Chapter 12
The week flies by as Lark and I settle into a routine. We have breakfast with Saffron, and then we walk to school before I head to the library. I have lunch with Arlo a few times. I tried to break off our date, but he just scoffed.
Scoffed.
Eventually, he told me it was just a hike, not a date, and to chill.
I did, but it didn’t change the fact that I felt horrible about it, especially knowing how much Bloom adores him.
Loves him. We should have talked about it, but I felt weird and I’m not always the best at confrontation, choosing instead to ignore it.
Slowly and steadily, the library comes together. Ms. Aberdeen watches me from the shadows with a skeptical eye while taking pictures and sending them back to her mysterious son.
I have a running tab with all the shops in the town now, digging myself a hole I might never get out of. People weren’t wrong when they said small towns drag you in with claws and you can never get out.
Luckily, I get paid next week, and my brother mailed me his credit card.
That’s when I realized there was a post office on the other side of town and the truck delivers mail once a week.
It’s slower than molasses, and I’m from the South, so by the time the card gets here, I’ll have some kind of money.
Which I’ll have to get cashed at the local bank, which means I have to open an account.
For having a time limit, I sure am growing roots in a place I don’t plan on remaining in. The whole situation is a hot mess. Which is why today, Saturday, Lark and I are heading out for brunch before Arlo picks me up for our non-date hike.
There aren’t many restaurant options, so we end up back at Dee-Dee’s in a corner booth while Darcy pours us coffee and leaves the pot. Smart girl, she caught on quick.
Between the two of us, we ordered enough pancakes to carb up for a marathon, which we’d never do because…running.
“How was your week?” I question my syrup faced spawn.
Her food filled smile never dims until she speaks and breaks my little heart. “Torrie wants to go to the pond today to go skating. C an I go? She has an extra pair of ice skates.”
“Is it even cold enough to do that?”
“It isn’t.” Darcy cocks her hip out. “January. Never before. Torrie knows this. I’m going to go call her mom.” Our server stalks off with purpose, leaving horror etched on Lark’s face.
“I am not a tattletale!” she yells at Darcy’s back, which she ignores with a wave of a purple nailed hand.
“No, you aren’t, but…” I point my syrupy fork at her. “If it isn’t cold enough to go ice skating, then that situation could have ended badly. Like you two falling in the pond badly.”
“I know.”
I give her my perfected mom look, the one that screams that she knew better, and she obviously did if she voices that concern out loud. “Then why did you think it would be okay?” It isn’t like her, and that concerns me just a bit.
Her head droops, and she swirls her fork around her plate, spreading syrup. I let it go and just wait her out, knowing she will cave. “I wanted to make friends.”
“Lark, a loyal friend won’t request for you to do something dangerous that could affect your life in a permanent way.” I wince as I say the words, because I’ve heard some strange stories in the past about how friends purposely do just that, and it’s their thing.
She nods, but I’m not sure she understands. I’ll have to ask Arlo about Torrie later and make sure her parents are aware of what she asked of Lark. I’m sure it wasn’t due to any malicious intent.
“All right.” She sounds so defeated that a part of me wants to relent and allow her to go have fun and make mistakes, but she needs to understand that dangerous mistakes can cost her, her life, and that isn’t a bet I’m willing to take. “What am I supposed to do today?”
“What about that graveyard tour with Saffron?” I know I said the right thing because her eyes light up, and the sun hits her brown irises just right, so they sparkle. All thoughts of ice skating on the pond vanish.
“That’s a great idea.” Grabbing her orange juice, she chugs it while bouncing in her seat.
All things weird and creepy, and my girl is there. I’ve never been prouder than this moment. “Slow down there.”
“Mom,” she groans, setting her juice on the table with a clack.
“Here ya go, ladies.” Darcy places the check down—I swear the woman has uncanny timing—with a box of what smells like pastries. “For your date.” She winks at me before I can even reply to her.
“Date?” Lark questions.
Twelve years, and the only man I ever got close to was Eric, but he was just a friend. I’ve never dated, because at the end of the day, my sole concern was this beautiful creature in front of me. Not a guy.
Lark looks at me with a pleased smile, and I don’t know how to process that, even as nervous butterflies fill my stomach.
“It isn’t a date,” I hiss.
This time, she gives me that knowing look. “Does he know that?”
“Yes, I told him a dozen times.” Flailing my hand around the diner, I turn back to her. “How do they know?”
