Chapter 12 #3
I plopped down on the steps into the building since no one was around and the place wasn’t open.
I wouldn’t likely be in anybody’s way if I used the steps to sit on while I drank my latte and ate my muffin.
Besides, there was a trashcan right outside the front door that I could utilize when I was done.
So, I ate my muffin and sipped my coffee—both of which were possibly the best I’d ever had in my entire life.
Not only was the muffin the fluffiest, lightest cake I’d ever eaten in my life, the sugary, cinnamon-y topping crackled as I chewed, the perfect crispy contrast to the cake.
The brightest, freshest blueberries exploded with sweet juice, filling my mouth with the taste of summer.
As a more than welcome surprise, a light, airy cream cheese icing filling tunneled down through the center of the cake.
Even in all of the big cities I’d visited, I’d never had a muffin as exceptional.
That could be another reason for the name “Possibly.” I thought to myself.
I was able to keep an eye on Levi Lee and watch him work on his robot routine.
He was practicing opening the doors for patrons who came and went from Starbuck’s.
He was still not quite robotic, but he was doing well enough.
Wyatt’s gun went off in the distance—somewhere back by the graveyard, I thought.
Emily’s name got screamed loudly for all to hear, then the splashing of water in the distance sounded.
I ate my muffin and sipped my coffee and tried not to read too much into the crazy behavior of the strange people of Possibly.
If I tried to analyze what was going on with everyone to make them so weird, I’d fry my brain.
Grandy was probably sitting outside of his gas station, wondering why birds fly south for the winter and don’t send letters back home or something.
Sofia was probably mooning over the letters to Shirlene that she had tacked up on the wall of the post office.
Since I could hear the pickaxe on Liberty Lane, I assumed the road destroyer and the cop were up to their usual shenanigans.
And I Only Want to Be with You by Dusty Springfield sounded from almost every direction. That was the sound of Possibly, Texas:
Thwack!
Clang!
Bang!
Dusty Springfield.
Starbuck’s door squeaking.
Emmmmmileeeeeee!
Sploosh!
Thwack!
Clang!
Dusty Springfield.
Starbuck’s door squeaking.
The crinkle of my paper bag being wadded up and the slurping of my lips getting the last of the delicious latte out of the cup added to the music of the town.
The downtown area was so small that almost anything anyone did that was above a normal speaking voice could be heard all over town.
So, everyone in the downtown area contributed to the rhythm and sound of their hometown.
It dawned on me that the one thing I didn’t hear—even though there were so many sounds—was chaos.
The town did have a rhythm and a structure to its sound.
It wasn’t random or wild. It was almost like one note being played after another, just each note was slightly different than the previous.
But if you sat still and listened carefully, you could pick up the rhythm in your head.
Tap your foot along to it if you wanted to do so.
Shaking my head to get rid of such a weird thought, I tossed my wadded-up paper bag into the trash, then sent the paper coffee cup following after.
Since I’d had a coffee and a treat from Starbuck’s—as freaking delicious as they were—listened to Dusty Springfield, saw Liberty Lane’s rainbow walkway, talked to Levi Lee, heard Wyatt’s gunshots, and sat outside The Pueblo, I’d done just about everything I could do in downtown Possibly.
It dawned on me that there were a few buildings I hadn’t checked out—and then there was the strange woman in the tent across from The Pueblo—which was, luckily, opened on the side facing away from me.
However, none of them really struck my interest.
Visiting the barn up the creek entered my mind again. However, since I knew that a person actually lived in it, I felt it might be weird to walk up, knock on the door, and ask about their personal business.
I’m sorry, sir and/or madam, but can you tell me what you’re doing at midnight around here?
Anyone reasonable would slam the door in my face.
After calling me a weirdo or something. The last thing I wanted was for someone to label me a weirdo in a town like Possibly.
I couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing.
Unless, of course, you were labelled a weirdo because your pants and underwear fell down to your ankles while walking through town, or something.
Instead of making myself a nuisance to the family in the barn, my mind was pulled in another direction.
When a small breeze kicked up in town, I heard the tinkling of the windchimes in the wooded down from Grandy’s again.
It was so faint up by The Pueblo that I almost missed it.
However, the breeze carried the sound enough that my ears caught their tinkling noise.
I rose from the steps of The Pueblo and dusted off the seat of my pants, then cut down the road towards the trail that led into the woods.
When I passed the weird miniature reddish-orange circus tent, I glanced over my shoulder at the open flaps.
The same lady in the dress, shawl, with mass of hair, was sitting at the barely illuminated table within.
When I looked over, my eyes landed on hers, and I realized she had been watching me.
She gave me a gentle wave and a smile, as though she knew me already.
Of course, she may have felt that since she’d seen me once before I was no longer a stranger?
I had to force myself to turn my head back around to watch where I was going so that I didn’t walk into a tree on my way to the trail.
Something in my gut fluttered at the thought of the lady in the tent, as though she seemed familiar but I couldn’t figure out why.
I pushed that thought out of my head as I strolled into the wooded area, my shoes kicking up dust on the path, just like they had on Two-Mile Trail the day I arrived in Possibly.
The tinkling of all of the windchimes ahead in the clearing sang out to me as I walked the trail, beckoning me closer.
Within a minute, I was coming to the end of the path that led out into the clearing.