Chapter Two
Lottie
Branch and Brew was just about as crowded as one would expect for trivia night.
Anyone of drinking age or older without kids was there laughing, knocking back some hard cider, and gearing up for the holiday themed trivia contest that would start soon enough.
It was the day after Halloween, but you wouldn’t know that after taking one look at the costumed crowd hanging around the bar.
Even Lottie was still in the spirit, wearing her custom Rockford Peach uniform replicated from A League of Their Own.
Smoothing a hand over the curls under her ball cap, Lottie passed a pitcher of cider across to a group of raucous men dressed as old-timey gangsters.
The noise and crush of people was nothing she wasn’t used to.
In fact, Lottie welcomed it. It meant that she was surrounded by others which was her preferred way to be.
A crowd as big as the one in front of her wasn’t necessary, but Lottie always felt the most at home with herself when she had someone to talk to.
Listening to the stories of others had always been important to Lottie.
Maybe she was just naturally a good listener, or maybe it stemmed from being raised in a house where no one cared to hear her speak.
Unmet needs and desires were something she was very familiar with, and in an effort to prevent anyone else from ever feeling as though what they had to say didn’t matter, Lottie had turned herself into a collector of sorts.
Whether they be about the mundane realities of office work or the more outlandish tales she’d gotten from some of the older members of town down at the senior center, everyone’s story was one she made a point to listen to, gather up, and share with others.
People often mistook her as a gossip, but Lottie never spread rumors and only distributed information with others’ permission. To do otherwise went against her code.
Making others feel safe with her, comfortable in their ability to share whatever it was they needed to, had always been extremely important to Lottie.
Growing up in a household with parents who fought more than they did anything else had her feeling constantly on edge.
At the age of fourteen, she’d finally had enough.
Tired of having parents who had always been too caught up in fighting with one another to care much about what she got up to, Lottie decided to teach them a lesson and run away from home.
The intention was just to scare them into actually caring about her, so she didn’t even pack much in her bag before she set off down the street.
After walking for at least an hour and into an entirely different neighborhood, Lottie took a break to rest her aching feet.
After finding the house with the nicest yard, Lottie took a seat at the curb and waited.
Eventually her parents would notice that she’d gone missing, and they would be searching around to find her, she was sure of it.
Maybe the sheriff would even come by and pick her up.
Lottie welcomed the thought because the bigger the stink that was made about her, the more her parents would realize how terrible they’d been in ignoring their own daughter.
Grabbing her history book from her backpack, Lottie flipped to the chapter for World War II.
It was the section her class was studying and while she wasn’t at the top of her group, not yet, Lottie liked history and wanted to excel in school.
Her drive for excellence in the last year was also another cry for attention, and while her parents had never really cared about her grades beyond wanting her to at least graduate, Lottie enjoyed the positive reinforcement her teachers gave her because of it and kept working as hard as she could.
As the sun dipped lower and the sky faded into a darker blue, Lottie’s stomach rumbled with hunger.
Glancing at her watch, she saw that it had been at least three hours since she’d been gone.
With an irritated sigh, she went back to reading when a glass of water appeared in front of her along with a granola bar.
Lottie looked up to see the weathered face of Joanna Griffin.
The woman had been her kindergarten teacher and was pretty universally loved by every child in Applewood.
Lottie had never been sure of how old she was, only that she’d had white hair for as long as she’d known her and her clothes that looked straight out of the history book in her hands. “You looked hungry.”
Lottie shoved her book in her bag and smiled at the older woman.
“Thank you, Mrs. Griffin.” The woman may not have been her teacher for almost ten years, but it would have been weird to call her by her first name.
Gratefully accepting the food and drink, Lottie ripped into the granola bar and took a bite, washing down the honey, oat, and dried fruit combo with a large swig of water.
Turning to the house behind her, Lottie took in its oddly slanted roof and large front windows. “Is this your place?”
Mrs. Griffin nodded. “It is.” She made to sit next to Lottie but seemed to think better of it and shook her head. “Why don’t you come inside, Charlotte? These old bones don’t work like they used to and if I sit on that curb I won’t be getting up again.”
Lottie smiled, both because her teacher remembered her and because despite her words, she looked pretty spry for someone who was probably at least eighty. “Okay.”
As Lottie followed her old teacher into the house, it almost felt like she was stepping into another time.
The whole place looked older than the woman herself, styled in a manner that was a bit like the houses from the television show about ad men that her father watched.
“Wow,” she said, doing a spin. “This place is cool.”
Style, whether in clothing or in décor, had never really interested Lottie before, but seeing how amazing things could look with a little effort had her rethinking her position.
Frowning down at her nondescript jeans and t-shirt combo, Lottie followed Mrs. Griffin further to the kitchen counter where the woman placed a platter piled high with grilled cheese sandwiches in front of her along with a glass of milk.
Lottie smiled and grabbed one of the sandwiches, taking a large bit and letting the warm, gooey cheese slide down her throat.
“This is great, thanks Mrs. G.” As she took another bite, she noticed the other woman hadn’t grabbed one for herself.
Lottie’s stomach sank and suddenly the walls of the house resembled gingerbread and the woman in front of her a witch.
She swallowed the thick lump of bread and hot cheese stuck in her throat. “You’re not going to eat me are you?”
The old woman cackled and shook her head. “Lord, no. Why would you ask such a thing?” Her wrinkled face became more so as she gazed at Lottie like she was the craziest person she had ever met.
Lottie shrugged. Deciding to take the woman at her word, she took another bite of the sandwich. “Just thought I might have gotten myself into a Hansel and Gretel situation for a minute.”
Mrs. Griffin rolled her eyes and made a big show of biting into one of the sandwiches.
“You know, I don’t remember you being this dramatic as a child.
Asking about cannibalism, running away from home.
” She shook her head and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“Next thing you know you’re going to tell me you’re pregnant. ”
Lottie nearly choked. “Ew, gross.” First, the thought of having sex at her age was still just a bit icky, though mostly scary.
Secondly, she would have to have a boy interested in her enough for that to happen and boys tended to stay far away from her, especially the ones she liked the most. “Wait. How did you know I ran away?”
The older woman gave Lottie a withering look. “I teach kindergarten, dear. I recognize a tantrum when I see one.”
Lottie’s mouth dropped open in offense. “It’s not a tantrum,” she insisted.
She wasn’t crying loudly as she pounded her fists on the floor in anger.
There had always been enough anger in her house that she hadn’t wanted to contribute to it, even when she’d been little enough for it to be appropriate.
“I just.” She blew out a harsh breath. “I just wanted them to notice me for once.” Mrs. Griffin’s expression fell as she looked at Lottie.
Squirming under the scrutiny, Lottie hopped off the stool and grabbed her bag.
“It was a dumb idea, so I’ll just go. Thanks for the food. ”
A frail hand gripping her elbow stopped her.
When Lottie looked at Mrs. Griffin, her expression was more understanding than she would have imagined.
“It’s hard when the people we love can’t see us.
” Her eyes looked sad for a moment before clearing again.
“You know what always cheered me up when something in my life was a little less than stellar?” Lottie shook her head, following her teacher into the living room where she fiddled with a DVD player. “Old movies.”
Mrs. Griffin took a seat on an older looking sofa and patted the seat next to her, flicking a remote in the direction of the television. Lottie sat and watched as credits played on the screen. “Aren’t those normally at the end?”
The older woman chuckled. “They are now, but weren’t always.
” She nodded back to the screen where the words His Girl Friday appeared on the screen.
“This one is my favorite. I just love Cary Grant and it’s a good movie about how things don’t always go the way we think they’re going to, but they do always work out how they’re meant to. ”