Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Cassie
I expect to be woken up at the crack of dawn to help with morning chores, but to my surprise, I’m allowed to sleep in until breakfast. The smell of cooked bacon draws me out of bed, and I dress quickly in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
There’s no sense in getting dolled up if I’m going to get dirty and sweaty, and I’m not keen on ruining any of my good clothes.
After breakfast, I figure we’ll head out to the barn to start filling troughs, but Madelyn shakes her head adamantly when I ask.
“Poppa’s handling it today,” she explains. “I’m going to show you around town, and we’re going to pick up some things from the market.”
After psyching myself up all morning for physical labor, the news is a welcome relief. I’m not looking forward to being gawked at by the townspeople or the prospect of introducing myself to countless strangers, but it beats farm work, that’s for sure.
Besides, they’re bound to stare anyway. I might as well get it out of the way.
“We can take my truck,” she says, holding up her keys with a pink pompom keychain.
“A truck?” I don’t recall seeing one yesterday, but I was probably too overwhelmed to pay much attention.
“It’s parked out back.” She grins. “We could take your car, but—”
I shake my head. “No, no. Your truck is fine. I’ll just grab my jacket.”
After rummaging through my room to find where I abandoned my hoodie, I grab my cell phone and wallet in case I decide to buy anything while we’re in town. I don’t have a ton of savings, but it’s enough to get by and treat myself every now and then.
Luckily, my aunt and uncle are letting me stay in exchange for helping around the farm, but I might have to break down and find a job eventually to cover other expenses.
Not that there are many options for work around here. And I doubt many, if any, are looking for a bartender.
By the time I make it to the porch, Maddie is pulling a shiny red pickup truck around the side of the house. It rolls to a stop near the steps, and she waves for me to join her.
“This is nice,” I say as I climb into the passenger seat. It has black leather interior with shining silver details. Much nicer than my beat-up Honda.
“Thanks. It was my graduation present.”
Even though I’ve only been out of school for two years, it feels like forever since I walked across the stage for my diploma.
It was a string of luck that led to buying my first car, the one my ex crashed into an oak tree, and if it hadn’t been for the insurance payout, I wouldn’t even have one now.
Madelyn’s lucky. I hope she’ll never know how hard it is to struggle for the things she needs or how it feels to rarely get the things she wants.
“Are you okay?” she asks as we roll down the dirt driveway and head toward town.
“I’m fine.” It’s not the whole truth, but having a heartfelt conversation while driving down old country roads is too reminiscent of a cliché for me to handle. “Just thinking. It’s very different out here.”
“That it is.” She nods in agreement. “You get used to it, though. It’s not as busy, I’m sure, but it’s nice living out here.”
“Does it ever creep you out?” I ask, focusing on the tingle teasing my body.
I don’t feel it when I’m distracted, but as soon as I think about it, the strangeness comes creeping back under my skin.
It’s almost like the feeling of being watched, but there’s clearly no one nearby to see us.
There’s nothing in any direction for miles, so that can’t be it.
“Like you get a weird feeling you can’t shake. ”
I expect her to dismiss my worries, to assure me there’s nothing to be afraid of, but she hesitates.
Her eyes are focused on the road ahead, and she works the corner of her mouth between her teeth.
Something in my gut tells me she knows exactly what I'm talking about, but I don’t know if she’ll admit it.
Maybe she doesn’t want to scare me. Maybe it’s something she can’t put into words.
Finally, after a long minute, she answers.
“Sometimes,” she says. “It’s easy to feel small when you’re in such a big place. It’s like being an ant in a huge world, and even though you try to figure everything out, there are still secrets you don’t understand.”
Cryptic. I cock an eyebrow in her direction.
The answer doesn’t sound like her, which only makes me more curious about what she’s not telling me. Is there something I should be worried about? Am I misjudging the curious feeling for something else?
I decide to change the subject for now and bring it up later, after we’ve had time to catch up. Maybe if we spend some time together, she’ll let slip what’s actually on her mind.
“So have you thought about college?” I ask the first thing I think of.
Her expression immediately shifts, the corner of her mouth curling upward.
