Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
CALLIOPE
I’m restless this evening. It was too hot for my usual walk in the woods, and I’ve spent the day inside, trying to get interested in something. After flitting from trying to read about birds, to watching ten minutes of a show, to cleaning my cabin, I end up rolling a joint and sitting out on my porch. I’m having what I always refer to as an edgy day—where unsettled seems to be my default even if I’m not worried about anything specific.
Before I can smoke, Arlow steps out of his front door. I’m surprised to see him walk in my direction instead of disappearing into the graveyard like he usually does. He slouches a little, one hand in his pocket as he crosses the driveway. His long limbs make routine movements more pronounced, giving him an awkward, gangly appearance despite his broad shoulders and wide chest.
Yesterday, Silver and I went to a local flea market where I got a cute glider that will be perfect to replace the lawn chairs on the front porch once I repaint it. Right now, it sits in my yard, covered by a tarp. He eyes it curiously as he approaches.
“Don’t worry. That’s not a body either.” I get to my feet to meet him.
“Of course not. What are the chances two killers move in next door to each other?” His dark humor matches mine, lightened by his soft tone. “The cobbler was delicious.”
“I guess so if you ate it all in a night,” I chuckle, accepting my pan from him.
“I shared it with some friends. Terrible mistake. I should’ve tasted it first and kept it for myself.”
He seems so kind when I talk to him that it’s easy to forget that he’s also the guy who creeps around a graveyard at all hours. The question spills out of me without forethought. “Why do you hang out in the graveyard at night?”
His lips twitch, and he raises an eyebrow. “What’s your going theory? Seances? Graverobbing?”
“I haven’t completely discounted those but I’m also entertaining the possibility that you’re building a Frankenstein.”
“That sounds like way too much work. Plus, I can’t sew.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, and it flops back down, a few waves reaching his earlobes. “I’m not hanging out there, just cutting through to get to my bonfire pit or to watch the sunset.”
It never occurred to me what might be on the other side of the graveyard. Before I can reply, he adds, “Do you want to come with me, and I’ll show you? It’s a beautiful view.”
His invitation catches me off guard. “Now?”
“Unless you’re busy. I’m pretty sure there’s another sunset scheduled for tomorrow night if this isn’t a good time.”
My decision is impulsive and maybe not the smartest. “Sure. One second while I lock up.” He waits outside while I grab my phone and keys, then lock the cabin door behind me. My jitteriness fades as I join him.
This is what’s fundamentally wrong with me as a person. I’m a ball of anxiety at a crowded restaurant or when the self-checkout yells at me about unexpected items, or for no reason whatsoever like today, but following a mysterious guy into a graveyard at dusk? Perfectly fine.
Maybe it’s his demeanor or the calming sound of his voice. I feel bad about the way I reacted to him, first in the forest and again yesterday. After all, I’m the one who was trespassing, and he’s been nothing but nice about it. Sure, the nightly walk among tombstones is weird but it looks like there’s a simple explanation for that too.
A major part of my personality that I’ve worked most of my life to overcome are the cynical snap judgements about people that pop into my head. My first thoughts are never kind and I hate it. Because it’s like her. Conditioned into me by growing up with the woman who is now ashes on my mantel. It’s not who I am or want to be.
It’d be nice to be on good terms with my only neighbor. I should give Arlow the benefit of the doubt and stop letting my imagination run away from me just because he’s a little different. I’m sure I appear mysterious to some too. A woman who moved into a small town she had no connection to and spends most of her time in the woods. That didn’t stop Silver from becoming my friend or Mona from hiring me.
Still, being alone in the boonies with any guy I don’t know isn’t risk free and I want to make sure he knows I’m not easy prey. “I texted my friend that I’m with you so if I’m being lured as a human sacrifice or dinner for zombies, you’ll be the main suspect. I’m just saying.”
He glances down at me with a flash of a smile. “Don’t worry. The corpses don’t reanimate until midnight. We have plenty of time.”
One of his long strides is easily two of mine but he takes his time so I’m not rushing to keep up as we cross the driveway and walk through his yard to enter the cemetery. The upright gravestones cast long shadows in the setting sun. Most of the names carved into them are barely legible, and a few can’t be seen at all. Lying toppled and broken, or crumbling to dust, some are losing the fight against time and weather.
Despite the state of the markers, the grounds are well tended, mowed and weeded. “Are you responsible for maintaining the graves?” It’s never occurred to me that a person could own a graveyard or what that might entail. “Letting families visit and stuff?”