“It’s Silent Spring’s superpower,” she teases me. T his funny, sarcastic child teases me, and I’m not even mad, because it is something I’d do as well.
“You aren’t wrong.” I throw some cash down and stand, keeping my head down as I try to avoid the stares of the other patrons—people I haven’t met yet. Currently, my head is crowded with all the people I’ve met, and it’s only been a week. How has it only been a week?
Outside, the crisp air tingles my nostrils as an icy chill settles in, even though it’s midday. I can scent snow looming on the breeze, hidden up in the heavy white clouds.
Lark’s laughter wraps me up in a hug as we make our way through the town and onto the busy street.
Today, vendors line the sidewalks like a market.
A food truck is parked at the far end of town with a small pop-up table for people to eat.
Bloom has a flower stand outside, while the bakery beside her has baskets full of bread.
My imagination runs wild with the beauty of the town in the spring and summer months, when it isn’t too cold to walk outside. Yet I recall what Arlo said about the town and Christmas. Some of the store owners stand on ladders as they hang lights from their shops and the trees that line the walkway.
“Mom.” Lark’s hand slips into mine as we head past the closed garage.
I can’t help but wonder where Arlo is and if he is already at his mom’s preparing for our non-date. “Yeah, kiddo?”
“What do you think the town will look like covered in lights?” I know what she’s asking—if it will really be as magical as Arlo claims. It’s a thought that has passed through my head on multiple occasions as well.
I don’t have an answer for her either. “I believe Arlo said we just have to see it to believe it.”
“Yes, but what do you think it will look like?” she presses, then on the same breath she continues, “Bread for dinner?”
“Yes, all the carbs.” Marching across the street once more, I think about her question. “Artisan, please.” I nod to the cherub-faced woman peddling carbs.
“French, and those sweet little dinner rolls,” Lark adds, slowly reducing our cash flow, but she’s so excited, I don’t question her.
“I’ll add it to your tab,” the bakery owner supplies with a dramatic wink.
I swear they all do that to keep me here. “Thanks.” Grabbing our bags, we hurry down the street toward the covered bridge as I gather my words. “Like those postcards.”
“What postcard?” Unable to wait until dinner, Lark pulls out a sweet roll and bites into it with a happy sigh. The hunger of a preteen is real and mind-blowing.
“You know, like the ones Robin sent when he was in Germany or Sweden.” Little towns with cobblestone streets like in the square here, lit up with lights with a mountain in the background. I can almost see it. Turning around, I walk backwards before pausing, because I’m just not that coordinated.
“Like the ones with the little villages?” Lark asks around a mouthful of food, turning to look back at the town.
The mountain looms in the distance, and the big pine tree in the middle of the square rises high with its turning leaves. I can just see it, the lights, and maybe even a carriage ride.
I nod in answer to her question. “Do you think there will be horses?”
“The ones with the fancy tails?” She looks at me in horror. “I’ve never seen a horse.”
“In person? Nor have I. Do they put lights on horses?”
“That’s a terrible question.” She bites into the roll once more, and then we carry on down the road, the covered bridge rising before us.
“I hope they put lights on the bridge.” A thought strikes me, and I hop up and down. “That would be the perfect postcard. The covered bridge lit up with a horse and sleigh coming through. Uncle Robin would love that.”
“You know…” s he begins, and I already know what she’s going to say before she says it. “Uncle Robin will love it here when he visits for Thanksgiving.”
“No one here talks about Thanksgiving,” I hiss. “It’s a conspiracy.”
“It’s my favorite meal of the year. I refuse to not have Thanksgiving.” Her tone takes on a hard edge I know so well because it comes out of my voice box daily.
“I agree. How about this? When we get back to the house, we’ll ask Saffron about the whole Thanksgiving issue.” I point to the house as we pass Autumn’s closed pub. Usually, she opens late afternoon, not that I was stalking her or anything. Because I wasn’t.
I just want to avoid her.
“There she is.” Lark points to the cemetery, where Saffron slowly walks with a long black veil over her head.
“The whole mourning widow situation disturbs me.”
“She is a widow,” Lark points out as we ascend the steps.
I wince at my word vomit as we head inside, where the blast of heat confuses my body. My legs turn all tingly, and I become tempted to consume whatever pastry lies inside this Styrofoam container.
I resist, though, because I have incredible self-control like that.