Halfway there, p.9
Halfway There, page 9
A family with a long history and, apparently, descended of witches, which made me wonder if I’d misinterpreted what Jace meant. In olden times, wise women and midwives were sometimes misunderstood due to superstition.
Fascinated by the idea, I began to read. It was dry and disturbing, mostly because the book didn’t speak of the witches or indeed my ancestors in a very nice manner. It spoke of the fact that the Rousseaux family emigrated from France and settled in the area, becoming quickly known for their remedies and powers. Crossing them would bring a blight on crops, a pox on livestock.
According to the book, only once was there an attempt to burn the witches. The townsfolk decided they’d had enough of the Rousseaux witches and went after them. It ended up in the whole town burning to the ground and dozens of lives lost.
None of the Rousseauxs died, though. Apparently, my ancestors were badass. They continued to live in the area and even helped rebuild the town.
I had to wonder if Jace had read this book or one like it. He’d called my grandmother a witch. Which was ridiculous. I’d never seen her concocting any strange potions or mumbling any spells. Just regular run-of-the-mill kitchen stuff from recipe books that involved a pinch of this, a soupçon of that. She didn’t dance naked in the moonlight—that I knew of. Or ride a broom while cackling maniacally.
Why call her a witch at all? Could it be because Jace believed these superstitious histories? He didn’t seem the type. Then again, what did I know about the guy? He lived alone in the boonies, had no problem threatening a woman, acted like a complete jerk, and appeared rather attached to his big axe.
This time I didn’t need Trish to tell me a guy was bad news. I could see it for myself.
Closing the book, I rose and stretched. Immediately, my cat took my warm spot and curled up on the chair. I gave him a quick pet as I glanced out the window. Lights glinted in the forest, winking in and out. The fireflies were busy tonight. I watched them dancing and flickering, allowing myself to imagine for a moment they truly were tiny winged fairies like my grandmother had claimed. Out partying in the dark, getting drunk on the nectar of flowers, dancing until dawn.
Suddenly they all winked out. The deep darkness outside made it seem as if the lighted living room floated in the absence of anything. The hairs on my arms suddenly rose, and my breath frosted.
Approaching the window, I could see the ice spreading on the surface in fragile patterns that expanded in delicate whorls. I pressed my fingers to the glass. Cold to the touch. The chill was beyond anything I could have imagined.
Obviously, an insulation issue. I might have to replace windows. Or at least this one. A glance to my left showed the other window frost free.
How strange. I leaned closer and blew hot air onto it, melting a patch. A circle cleared, and I pressed my face close enough to see outside.
Another visage stared back at me just as the window cracked!
12
A scream on my lips, I awoke suddenly, jerking in the chair, startling my cat and sending the book in my lap flying. My fingers dug into the plush armrests as I stared at the window.
It took a few seconds to realize I’d dreamt it all. There was no frost inside the house. A part of me wished I had the daring necessary to actually peek out the window to see if there was anyone out there, but that would involve getting close. My fear said no.
As if I had that kind of bravery. It didn’t matter how many times I told myself there was nothing there. I couldn’t bring myself to look. Instead, I scooped my cat, wanting the comfort of his warm body, and went to bed.
I didn’t immediately sleep. Perhaps because I’d just napped in the chair. A nap that lasted literally minutes. How did I know that?
Because I’d glanced at the clock l made from a recycled wooden wheel. I’d noted the time as just after nine p.m. My stint outside by the lakeshore had taken longer than I would have credited. Or could be I’d lost track while running around the forest yodeling. If that were the case, no wonder my neighbor was so annoyed. I’d hate it, too, if I lived beside a crazy person.
Please don’t tell me I’d have to apologize.
Ugh. I sighed, staring up at the ceiling and finding comfort in glowing stars. I couldn’t believe the stickers I’d put up there as a kid still worked. They provided a comfort that reminded me of a time when this room was my safe place. Or was it my grandma who made me feel that way? She used to be the one constant in my life, my safe harbor, and I’d forsaken her for a man who wasn’t worthy.
