Bonnie
Chapter Five
I left.
Not forever, not yet, but I needed to take a step in the direction of freedom, and the ad I’d seen for The Coop made me wonder if my hobby might not be a marketable skill.
I had no delusions that it might make me wealthy, but I’d learned to live on little from my earliest days, so perhaps my backlog of miniatures might help me to get started.
Once, while exploring the shed behind the cabin, I had found a bicycle tucked away, but after riding it up and down the track by our home often enough to gain confidence, I’d lost interest. Why ride…
nowhere? So, I’d shoved it back to the hoarder heaven and forgotten about it.
Until now. The Coop lay several miles away, and I had no money of my own for the bus, so the bicycle might provide an alternative.
Especially since it had a basket on the front where I could carry a box of my artworks to show to the owner of the store.
If they did not want to buy them from me, they might be persuaded to take them on consignment, an arrangement that could be of benefit to us both.
When I rolled the bicycle out, it did not look as good as I recalled.
The roof of the shed had collapsed in one corner, admitting rain and leaves and small rodents.
My wolf volunteered to eat them, but I didn’t have time for a shift just then.
So I pushed the cycle outside and returned into the shed for the pump I thought I’d remembered finding years before.
It was buried under the fallen section of shingles, but seemed otherwise in decent shape, so I dragged it out and returned to the bicycle to pump up its flattened tires.
Would they hold air for long enough? Anyone’s guess, but I crossed my fingers and set the pump in the basket.
Returning to the cabin, I willed a wooden box with a selection of my miniatures and carried them out to the bicycle, settled them in the basket, and, with a muttered prayer for Fate’s blessings, pedaled down the trail to the road.
I hadn’t left the forest since I could remember, and as I turned right onto the four-lane, my heart beat so hard, I felt as if it might burst. What would it be like to face other people?
What if I was just so weird, so different from anyone else because of my isolation that nobody could deal with me?
If I was going to live on my own, I would need to be able to get a job, to shop, and do all the things Marie did but never taught me to do.
Online exposure was not the same as pedaling a bike down a road with cars and trucks whizzing past, riding through two towns before reaching the one on my agenda.
My old clothes were not fashionable, but I did my best to keep them clean, to wash myself, and brush my hair every day.
I gained confidence as I rode, though. Nobody seemed to be staring or wondering why I was out among the rest of them, and by the time I reached the town that held The Coop, I had a plan in place to speak to the owner and be very professional.
I would show them my artworks, ask if they were interested in a collab or a purchase, and see what they said.
If it was a no, I would consider an alternative plan.
It felt very strange not to be surrounded by trees, but I rather liked being able to see more than a few yards in any direction.
It was freeing, and my spirits lifted. When Marie had been telling me my story, part of me regretted asking.
But with the wind in my hair and the world around me, I didn’t feel that way anymore.
Twice along the way, I had to stop and pump the tires up again, but I didn’t mind too much.
I slowed down as I pedaled through the town, watching for the shop.
The map I’d looked at online had gotten me this far, but I hadn’t looked at the street view to see precisely where it lay.
Fortunately the town’s size made it pretty hard to miss, and I soon pulled up in front of the shop.
Popping the kickstand down, I took a deep breath and tried to be calm.
I’d already done the hard part by leaving the forest, right?
How hard could it be to speak to the shop owner or manager, show them what I had, ask if they were interested… Hi. My name is Bonnie and I wonder if you would like to see some of my handmade items?
Lifting the box, I started for the door.
It didn’t look like a fancy store, but the front was neat and clean, the porch swept, and two planter boxes filled with spring blooms flanked the door.
It was so much nicer than the hovel I’d grown up in, and I was prepared to really like the omega who ran it.
I stepped inside, the door opening on silent hinges.
Also, something that never would have happened at our cabin where the door squealed.
As a result, the three alphas at the counter never turned at my entrance.
I’d really expected an omega to be working here, having been told it was the type of work an omega did.
But the trio were discussing hurrying to get the shop closed so they could head out for their dinner.
They were going to a Chinese buffet and it was all you can eat.
These big, muscular guys looked like they could shut the place down if they had all they could eat.
I froze, standing there while they talked about their dinner, but I knew the moment they scented me—that I came onto their radar. Suddenly all three were looking at me, asking if I needed any help while I shuffled away until my back came up against the door. My mouth moved, but nothing came out.
Then one of them pointed to the box I’d forgotten I was holding. “Are you interested in consigning something?”
Nodding, I took a few hesitant steps to the counter. They loomed over me, so I should maybe have been scared, but I felt safe…somehow.