She’s clearly relieved by the new topic, launching into an explanation of how she’s taking a year off to help on the farm and that she might start veterinary classes next fall.
I bob my head while she talks to show that I’m listening, even though her eyes remain glued straight ahead.
When we roll into town, she’s chipper again.
The first place we stop is the grocery store, or what Maddie calls the market.
It looks just like any of the small grocers back home, with everything from fresh fruit to canned goods lining the tall shelves.
After that, we walk across the street to the butcher, where we pick up several pounds of meat and carry them in a cooler back to the truck.
Lastly, before we head back to the house, we stop by a little diner for ice cream.
“You have to try Lucinda’s milkshakes,” Madelyn brags as we take a seat in a small corner booth. The seats are so worn that the material is splitting, and a corner of the glass tabletop is chipped and covered with duct tape. “They’re the best you’ll ever have.”
I highly doubt anything will top the gourmet milkshakes from a restaurant called Ice Box back home, but I don’t bring it up. If Madelyn is this excited, I don’t plan to argue. I might even let her believe she’s right.
An older woman in a knee-length yellow dress and a flowered apron saunters up, a notepad and a pen in hand.
“Good mornin’, Maddie,” she says with a grin, peering over the edge of her small, round spectacles. “Or should I say afternoon?”
“Hey, Mrs. Lucinda. This is my cousin, Cassie.” Madelyn jerks her thumb in my direction. I smile awkwardly, but she doesn’t slow down long enough for me to speak. “She’s staying with us for a while, and she wanted to try the world’s best milkshake.”
The lie makes the old woman giggle, and she nods her head. “Two milkshakes, coming right up. Would you like a slice of apple pie?”
Madelyn nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please.”
Lucinda turns and looks at me. “And for you, honey?”
“No, thank you, I’m—”
“Yes ma’am! Bring her a piece too,” Madelyn cuts in rudely, a sickly-sweet smile on her face.
I get the whole southern hospitality thing, but I don’t even like apples.
“What the hell?” I hiss when Lucinda is out of earshot, headed through a swinging door to the kitchen.
“You don’t have to eat it,” she mutters under her breath. “I’ll take it home to Momma, but you can’t turn down Mrs. Lucinda’s pie.”
“Sure you can,” I argue, my brows knitting together in confusion. I keep my voice low to avoid unwanted attention. “You just say no. It’s not a big deal.”
Madelyn shakes her head slowly without breaking eye contact, and my temper flares. Why is she being so stubborn?
“You can’t just say no,” she whispers, leaning further over the table. “It’s rule number one of living in Cold Springs.”
Now I’m just annoyed, growing more irritated the longer this conversation drags on. It’s so silly, and it boggles my mind that people can be so afraid of hurting someone’s feelings that they’ve made it into a town rule.
A town rule. The thought is laughable.
“I know you don’t understand,” she goes on, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I understand plenty—this place is obviously just as nutty as I thought—but I let her speak. “There are three rules that everyone here knows to follow. No one ever breaks them.”
I’m reluctant to ask what the other two are, worried they’ll be just as crazy as not turning down apple pie, but my curiosity is piqued.
“What’s the second rule?”
Maddie’s eyes flick toward the kitchen door for any sign of Lucinda before she answers.
“Don’t be in town before noon on Sundays,” she says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Admittedly, that one makes a little more sense, especially if the people here go to church on Sunday mornings. Not my cup of tea though.
“And the third?” I ask, feeling a little more optimistic. Maybe the apple pie rule is the only crazy one after all.
This time, Madelyn blanches, the color quickly fading from her cheeks. She swallows hard, her eyes darting toward the kitchen again before she leans even further over the table, nearly laying on top of it.
Her voice drops so low, I can hardly make out what she’s saying, so I wind up leaning forward until our foreheads almost touch.
“I’m only going to say this once, but the third rule is the most important.” She clears her throat and barrels on. “Never, under any circumstance, engage with the Watcher.”
Nope, we’re clearly back to crazy.
“The who?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but at that moment, Mrs. Lucinda appears in the doorway and wobbles over to the table, carrying a red tray with our food.
“Here you go, girls. Enjoy!”