Twisted Creek

Chapter 15

After staring at the rain for a while, I walked back inside, turned out most of the lights, then curled into the bay window. The rattle of the storm behind me seemed to echo my thoughts.

I flipped open the ledger and looked at what I’d drawn.

Tall, lanky Paul Madison, who bought groceries for one, had stood at the door, an arm tightly around his sack, the stare of a lost man on his face.

Shy Mary Lynn and her pet. Though her body had settled into a middle-aged plump, she’d looked, frightened, with huge child eyes into the night.

Timothy, his nose buried in a computer book and his hair so long it formed a curtain over his eyes.

Mrs. Deals, her hands birdlike thin, her face as pale as porcelain.

I grinned, knowing I’d captured each one exactly as they were. The only two who looked like they belonged together were old Willie, frowning over the storm, and Luke, frowning over the crowded room.

When I looked at Luke hunched over the counter as if he thought he could shrink enough to be invisible, I thought of how he’d kissed me. I’d been kissed by several boys and a few men gauging my interest, but none had kissed me like Luke had. It hadn’t been a game with him. He didn’t seem to be asking, or offering more.

The fat cat Nana called General curled up on the cushion beside me and pushed his head against my arm. I rubbed the tabby’s fur. “Did you eat all the leftovers?” I asked.

General didn’t answer.

“You’ll be too lazy to chase mice soon.”

General closed his eyes, looking bored with my talk.

I stood and put the book on the highest shelf in the tiny office next to a row of file boxes that I promised myself I’d at least look at tomorrow. The records from years past might prove helpful.

I climbed the stairs, thinking of Luke’s kiss and wondering if it was just an impulse or if he planned to do it again. Though it had been nice, I decided I wanted to be an active participant next time and not just a bystander run over by his moment of desire.

Still trying to predict what he might do, I dressed the next morning and hurried down to join Nana. I could smell biscuits and knew I’d overslept again. Which wouldn’t have bothered me any day but today. Monday.

The sheriff usually came on Monday. I could hardly wait for his expression when he realized I not only was still here, but I was growing roots.

“Nana,” I yelled as I pulled up the blinds. “You’d better make extra biscuits. The sheriff is probably on his way.”

“What sheriff?” she yelled back.

I frowned. How could she forget a man so big his casket would probably beep when they backed it into the grave?

Before I could make it to the kitchen to see if she was kidding, a pounding knock hammered on the door.

I opened up. “Morning, Sheriff,” I said as sunbeams squeezed in around his bulk.

One big muddy boot stepped over the towel, then another. “I figured you’d already be open. Jefferson always rose early. He’d have a pot of coffee half drank and be waiting for me.”

Sheriff Fletcher walked around the store checking out all my new merchandise as if trying to decide what to shoplift. What looked like size fifteen footprints marked his progress.

“I’ve got coffee,” I said, more hopeful than sure. “Would you like a cup?”

He nodded and picked up one of Nana’s jars of jelly. “Did you make this here?”

I passed him a cup of coffee. “We did.”

“Did you wear hairnets?”

“Of course,” I lied, having a feeling all sins were equal in his eyes. “But General had trouble keeping his on.”

Fletcher looked at me as if deciding if I was trying to be funny or if I had flipped over into crazy.

Nana pushed her way though the swinging door with a cake plate loaded with apple fritters. She set them down and walked back into the kitchen as if she didn’t have time to notice us standing five feet away. She had so much flour on her face she could have tried out for the Ghost of Christmas Past.

I offered the sheriff a fritter, hoping the fried dough would put him in a better mood.

It did. He set the jelly jar down. With coffee in one hand and an apple fritter in the other, he was about as defenseless as he ever got.

“How’s that boy of yours doing?” I asked quickly, before he thought of a law we were breaking.

“Dillon.” He smiled without stopping his chewing. “He’s fine. Going to be quarterback in the first game next week. I won’t be surprised if he gets a free ride to college playing ball. That boy is good at everything he tries.”

I walked toward the door as he rambled on about his only son. By the time he’d finished his food and coffee, we were on the porch.

“Anything strange going on here that I should know about?” The sheriff handed me the cup and stared out along the dock.

I opened my mouth to say no, but knew it would be a waste of time. The sheriff spotted Luke and lost all interest in me.

I tried to distract the lawman. “Do you know a sweet lady who lives out here by the name of Mary Lynn O’Reilly?”

Fletcher didn’t turn away from watching Luke but answered, “Harmless nutcase.” He shrugged. “Sad, really. No backbone. People have worse things happen to their family and don’t run away and hide like the last roach in the basement.”

