Chapter 3
Three
HEIDI
This place was Hell.
No flames or pitchforks required.
Heidi was trapped just like Persephone, who was trying to run away from Hades and couldn’t get free.
That was her. Same thing, different people.
Fate might not be underground like the mythology played out, but it felt suffocating just the same.
Let me outta here before I’m stuck, she thought as she shoved a finger in her ear, shaking it deliberately because she couldn’t believe the words that woman just uttered to her.
Surely not - no one in the twenty-first century would ever utter those words aloud… would they?
“Excuse me – one more time,” Heidi started, slapping on a smarmy smile on her face as she met the woman’s eyes once more.
Maybe it was something in the water; hopefully, it wasn’t in the air, because she had no intention of sticking around long.
This place was like the LaBrea Tar Pits of Texas – it sucked you in, dragged you down, giving you the illusion of escape while it killed all your hopes and dreams slowly…
*ping*
Spot on accurate, she thought silently.
“Sweet Pea, I’ve got some rubber jellies and a pair of steel-toe work boots in your size, but that’s it,” the old woman smiled at her.
“Now, if you need some of them fancy Bush’s Baked Beans, or looking for some of Maw’s pickled okra, that I’ve got in spades.
Henry won’t get the next order in for another week or two and… ”
“Did you say, ‘pickled okra’?”
“Sure did – it’s the best thing besides her pickled eggs, now those are a gift from heaven and…”
“I’m good,” Heidi whispered, closing her eyes for a moment as her stomach revolted at the thought of pickled – eggs, okra, or anything else.
Honestly, how was this place real? She heard the bell on the door ring behind her and cringed, knowing it would be that smug officer who irked her so much.
There was something about him that was unsettling.
He watched her with a confidence and arrogance that rankled her nerves. “If you could point me to the ATM or…”
“We ain’t got no ATM…”
“Okay, I can do this,” she breathed, trying to control her panicked feelings as desperation crept into her voice. “If you can just tell me which store has one, I’ll hop barefoot if I have to…”
“Why, Jack,” the older woman scolded over Heidi’s shoulder, and she resisted the urge to turn and look at him. “Did you tell this poor thing that I had a working ATM? We all know it’s been down about six months…”
“Dottie – we talked about shoes, I promise.”
To Heidi’s horror, Jack walked over and picked up a pair of pink jelly sandals that had a woven network of crisscrosses across the panels just perfect for any unsuspecting pinky toe to spring free with zero warning.
She hated jelly shoes – they made her sweat, made noises when she walked, and she hadn’t owned a pair of them since she was ten years old, but just seeing them gave her pinky-toe PTSD.
What kind of place was this – no stores, no ATM, no cell phone signal… nothing.
“These should work fine for the moment,” Jack suggested, putting them on the counter and digging out his wallet. “Dottie, can you ring me up? We had a cowpie disaster and…”
“I thought you said it was a horse,” Heidi managed to strangle out. “And I can pay for my own instruments of plastic torture – thank you,” she hissed at him, digging her bankcard out of her purse and slapping it down on the counter as she glared at Jack. “I don’t need anything from you.”
Jack, infuriatingly, didn't even blink.
“Oh my…” Dottie gasped, her wrinkled hand covering her mouth as she stared at them in disbelief.
Nothing seemed to faze Jack, though – not guilt for throwing away her shoes, not her mounting frustrations, not this woman’s scandalized look that was irking Heidi…
nothing. “Child, it’s cash or check in these parts… ”
“What?” Heidi gaped, turning to stare at her. “Are you freakin’ kidding me? No ATM and I can’t use my debit card…”
“I’ve got it,” Jack cut her off, smiling at her, but his eyes were hardened. “Dottie, I threw this young lady’s shoe off to the side because it was disgraceful, so I aim to replace it for the time being until George arrives.”
Heidi stared at them in disbelief – before chuckling.
“Why, I do declare,” she mocked, delighting in the first thing that actually seemed almost painfully normal or modern.
This sweet old woman was straight out of one of those gossip-talk shows her mother used to watch.
“I thought you said your husband’s name was Henry – is George the lawn man or the pool boy?
Maybe it’s the milk man o’er here in this redneck heaven or… ”
“Stop,” Jack interrupted harshly, his voice cracking like a whip through the room as he stared her down.
