Chapter 20
BERNADETTE CRENSHAW
“Ihate that he’s right,” I mutter under my breath, taking in the small-town sights of the village. The fair isn’t ready and won’t be until tomorrow from the looks of it.
The place is a little quaint and is like a small town, complete with cute stores, rows of townhouses, and roads dappled with maple trees.
There’s not much to see yet; I don’t mind.
I just don’t want to be cooped up in the house anymore.
After months of isolation with Gran, I am taking full advantage of the sunshine.
“What was that?” he asks, slowing down his stride to walk next to me along the busy townhouse-lined street.
For every four of my steps along the well-kept sidewalk, he takes one, but he somehow keeps his gait in line with mine so he doesn’t overcrowd me even though we’re walking so close.
“I said New York is so pretty this time of year,” I answer, and pick at the collar of my pink sweater, grateful that the brutes managed to get some of my wardrobe choices right when they finally brought my clothes.
“Hmmph,” he responds, as if a sentence would kill him to say.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my stretchy leggings and smile.
It looks like a tiny village and is very picturesque.
There are quite a few stalls being set up in front of the town square that’s been blocked off with barricades.
Some storefronts are completely erected while others are in disarray, but one thing’s for certain: it’s going to be a huge set up once it’s all done.
Theres more than a few dozen people milling about, and I use the term people lightly.
They all look like they’re one moment from being whisked away in their very own Abercrombie advertisement, but I don’t dare ask Frank what they are, especially with how they all seem to stare at me before noticing him with me.
I glance up and look at the scowl on Frank’s face and grin to myself. He doesn’t even try to pretend to be a nice guy, and I guess when you’re Frank Stein, you don’t have to be. Who’s going to tell him no?
It makes me think about what it must be like to be him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be unable to leave your home without someone taking your picture, constantly trying to catch you in some act.
“Oh my gosh, there it is!” I point a finger at the large circus tent covering part of the street, and the whole reason I wanted to come here to begin with. “My Grandaddy used to take me to the circus every chance he’d get. Do you know what it’s for?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I visit a few days each week, but don’t tend to stay long. Most of my energy and focus is required in the city,” he replies.
I glance up at his tall frame, realizing that the last few minutes are probably the most human I’ve seen of him with the way he seems uncomfortable at times.
“So, what do you like to do when you’re not being the richest man in the world Frank?” I ask flippantly.
He seems startled by the question. “Is revolutionizing the healthcare and medicinal industries not enough for you?”
“That’s not really what you do for enjoyment is it? What are your hobbies?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’ve grown another head or three and narrowly misses running into a lamppost.
“Do you like to write poems, maybe hiking, or?” I ask him, trying and failing to put an image of Frank Stein bent over a pen and paper professing to love to anything. More like bent over a map like a conqueror wanting power and domination.
“I’m creating several state-of-the-art medical clinics,” he boasts.
“Well, that’s… fun, I guess,” I say, searching for the right word. The longer we go along on this trip, the more obvious it is that Frank Stein has no idea how to have fun.
“Oh my gosh, it’s a bookstore,” I blurt, as my gaze lands on a chalkboard easel that’s been left on the sidewalk to pull in customers.
The storefront is black lacquer with large windows showcasing shelves of books and what looks like an old study.
Fake cobwebs litter the shop windows, a skull sits on the display table with an old textbook and quill, and the lettering reads Little Ghouls’ Bookstore.
“Look how cute! Come on,” I say, and maneuver around him to make my way up the short steps, not bothering to ask if he wants to come.
“I’ve got a phone call to take. You go ahead and I’ll be up in a minute,” he says, staring down at the phone in his hand.
“Whatever,” I say, excitement thrumming in my stomach as the bell jingles overhead when I enter the little shop.
The soft sound of music greets my ears, the melody whimsical but somehow familiar, as if I've heard it before but can't quite place where.
The floor is black-and-white checkered marble, and the cozy room is filled with shoulder-high bookshelves that line the walls, and there is multiple round displays covered in books.
Nestled behind a wrought-iron gate is a lit fireplace and a pair of comfortable reading chairs and couch. “This place is beautiful,” I breathe.
“Hello and welcome, we’re having a fifty percent off sale on all nonfiction, and today’s readings are on the house. If you need any help just let me know,” a feminine voice says.
“Okay, thank you,” I say, raising my voice a little so she can hear.
After a few moments of checking out the shelves, I make my way deeper into the store, and the sweet scent in the air increases the further I go.
“Hello,” a voice calls behind me.
I turn toward the sound, finding a tall blonde woman, a little older than me if I had to guess, standing beside a round table at the back of the store. Candles dot the surface of it along with a large globe, smoking incense stick, and a deck of tarot cards.
“Hi,” I say, as I take a step near, “you’ve got such a cool store. It’s so cute.”
“Would you like your fortune? It's free,” she says, a smile pulling across her lips as she gestures at the table.
I take in her costume garb, a red skirt, wide leather belt buckle, and short-sleeved blue blouse like what I’d imagine a for real fortune teller would wear.
“They only take a few minutes if you’ve the time,” she says.
I glance back at the storefront exit, wondering when Frank will get off his phone. When I turn back around, I notice how pretty she is, high cheek bones, baby-blue eyes and wide red lips, she could be a model anywhere.
She beams another smile, one that seems genuine, and I decide to take up her offer.
Frank can figure himself out, and the fortune telling looks like it’ll be fun.
“Heck yeah, I do,” I answer, and pull out the chair to have a seat.