He had my interest. “What things?”

Fletcher glanced at me as if I were a bother, but answered, “Her daddy was a big-time preacher in Lubbock. Folks came all the way from Snyder to hear him.” He let out a long breath, telling me he was probably tired of telling the story. “Police found him and some hooker shot to death at the motel one night. Never knew who fired the shotgun, but it did make a mess. Did you ever see what brains do when they fly into a fan?”

I was too busy trying to swallow to answer.

“Drove Mary Lynn’s mother crazy and she killed herself a month later. Mary Lynn, their only child, had been sheltered and homeschooled through high school. She was in her first year of nursing school at Texas Tech when she buried both her parents. She was left alone to face the gawkers and the lawyers. Some said she would follow her mother, but she didn’t, she ran out here to hide. Closes herself up in their summer cabin and never goes to town.” He straightened his gun belt. “I check in on her now and then to see if she’s cracked up completely. Comes from weak blood.”

“That’s nice of you to check on her,” I managed to say, thinking it was no wonder Mary Lynn hid out here if there were many like Fletcher around.

Fletcher didn’t catch my sarcasm. He watched Luke walking toward the store.

Luke was halfway up the dock when he glanced over and saw the sheriff. For a moment, he hesitated as if debating making a run for it.

I couldn’t breathe.

The sheriff frowned and started toward Luke.

I could only stand frozen and watch as the big lawman got right in Luke’s face and pointed his finger. They were too far away for me to hear everything, but the sheriff seemed to be asking rapid-fire questions and Luke didn’t look like he was answering many.

Luke’s hands were open at his sides and he stood his ground.

Finally, without even a wave, the sheriff stormed off and headed to his car. I could hear him shouting orders into the radio as he pulled away.

Luke walked slowly to the porch as if nothing had happened.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

He shrugged. “He’s looking for a reason to arrest me.”

“You got one?”

Blue eyes looked directly into mine for once and he answered, “Nope. How about you?”

I laughed. “Nana and I are guilty of not wearing hairnets when we cook. Will you bust us out if he takes us in?”

He winked. “You bet.”

I studied him with his old clothes and worn boots. For all I knew he was just like Mary Lynn, hiding out from the real world. He could be a drifter or an outlaw, but one thing for sure, he wasn’t afraid of the cops. I didn’t know whether to be reassured that he wasn’t a criminal, or worried that he was good enough never to be caught.

And one other thing, I loved the way he winked.

Without another word, he passed me and went into the store. A few minutes later, he returned with a cup of live worms and an apple fritter.

“Nice breakfast,” I said.

He nodded, but didn’t meet my eyes as he crossed to the side of the porch and picked up his fishing pole.

Later, I noticed his canoe was gone. I didn’t have time to worry about what he’d said to the sheriff. The morning was full of work. My alien mailman showed up with his wagon loaded with boxes. It seemed everyone shopped by mail or online now that they knew I’d be here to receive the boxes.

By noon, Timothy had picked up two boxes from Amazon, Mrs. Deals had sent Willie to get her box from Dell, and Mary Lynn had driven over to get her four fluffy packages from the Home Shopping Network.

I was glad Mary Lynn came last. I asked her to join Nana and me for tea on the porch and she accepted as graciously as if we drank out of fine china and not mugs. She talked of her garden and a small greenhouse where she grew plants all winter. Nana told of how her father always made them plant corn by the dark of the moon and potatoes in the light of day.

I mostly listened for any hint of the story the sheriff had told me. But Mary Lynn never mentioned her family or any tragedy.

After she left, I talked to Nana about keeping the coffeepot warming on the counter all afternoon now that the days were getting cooler. Customers could come in and help themselves.

“You’re feeling guilty,” she said in answer. “You always do when you feel like luck’s been good to you.”

I stared at Nana, the one person who knew me all the way to my heart. “Maybe,” I answered.

Nana patted my arm three times. “You can’t always bounce blessings, child. Sometimes you just have to catch them.”

She walked away muttering a recipe for cookies she planned to make to go next to the free coffee.

I sauntered through the store, straightening supplies. I was settling in. Getting to know people. Starting to care.

Panic hung like static electricity around me. I stilled, fearing the shock if I moved. If I wasn’t very careful, I’d start believing I belonged here, then when we had to move on the pain would be sharper than ever. Sharper even than when we had to leave the farm after Grandpa died. I’d already taken full bolts of sorrow the few times I’d tried to belong. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.