“Stop whatever you’re about to say or imply.
George is the mobile mechanic who drives out here out of the goodness of his heart twice a month to change oil, replace tires, do small automotive repairs, and such – because we don’t have a mechanic’s shop here in Fate.
Dottie and Henry have been married fifty years next month – so don’t…
” his voice faded as their eyes met and Heidi swallowed in sudden understanding.
“I can handle whatever heat you throw my way – but nobody else, got me?”
Heidi looked at Dottie’s scandalized expression and reproachful gaze, making her feel about two inches tall. Her eyes slowly slid back to Officer Chance – Jack Chance – as she swallowed once more, his words sinking in.
No repair shop, no ATM, she couldn’t use her bank card… nothing.
She was stuck, trapped in this podunk town…
with him and a pair of pink jelly summer sandals that were dusty from sitting on the shelf for who-knows how long.
She didn’t look away from his eyes as something flicked in those hazel depths.
Her bravado wilted like spinach, and didn’t look away from his hazel eyes as he shifted, speaking to the other woman without looking away from her.
“Miss Dottie – when’s George coming into town again? I lost track of time.”
“Thursday, Jack. He’s coming in for the barbecue and square dancing over yonder at the church…”
“Oh my gosh,” Heidi whispered in horror, her eyes widening in alarm.
Today was Saturday – which meant she was stuck here or dependent on these people’s good graces for the next five days unless she called her mother in California to come get her, which would entail a ton of apologies and eating crow because of her ex-boyfriend… and she couldn’t call him.
No way, no how.
She was going to need to figure this out – somehow.
“I need to go back to my car,” Heidi began hoarsely. “I need my things and… no ATMs here, huh? I guess an Uber is out of the question too, then – isn’t it?”
“It is, and I apologize. I should have thought to have you bring your things,” he offered sincerely, nodding at her, and then turned away to pay for the shoes. “Dottie, can you make sure my friend stays here while I borrow the bathroom to wash my hands?”
“Of course,” the woman smiled at Heidi – and she tossed a weak smile back politely, her mind racing. “You go wash up, and I’m gonna get this poor girl something to eat. She’s plumb tuckered out and needs a bit of something to pep her up.”
Heidi winced as Jack chuckled again in the most irritating way, walking off toward the back of what could only be the equivalent of what you’d get if a gas station eloped with a grocery store – minus the gas pumps.
There was a cooler of cold drinks, a shelf with oil, oil filters, wiper blades, and jugs of coolant that had dust on them.
There was a rack of honey buns, bubble gum, and other bagged snacks…
and a few groceries. Bread, bags of sugar, canned vegetables, jars of stewed tomatoes, massive barrels of peanuts, pickles, and flour.
There was a cooler with lettuce, a few bags of potatoes, and a scale to weigh other items. Yes, this was straight out of small-town suburbia circa nineteen seventy…
and she was trapped in the middle of it.
“Here, Heidi – you eat this, and it will perk you right up,” Dottie was saying sweetly to her, and she put it blindly in her mouth, biting down – and hesitated.
It was crunchy, cold… and spicy! Swallowing it back, she gasped, hissed, and looked around for water – something from a bottle, not what was racing from her eyes and seeping from her forehead, as she broke out in an immediate sweat.
“Those are the best spicy okra pickles I’ve had across four counties, and I think the kick is from those nasty ghost peppers and mean habaneros she insists on growing.
I love to have one a day. It gets the ol’ ticker workin’ and clears the chute, if you get my drift,” Dottie was praising happily, moving to pat her on the back.
“Just chew it on down and breathe through it – the first bite is a shock.”
She was pretty sure this was what it felt like to French kiss a blowtorch as she waded around, blinded by tears, in her own helpless torture.
Every time she breathed in, the fire in her mouth burned hotter and hotter.
Her lips were numb, her nose was running, and she was pretty sure she was not only sweating on her scalp, forehead, underarms – but she was certain that her butt was sweating, not to mention drooling on herself too – in public.
Whatever was in those okra pickles was like inhaling tear gas or pepper spray – and not something she’d ever faced before.
Just before she could make a ‘I-Surrender-Sound’ to the older woman whom she’d made an immediate enemy of – she felt hands touch her face, steadying her, as something cold was shoved to her mouth.
“Drink.”