“No one comes to visit. The last date of death I’ve seen is over eighty years ago. I’m not permitted to remove the graves or stones but other than that, there are no regulations. It was abandoned and buried in honeysuckle when I bought the property.”
A few honeysuckle bushes still sit at the far edge, lush and blooming. “You keep it up well,” I remark, letting my fingertips trail over the top of a stone as we pass.
“Thank you. Just staying on the good side of the undead so they’ll spare me when they rise.”
“I’m going to need you to stop with the undead talk once it’s dark.”
He glances down at me, a small smile inching across his face. “Are you superstitious?”
“No, but I’m not typically hanging out with dead folks at night.”
“They aren’t bad company if you don’t mind doing all the talking.”
There’s no fence around the graveyard but a hill on the far side forms a natural boundary. My legs burn a little as we climb but it’s worth it when we crest the top, and the sky stretches out before us in brilliant shades of purple and pink.
“Oh wow.”
He nods, his gaze on the horizon. “Best spot to watch the sunset. Or just sit by the fire.”
I tear my attention away from the sky to take in the stone ringed bonfire pit that’s surrounded by chairs on three sides. On the fourth, a large log provides more seating. A pile of firewood waits a few yards away.
“Why not put your firepit closer to your house?”
“Stay until the stars come out and you’ll see,” he says, gesturing to the sitting area.
I perch on the edge of the log while he pulls a couple of split chunks of firewood from the pile and arranges them inside the stone circle. Tucking some kindling around them, he lights it, and sits a couple of feet away from me.
No words are spoken as we watch the pastel sky deepen to burgundy. It’s not an awkward silence, just the opposite. I’m content to sit here and take in the view, smell the thick scent of wood smoke, and enjoy the tranquility. It feels like we’re so far away from everything. From everyone and every problem I’ve ever had.
The clouds begin to clear as the last of the color fades to black, letting the stars burst across the sky like a handful of thrown glitter. Arlow was right. He chose the perfect spot. With the edge of the forest far away on all sides, we have an unobstructed view. It’s stunning, giving me an urge to lie in the grass and stare up for hours.
When I glance over at him, he’s looking at me. “Okay, I get it. It’s definitely worth a nighttime journey through a graveyard.” The flames light up his modest smile and it hits me again how distinctly gorgeous the man is.
“You should explore the graves in the daytime. It’ll feel less alien and scary. Get familiar with the place when it doesn’t seem so ominous.”
His voice is like honey dragged through ground glass. Deep and soothing but coated with grit. He uses it so softly. It’s calming.
“I’m still getting accustomed to being surrounded by a forest and bugs that look like they’ve come into contact with nuclear waste.”
“Where are you from?”
“Indianapolis. What about you?” His lack of a southern accent makes it clear he isn’t from here either.
He picks up a thick stick that’s propped nearby to shift the logs in the fire. “Northern Illinois. A small town not far from Chicago. Are you here to attend the AG college or do you have family here?”
“Neither. I’m not here for school or a job or anything. I just wanted a change. I’ve always lived in cities. Indy, then Cincinnati for a bit. I found an online ad for the cabin, and it looked like a nice place. Peaceful.”
His eyebrows rise, his head tilting a tiny bit as he regards me. “You picked up and relocated to a random town where you didn’t know anyone?”
“It’s crazy, right? I promise I’m not a wanted fugitive. My crime spree in your orchard was a first offense.”
His chuckle matches his voice. Soft and deep. “More adventurous or brave than crazy, I’d say.”
“That sounds better than restless and impulsive so let’s go with that. How did you end up here?”
“I was living in Paducah for a while and looking to move somewhere more rural. My friend Lee lives nearby, and he told me the property was up for sale. Do you like it here so far?”
“I do. It’s beautiful and quiet. There’s been some culture shock but the people I’ve met have been kind.”
We fall into a comfortable silence again. It’s funny. I usually feel the need to make small talk or keep a conversation going when I’m around someone new. Then later I worry that I talked too much just to avoid that awkward gap. Overthinking is my default mode. Tonight, none of that applies and I’m happy to sit here, admire the sky and watch the dancing flames.
The buzz of my cell phone breaks the spell. “You’d better not be calling me in to work,” I joke, answering Silver’s call.
“Why, are you stoned?”
Arlow runs his fingers over his mouth, not quite concealing a smirk. She’s not on speaker, but my call volume was definitely loud enough for him to overhear in the stillness, and I tap the button to lower it.
“No. What’s up?”
