Chapter 4
WESTON
I’d known Bramble Woods was a small town long before I made the trek here.
Heck, I had the exact population memorized and had included all the demographics in my grant proposals.
I’d looked at maps and photos. I thought I understood exactly what I was getting into by coming here, and still, it took me aback just how small this town was.
It wasn’t small, necessarily, in area, although no one would call it huge, but it was the epitome of small-town stereotypes from what I’d seen so far.
I’d decided to come ahead of my team, to pave the way for them and to get integrated into the town a little bit.
I knew that I would stand out. I was a city boy, and even though I tried to wear clothes that gave less of that vibe, I looked like I was cosplaying more than belonging.
Adding to that, my warm winter gear was all new.
No one would look at it and see years of use or even a season’s wear.
Maybe it was me being paranoid, but I swore I saw curtains moving as I drove through town, suggesting people had been watching.
I had a lot of work to do because if I wanted to be able to talk to the locals, use their resources, and have them not get in our way, then they needed to trust me.
And people didn’t trust scientists on a good day.
It didn’t matter where you were or what kind of science you were doing, there was this innate mistrust that came with the field.
My first stop was the B&B where I checked in and dropped off my belongings. I didn’t plan to be there for much more than sleep. A “newcomer” who hid in their room was only going to add to people's suspicions. At least that was my theory.
My first trip from there was to Mike’s Place, the local bar/restaurant.
Between social media and random Google searches, I’d already decided that was probably where the locals would hang out.
It made sense. It had food and drink. It was a place where you could congregate and not necessarily have to spend much money.
When I walked in, I might as well have had a bullhorn announcing my arrival.
Every single person turned to look at me, from the staff to the scattered patrons.
I picked up my hand to do a half-wave. Why?
I could only blame nerves. It was not the way to blend in.
Not surprisingly, I didn’t get a single wave in return, but they snapped back to whatever they were doing before, so I called it a win.
There weren’t a lot of tables, nothing like what I was used to, but I found one on the back wall and picked up the menu.
It was printed on a piece of regular old copy paper and had beer rings on it from where people had used it as a coaster.
Most of the letters were smudged, but it wasn’t something I really needed a lot of help to decipher.
There were no fancy French names for sauces or complicated menu items. It was burgers, fries, a handful of beers and snacks, basically typical bar fare.
The appetizer list consisted of only things you could throw in a deep fryer, and the desserts were vanilla ice cream or vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce…
done. But it was good that it wasn’t complicated.
I could look over it and check out the people.
There were definitely customers who were here just for a drink after work, having a drink and talking to the bartender or their neighbor and unwinding. Others were here to eat a meal. And there was a group playing cards.
A group of three men came in and sat down at the table beside me after being greeted by pretty much everybody that walked past.
“So, what’s good here?” I said. It was the easiest way to make a start, and the longer I was here without being social, the more difficult that would be.
“Nothing,” the one who appeared the oldest said.
His friend smacked him on the shoulder. “Cut it out. You’ll scare him away.”
I couldn’t decipher the look from the first man, whether he thought scaring me away was actually the ideal result or not.
“Just stick with the burgers,” the friend said.
“You can’t go wrong with the burgers. And don’t try to order it some fancy way.
It comes how it comes. Here, if you say you want it rare, it comes medium-well.
You say you want it medium, it comes medium-well.
You say you want it well-done, it comes medium-well. ”
“Noted.” Good thing I wasn’t picky about my burgers.
“You’re staying at the B&B?” the one who hadn’t spoken yet piped in.
“Yeah, I’m Weston. How’d you know?”
“Because if you had relatives here, you’d be with them, and there’s nowhere else to stay.” He didn’t introduce himself.
If this was going to be how it consistently went, it was going to be a long dinner.
“Yeah, that’s true.” And something I should’ve considered on my own.
“What are you here for?” the oldest of them asked. It would be nice if they would give me their names already, but it felt like maybe that ship had sailed. “Passing through?”
“More for work. I’m here studying wildlife.”
“Ah, one of those college types,” someone from another table said. I didn’t see who. Great, the entire place was listening in.
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what “those college types” meant, so I stuck with not saying too much.
“We do have a lot of wildlife here,” the older man said. “But come hunting season, you see a lot less of it.” He laughed at his own joke, and I wasn’t sure I got it. I supposed it didn’t matter since I was neither a hunter nor prey.
“Is hunting season now?” I hadn’t factored that into my timing.
“Nah, you’re good. On the safe side, be sure to wear bright orange and flashing lights.” He laughed again. At least he was amused by his humor because no one else cracked a smile.
“What are you studying, specifically? Like the birds, the trees, the fish?”
“Actually, the polar bears.”
It was probably my paranoia and not reality, but for a split second, I could’ve sworn the room went silent, followed by a couple of “ohs” from the guys next to me, and then my new “friends” started talking amongst themselves over whether they were going to share a pitcher of beer or get their own.
It was like I’d never been here.
The server came, brought me my cola, and asked my food order. I took out my phone, pretending like I was scrolling, despite having crap service, and took in the atmosphere, trying not to feel too awkward about the guys next to me suddenly not acknowledging me.
A few more people came in dribbles. One was a man about my dad’s age, and I didn’t know why, but the man did not like me. I tried to convince myself it was in my imagination, but eyes didn’t lie.
He came and sat at the table with the guys next to me but didn’t really talk to them.
He just stared at me. I started to tap on my notes app, hoping it looked like I was sending someone a message and maybe boring him enough to look anywhere else.
It didn’t. His eyes were glued to me until the server brought my burger and asked him what he wanted.
“Just a draft.” He turned to the other men. “What’s his deal?”
“Polar bear freak,” someone behind him answered.
Great. That was how I’d come across. So much for easing my way into the community.
“I’m not a freak,” I snapped and instantly regretted it. Arguing back wasn’t going to make friends. “I’m doing studies.”
“Look,” he said, “some things around here are better left alone. Like the bears. You go poking bears, you know what happens.”
“I get eaten?”
“Yep. And no one will feel bad for you. Everyone knows not to poke a bear.”
I sensed that he would not only not feel bad for me but would be cheering the bears on.
“Got it. But for the record, I have no plans on poking a bear.”
The man stood up, looked me up and down, and walked out.
“I didn’t mean to upset him,” I said to the guys, but they acted as if I didn’t speak at all.
So I nursed my soda, picked at my burger, and waited for an opportunity to make conversation again, preferably with people who hadn’t seen that guy’s hostility.
This town was very protective of those bears. That was the only thing I learned about them during my time here. But then again, maybe that was enough because it would help me figure out better ways to go about my work and possibly prevent me from being eaten.