Chapter 5
~~ Lorelai ~~
James settles me on the loveseat at my request. I pull down the blanket that’s folded over the back, and Rusty hops up. He lies down with half his body between my legs and the other half draped over my stomach with his head on my chest. I pet him mindlessly, closing my eyes and keeping my head still.
“Are you from here?” I ask James.
“Bearberry Bay,” he tells me. “It’s farther north, on the coast.”
He tells me about leaving his family and friends for the Army straight out of high school. How he was young, bored, and certainly didn’t appreciate the small-town atmosphere. He has a few bad-boy stories that make me smile.
With my eyes still closed, I picture scenes of him and his buddies giving the sheriff a run for his money with their street racing, graffiti tags, and illegal fishing and hunting escapades.
I imagine the late Mrs. Fletcher from the house across the street as a gray-haired biddy with her hair in rollers and wearing a housecoat, calling his mother every time he tried to sneak out.
I know he must have hated that as a teenager, but I love the idea of her caring enough to look out for him.
No one ever ratted me out. Not to my father, my schools, a social worker... My neighbors came and went with the seasons and probably never even knew my name. The number of times I smoked out on the back stoop was countless. The night I was pushed against the side of the house and forced to “pay” physically when I hadn’t been able to sneak enough cash from my father’s wallet while he was passed out, no one stepped in. That was the last time I smoked. Even now I can’t smell it without having flashbacks. I’d also been chased down those steps into the back alley more than once when my father took off his belt in a drunken rage. It was always worse when I ran.
Yes, it would have been nice to have a neighbor who cared.
James tells me about coming home from the service to his empty family house to find that one neighbor had collected all the mail, and another had kept up the mowing and trimming without even being asked. They just pitched in and did what they could.
I have no idea what that brand of kindness feels like. I learned how to ask for what I needed, how to steal when it wasn”t provided, and how to barter if I needed to, but I have not found that people give their time or resources without being prompted.
He describes his job as the leader of a privately funded search and rescue team. By the time my sleep overtakes me, I feel like I know them.
Lucius, the ex-SEAL, who can make anything mechanical run.
Morgan, the medical expert who handles their rescues and runs community events like a badass.
Stephen, the dispatcher who excels at organization but is super shy.
Angela, the dynamite driver who can maneuver their boat through the scariest of storms, the narrowest of channels.
Kaiden, the money man who is gruff and scowly but melts next to his lady and silently has everyone’s back.
I feel like they’re movie characters in a dream town. In my sleep, I meet them in a Mayberry setting and they welcome me like a little sister.