“I’m actually calling to see if you can swap shifts with Misty. Work tomorrow night and take the night after off instead. She doesn’t have your number, so I told her I’d ask.”
“Sure, no problem. And you’re welcome to give her my number for next time.”
“Great, I’ll let her know.”
Arlow glances over at me once I hang up. “Okay, so maybe the peaches weren’t my first time breaking the law.” I’m not actually concerned. We may be in a non-legal state but other than cops, no one really cares about weed anymore.
“You’re clearly an outlaw. Do you know there’s a dispensary about forty miles away, right across the Illinois border?” He gets up and sets another log on the fire, circling the pit to poke at it with the stick until it’s behaving the way he wants.
“That’s good to know.” My fingers fiddle with the joint tucked in my pocket. “Do you smoke?”
“Sometimes. I’m more partial to edibles.”
I hold up the joint, raising my eyebrows at him. He nods at the invitation and sits beside me on the log as I light it. “What do you do for a living?” I’m curious since he doesn’t seem to leave very often.
“I don’t work a conventional job anymore.”
It’s the only information he offers, but I don’t pursue it. He could work online or maybe he came into some money like I did. It’s really none of my business. “I make donuts at Lucky’s Diner and Donuts a few nights a week.”
“That sounds fun,” he replies. “Do you get to take some freebies home?”
“Absolutely. That’s the best part.” His hands catch my attention. Unusually large, with long fingers, they make the joint look tiny in comparison as we hand it back and forth.
Our small talk dies out as the weed works its magic. Arlow moves to sit in one of the chairs across from me. It must be uncomfortable to sit on a log so close to the ground at his height. He practically has to fold himself in half like a lawn chair.
The fire roars, pushing back the night and making the darkness feel like a solid wall around us. It’s strangely cozy. I shift to straddle the log then lie back, planting my feet on the ground. With my hands tucked behind my head, it isn’t uncomfortable. Though the wood feels rough under my spine, I enjoy it, along with all the other sensations that suddenly seem heightened. The heat of the fire makes the night feel chilly on the half of my body that isn’t facing the flames. The stars look close enough to reach out and grab a handful. The distant scream of cicadas provides a backup choir to the crickets singing around us.
A lightning bug hovers over me, and I reach out to let it land on my hand. It obliges, crawling over my palm to my wrist, its glow pulsing on and off. “It’s nice to see a lightning bug again. They’ve really died off in the cities. I remember them being everywhere when I was a kid.”
Arlow watches the little bug crawl up to my fingertip then fly away. “I see fewer of them here too.”
“I was obsessed with lightning bugs as a kid. I’m sure my teachers were sick of reading my reports on them. They light up to attract mates, but each species has a distinct flashing pattern that suitable mates will recognize.”
“It’d be nice if people had something like that.” He pokes at the fire, sending a shower of glowing ash into the air as the logs begin to burn down. “A signal to recognize a soul mate.”
“You believe in soul mates?”
A half smile raises his lips as he regards me. “No, but it’s a nice thought.”
“Lightning bugs are also cannibals. If things get bad, they’ll eat each other. There’s even one species of females that have learned to mimic other lightning bug’s flashes to lure in the males of a competing species so they can devour them.”
“That is not a nice thought.”
Turning my head, our eyes meet, and his sudden laughter triggers mine. “Sorry, high thoughts.”
He shrugs, gesturing to the surrounding forest. “What if humans signaled like birds? Imagine if people climbed trees to yell about being horny.”
Giggles overtake me. “Talk about high thoughts. Maybe we’re better off that the human mating call is just ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ or ‘Hey baby, want to go to my place?’”
I sit up, brushing the scraps of bark from my back, and he teases, “Is it getting past your bedtime?”
“Nah, I’m practically nocturnal. My sleep schedule is a mess, especially since I started working at the diner. Do you want to finish this?”
He nods at the half a joint we have left and joins me on the log again. “We have that in common. I’ve seen more sunrises at the end of my day than the beginning.”
I assumed as much, since his lights are often on late, and I’ve noticed him coming and going from his barn in the middle of the night.
We’re quiet as we finish smoking and watch the fire burn down to embers. He breaks the silence with a sudden announcement. “I’ve got cotton mouth like a motherfucker. Do you want a Coke or something?”
“I’d love one, but you aren’t leaving me up here by myself,” I snort, getting to my feet when he does.
“Would you rather go back through the graveyard alone?” He chuckles at my horrified look. “I’m teasing you. Come on.”
“Very funny. And to think, I was going to offer you some of those leftover donuts.” We trek back down the hill and enter the graveyard. The high humidity has spread a light fog over the ground.
