crowd to reach him, brushing up against a few people as I passed, and doing my best to protect my face paint from rubbing off on anyone, or even worse, spilling the drinks on them. I handed John his drink, and the laughing died down as he introduced me to his friends.
“Everyone, this is my date, Emily Heart. Emily, this is Jake Miscoff, he runs the local banks, his wife, Merkel Miscoff, and an old friend of mine, Sarah Norman,” he said, motioning to each of them.
The Miscoffs were dressed up as some sort of 1940s glamour couple, and I was pretty sure her diamond necklace was real. There were both older, with bits of gray in their hair, but they seemed spry and jolly. And then, there was Sarah. She was perfect.
Sarah was also dressed as a cat, like I was, only much more beautiful. Sequenced cat ears were tucked into her thick brown curls, and her outfit looked like a replica of the costumes they wore in Cats. And while one-pieces often made people look puffy, her costume perfectly hugged her natural hourglass figure. Her cat makeup looked like a mural on her face with glitter whiskers and a cute little pink nose. Beneath her thick eyelashes were a pair of light brown eyes that glowed with a hint of gold. She was smiling at me.
Maple Creek Page 2