How that must have hurt her.
I turned onto my side. The cat made a sound of protest as I almost squished him. I lay my hand on his furry body. It vibrated under my palm, the purring a soothing thing that canceled the noise in my head. Allowed me to finally turn every emotion and thought off so I could sleep.
It proved to be a restless slumber spent waking at every sound. Each time, Grisou nudged me and shoved his purring head into me until I calmed again. Poor thing would be sleeping all day given I’d disturbed his rest. Perhaps I should look into getting another cat or two so he could have a break from dealing with his neurotic human.
The next morning, despite bleary eyes and a body that wanted to crawl back into bed, I showered and dressed in my best outfit. It consisted of ill-fitting corduroys, a patterned blouse that if you squinted might be considered a match, and brown slip-on loafers that pinched my toes.
I really needed to get myself a few items that fit. I just hated spending the money I had before getting a job to replace it. Except, I might not get a job looking unkempt.
My hair was a frizzy mess with no shape and too many strands of gray. It had thinned, too, which broke my heart. I used to be so proud of my waist-length hair. Now, it was mid-back, thin, with split ends. When was the last time I cut it? Not being the fancy type, and liking my hair plain, I usually tended to grab it in two ponytails in the front and cut the ends off. I didn’t regret the money I saved when times were lean, but looking in the mirror, the reflection didn’t lie. I appeared old. The long hair didn’t give me a youthful, hippy vibe. It had gotten too thin for that. Add some gray paint to my skin, maybe some smudged eyeliner, and I could probably pass for a zombie if I groaned and shambled just right.
A pity I’d fought with Trish. She’s said something about scissors.
Since I couldn’t do anything about it for the moment, I wound it into a knot at the back of my head. A stern look that matched the grave expression on my face.
Today I planned to go forth and job hunt. Hopefully somewhere in town because anything else and I’d have to commute, which meant paying for more gas.
Eyeing my cat, who had curled up on the bed, I grimaced. “How do I look?”
A good thing he couldn’t speak, because he’d probably tell me my outfit didn’t spell success. More like a child rummaged through a discard pile and told me what to wear. Perhaps while in town, I’d splurge on a pair of black pants and a solid-colored, respectable shirt. And running shoes! Comfy shoes would make everything better.
The only new thing I wore was underwear. I’d been given a three-pack after the fire and every night washed a pair by hand and hung them to dry. I should get more of those, too, and a bra that actually lifted my breasts to where they should be rather than sadly aiming for my belly button.
I’d been glad to breast feed my two kids. It formed a bond between me and the babes. It was a happy time, even with Martin, who had quite enjoyed my enlarged bustline. However, once the milk dried up, the boobs shrank. Then grew again as I gained weight, only to shrink once more as I started losing it.
I didn’t lose quickly in my belly or butt. That would have been too kind. The first place I lost fat was my breasts, and they were sad, floppy things now when left unfettered. Which wasn’t often.
Rather than indulge in a pity party that involved me finding junk food and diving mouth first into it, I left the house. The fuel gauge on my car indicated I had enough gas to make it to the main road and the station there. Or so I hoped as it sat solidly on the E for empty. I clutched the steering wheel tight, praying I’d not run out until I was at least in sight of the gas station.
I managed to make it right up to the pump before the engine sputtered and died.
I smiled. Lucky day. I didn’t have to walk or push. I put an even twenty dollars into it. Not enough to go far, but it would get me to Main Street and back, while leaving enough for me to hit the next town if I failed in Cambden.
Click. I got it to twenty oh three, which meant inside they’d round it up to oh five since Canada didn’t deal in pennies anymore. No more dirty, coppery coins that used to end up shiny if you let them soak in a cola for long enough.
I headed inside.
Ding-a-ling. My entrance was announced to the clerk that manned the store. He barely looked at me. I, on the other hand, took everything in.