“I humbly apologize. Especially if you have an apple fritter. They’re my favorite.”
“It’s your lucky night.” I move to walk closer to him. “You have me out here stoned in a cemetery at night. I knew you were trouble.”
“You’re the one who brought the weed.”
Fair point. “I could’ve done without the added creep factor of the fog.”
“Do you want a piggyback ride, so they don’t grab your feet?”
“You’re an awful person for putting that image in my head.”
His laughter fills the air, bringing a smile to my face. Once we make it to his front yard, I pause. “I want to clarify this isn’t a ‘Hey baby, want to come back to my place?’ mating call.”
He looks me in the eye, the moonlight shining over his features, making the white patches on his face seem to glow. “That wasn’t my intention at all. You’re welcome to come in but if you aren’t comfortable with that, I’ll bring you a Coke and we can sit out here.” His soft expression is reassuring.
“I’ll come in with you. Just making sure there wasn’t any misunderstanding. Let’s go grab the donuts first.”
He accompanies me to my cabin, ducking a little to get through the doorway. The healing scrape on his forehead shows how often the poor guy must hit his head on things. My ceilings give him a few inches of clearance, thank goodness, but he appears almost comically large in my tiny kitchen.
“You have a nice place,” he remarks as I retrieve the box of donuts from the table.
“Thank you. Most of the furniture was left by the last tenants.”
“My house was furnished when I bought it. I kept a lot and replaced what I didn’t like. You knit?” he asks, noting the yarn and hooks lying on one end of my couch as we walk back through my living room.
“Ah, no. I’m trying to learn to crochet but I’ve just started.”
He picks up the blue lumpy misshapen blob and looks over at me with amusement. “It’s not a bad unicorn for a first try.”
“Thanks for that, but it’s a bunny. Or supposed to be. Look, the ears are hard, okay?” I defend with a giggle. He returns the monstrosity to the end table then follows me out to the porch. “Will you hold these for a sec?” I ask, handing him the donuts so I can lock the door. “The latch is fiddly and has to be lined up just right.” He carries the box as we walk back to his place.
Judging by the exterior, Arlow’s house is a bit smaller than most traditional farmhouses. It’s more modern with two stories, a new stone chimney, and a wraparound porch. A porch swing rocks slowly in the breeze on one end, past a sitting area with a table and chairs.
He opens the door and escorts me inside, turning on some lights as we go. The air is lightly scented, a pleasant mix of cedar and a spicier earthy smell. “Your place is beautiful,” I remark, admiring the hardwood floors, exposed beams, and impressive stone fireplace.
“Thank you. I had a lot of renovations done before moving in.”
We get to the end of a hallway that opens into his kitchen, and he places the donuts on the table, then opens his fridge to pull out two bottles of Coke. Five small jars of honey sit on his counter, labeled in marker.
“Are you a honey addict?” I tease as he hands me a drink.
“It’s from my apiary.”
“You’re a beekeeper?” We sit across from one another at his table.
“I have a few hives on the far northwest side of the property.”
“I didn’t trespass far enough to see them, I guess.” I open the box of donuts and slide it toward him as he sets a few napkins between us.
“You aren’t allergic to bees, are you?” he asks with concern.
“No, not at all.”
His smile is hesitant, almost shy. “I’d be happy to introduce you if you’d like to meet the bees sometime.”
Meet his bees? How can a man as physically intimidating as him be so adorable at the same time? It’s the only description that fits him at this moment. “I’d love to meet your bees. Do you have one of those suits?”
He swallows a bite of the apple fritter and nods. “I have an extra one.”
It strikes me how strange things work out sometimes, how much has changed for me in such a short time. Not three years ago, I was working two terrible jobs and was absolutely miserable. Six months ago, I was a total recluse, hiding from two crazy psychopaths. Now I’m free, sitting at a table with an intriguing new friend, stoned, and eating donuts at midnight.
We devour two donuts each, still talking and getting to know each other. By the time I head home with the jar of honey he insisted I take, most of my reservations and suspicions about him have been alleviated. He isn’t creepy or dangerous. I’ve known dangerous men.
He’s different, soft spoken and funny, but his smiles seem so hesitant and fade quickly. Shyness or sadness? I don’t know, but there’s something about him that’s attractive in a way I can’t place. The quiet way he conducts himself, his easygoing demeanor. It’s as calming as his voice, and as I drift off to sleep, I realize that my edgy day was turned around the moment he showed up.