The store offered basics like cigarettes and chocolate bars. In the refrigerated section, there was soda and milk. On racks, rows of chips and sweets—bringing an immediate craving. How many times had I drowned my anxiety in junk food?
Farther back, I spotted more basic grocery items and, in a small glass-door fridge by the counter, worms for fishing. Or eating, if my protein situation got dire.
The fellow behind the counter was a guy about my age, his jaw grizzled, his clothes worn, kind of like his expression. He had a binder in front of him and appeared to be making notes. Only as I reached the counter did he look away from his accounting.
“Morning,” he drawled, his voice low and kind of rough.
As I paid with a crumpled twenty and a nickel, I attempted a weak smile. “Beautiful weather we’re having,” When nervous, fall back on the social niceties. Weather, destination, and hockey being the considered-safe topics.
“It’s all right. Bit cold last night.” He had a deeper voice than expected.
“It was chilly.” A nervous giggle left me.
The twenty and the coin went from his hand into the till, and he slammed it shut. Transaction done. I wanted to walk off and not disturb the guy more than I had. He’d already dismissed me, but if I wanted a short commute, this was the closet place I could find to work.
I managed a meek, “Excuse me for bugging you still, but are you hiring?”
“What?” His attention moved from the paperwork to me. The washed-out blue of his eyes had probably been quite arresting in his youth. Now the color made his eyes somewhat vacant in a face that showed the lines of a hard life. Grooves in his forehead, crows’ feet by his eyes. A hint of gray in the brown of his scruffy jaw and longish hair.
“I asked if you were hiring. Because if you are, I’d like to submit my resume.” Which I’d left in the car but could easily run out and get.
He blinked. “There’s no point in you applying. We tend to hire only local.”
“I’m local,” I immediately stated. “I live here.”
“I ain’t never seen you before,” he said, leaning against the till, the angle of his body showing lean hips. Too lean, as if he didn’t eat right.
“I just got here.”
“Did you now.” He eyed me more intently, his glance taking me in from the top of my head and stopping at my chest.
I flushed. I knew that I was supposed to say something and confront him about his behavior. I was a person, not a thing he could ogle. Yet, when he smiled at me, his teeth white if a little crooked, I felt a spurt of pleasure.
Hard to be mad at a man who’d looked at me and liked what he saw. “Well then I guess I should say welcome.” He held out his hand, the fingers calloused. A working man, even if he stood behind a counter at the moment. “Name’s Darryl.”
“Hi. I’m Naomi.” I clasped his hand and didn’t know if I should pump it. I didn’t recall the last time someone intentionally touched me. Unless a dentist appointment counted, but the dentist didn’t give me butterflies.
Holy crap, I had tingles.
“Nice to meet you, Nay-ome-ee.” He had a long drawn-out way of saying my name. “So you’re looking for a job?”
I nodded. “Are you hiring?”
“Maybe. I might be losing my weekend kid. His parents just put their place up for sale.”
“Really?” Weekends only wouldn’t be enough, but a second job during the week would fill in the gap. “I’ve got a resume in my car.” Which I kind of hoped he wouldn’t ask for given it wasn’t exactly professional to scratch out my old address and put in the new; however, a lack of a printer or a computer meant I did what I could.
“Does it have your number?” His query and smile let me know he might be using it.
Who cared if he looked a little worn out? I was a little worn out, too. The pleasure of having someone see me as a woman was more than expected.
“I can give you my number now. That is, if you want it.” I blurted it without thought, and then was immediately terrified. Was I ready to date? I’d resigned myself to the idea of being single. Maybe I should spend some time alone. I needed to figure out stuff about myself.
“I’d like that. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and snared a pen. A smoking man. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Would he quit? Maybe I would start smoking.
“So where are you living?” he asked as he opened the lid of his pack and handed me the pen.
As I scribbled my number, forgetting it for a second, I muttered, “My grandma’s place. My place now, actually. She died, and I inherited.” Which was probably more info than I needed to give. I finished my number and slid the pack toward him.
He tucked it back into his pocket. “Who was your grandma?”
“Adele Rousseaux.”
“Oh shit.” He appeared horrified and recoiled. “I didn’t know you were her granddaughter.”
“You knew my grandma?” Kind of obvious he did. I wondered why she engendered such an intense reaction.
“Everyone knows your family.” Gone was the teasing smile. He tapped at the cash register, and the drawer popped open. The same twenty I’d given him and a nickel were thrust at me.
A frown pulled at my brow, and I didn’t take the money. “What are you doing?”
“I didn’t realize you were a Rousseaux.”
Both my brows lifted with incredulity. “Is this your way of saying my business is no good?”
“I’d never turn a Rousseaux away, just like I’d never make you pay.”
“But you have to charge me. I gassed my car.”
“Not the whole way. Let me finish it for you.” Darryl hustled himself outside, and I stared dumbly as he pulled the hose back from the pump and added more gas to my tank.
I didn’t understand what was happening. Was he flirting with me somehow? Except he seemed more nervous. I’d almost say scared.
So much for attracting him. With one mention of my family, I suddenly had the plague.
Going outside, I stood by as he finished gassing my car. He even wiped down the windshield before asking, “Do you need anything else? The milk in the fridge has still got a few days left. Want some chips? Cigarettes?” He thrust the pack I’d written my number on at me.
I stared at it dumbly. “Why are you trying to give me stuff?”
“You know why.”
“Actually, I don’t. Can you please explain it to me?”
Darryl finally looked me in the eye, but he wasn’t trying to seduce me anymore. He was stiff as he said, “It’s been like this for as long as a Rousseaux has been around. Your family doesn’t pay for anything inside the town limits.”
“But why?”
“Because.” He shrugged.
“There has to be a reason,” I insisted.
“Because bad things happen to those who get on the wrong side of your family.”
The reply left me momentarily dumbstruck. “I would never do anything to you. Or anyone.” The very idea was shocking, but he obviously believed it. What had my grandmother done?
“I’m not taking that chance.”
“Too bad because I can’t just let you give me stuff.” Tempting as it was.
He opened the driver side door and said quite firmly, “You take whatever you need. No charge.”
As I went to sit, I noted the twenty and the nickel on the driver’s seat. I grabbed them, meaning to give them back, only he’d returned to the store.
He was nuts. He couldn’t just let me drive off with a full tank of gas, or was this a ploy? Perhaps he and the cop in town were in cahoots and, the moment I left, he’d call his buddy, who would pull me over and accuse me of stealing the gas. Then they’d haul me off to jail to…
I halted that impossible fantasy. I wasn’t the type to inspire elaborate plots so they could abuse me.
If he wanted me to have the gas and keep the money, then so be it. I could buy groceries with it. Shoes. A bottle of wine that I’d hate. I never did acquire a taste for it.
The twenty in my hand crumpled as I fisted it. I couldn’t keep it. It wasn’t right.
I marched into the store and tried to ignore the fact he retreated from me behind the counter. I tossed the wadded bill onto the surface and snapped, “I’ll bring the rest by as soon as I get a job. I will not accept your misplaced charity.”
I turned around and stalked back out.
He called after me, “This isn’t over.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” I hollered.
I’d gas somewhere else if necessary. I jumped into my car and locked the door. I had this irrational fear he’d come racing after me, like the fellow in Terminator who starts running and catches up.
No one came tearing after me in the rearview waving that damned twenty. My nerves didn’t care. I clutched the steering wheel and shook. What had just happened? It made no sense to me that he’d want to give me gas. And food. And stuff. People didn’t do that. At least, not in my experience. Could this be some small-town quirk? A family getting benefits like free gas and groceries? But why? Surely anything my grandma had done to earn it died with her. Why extend it to me?
