Hemlock Veils (13 page)

“You have me all figured out, don’t you?” Mr. Clayton said before entering his car. Arne stood there a moment, slightly dumfounded. “Let’s go,” Mr. Clayton added impatiently, and Arne closed the door, moving to the front of the vehicle. He gave her a nod and a slight smile then he too was in the car. Her feet stayed planted while they drove away, and she tried analyzing whether it had been offense or grief in Mr. Clayton’s eyes. Perhaps both. Perhaps she’d struck a chord.

***

Henry and Arne weren’t even off Clayton Road before Henry loosened his tie and slipped it over his head, throwing it on the seat next to him. He ran a hand over his face then through his hair, and undid the top button of his shirt. Beneath it, he perspired. Amidst an irritated sigh, he found Arne’s eyes in the rearview mirror. And judging by the crow’s-feet in their corners, they were smiling.

“I like her,” Arne said, moving his attention ahead as he turned right onto Road Thirty-Two.

“Just drive,” Henry replied, clipped.

“And you do, too.”

Henry met his eyes in the rearview again. “Don’t.”

“The act may as well be over, Henry.”

“The act will never be over.” He felt Ms. Ashton’s presence in Hemlock Veils breaking him down, piece by piece. He felt himself losing it. He felt the way his soul had shrunk the moment she called him out, the way it had already began shrinking the moment he’d called
her
out.

How it continued to shrink still.

“She’s…very intuitive, isn’t she?”

The forest flew by his window in a blur of green. His glazed eyes refused to blink. “That’s why she has to leave.”

“Or why she should stay. She could be—”

“No.” Henry closed his eyes, willing himself to forget about her, and how she seemed to know everything without knowing anything at all. The way her green eyes had been filled with only awe the first time he’d looked into them, and how when he had, she seemed to understand. He clenched his hand into a fist, heat flowing to his every extremity.

“She didn’t deserve that, Henry.”

“Arne, please,” he begged, tiredly. “I don’t want to talk about Ms. Ashton. Not now, not ever. It doesn’t matter what she is or what she knows; she will be gone soon, and things can finally resume as normal.”

Arne sighed, and the set of his eyes in the rearview was somber. “That is exactly the problem.”

Chapter 9

Over a day had passed since Elizabeth’s encounter with the bitterest man this side of the universe. The most she’d seen of Mr. Clayton was when walking from the diner to her motel room yesterday evening before sundown—after she’d just eaten the best club melt she’d ever tasted. And she didn’t even see
him,
just his streamlined Maybach flying by on Clayton Road, back toward the mansion. She’d been tempted to throw something at it.

Really, it was easy avoiding him, since the only time he made appearances was at the diner first thing in the morning. Today she’d simply waited until after he was gone to mingle with the public of Hemlock Veils.

She hadn’t even given into her curiosity and looked into the forest last night. The last thing she wanted was Mr. Clayton to have more fuel, and that’s exactly what her curiosity of the forest was: fuel to the fire of his unfair hatred. Instead, she had closed the curtain in the motel room and watched the old box television, turning up the volume every time she was tempted, just to distract herself.

She still hadn’t gained the courage to tell anyone of her desire to stay, not even Regina. She was waiting for the right time. Perhaps the right time would never come.

Perhaps she was crazy for having a desire to stay in the first place.

But now, walking toward Brian’s shop, it was down to the wire. It had to be today.

A light mist wetted the late afternoon air of her third day in Hemlock Veils, covering everything with a beautiful shimmer. The town dwelled within clouds as though constructed in the sky, and even with her nerves in knots, she’d never felt so removed from Earth. Brian had called only minutes before to announce her car was ready, and now, with a hood over her head, she wished she could stall it.

He waited out front like he had the other day, wiping his hands on that same greasy rag and flipping it over his shoulder. No sign hung from the office door or even from his garage, but she supposed he didn’t need one in this town. He leaned against the bricks between the glass door and the open garage, the blue paint flaking. The drizzle didn’t seem to bother him, and beads of water collected on the tips of his disheveled hair, looking more like sweat after a hard workout.

“I was tempted to loosen a bolt or a belt, just so you would have an excuse to stay longer,” he said when she reached him.

“Well, thank you for
not
.”

His eyes looked her over, slowly. He gave a slight grunt and shook his head. “As much as I love seeing you in the rain, let’s get inside.”

He turned before he could see her grit her teeth—not that it would have affected him. She followed him inside and found a small counter, painted the same blue as the exterior wall and flaking just as ferociously. Old license plates, hubcaps, and a
No Parking
sign decorated the wall behind it. Only three metal chairs made up the waiting area, but there probably wasn’t much waiting that took place in here. The air reeked—pleasantly, she would admit—of motor oil and rubber tires.

Two invoices lay on the counter, and she looked them over. One matched the other, with the exception of
Customer Copy
at the top of the first, and
Seller Copy
at the top of the second; on the bottom of the seller copy was a signature line. The invoices listed details about the alternator, like the model number and brand, and the amount of labor performed. The total was the exact amount they had previously discussed, and the professionalism impressed her. A black Bic pen with no lid lay on the counter next to the invoices and she picked it up. Just when she was about to sign his copy, he snatched it.

She couldn’t tell what brewed in the eyes watching her. Was it an attempt at seduction? “Before you do,” he finally said, “I’m giving you one last chance to take the other deal.” In this light, his eyes looked more gray than blue, like the sky. A flicker of lightning filled the window behind him and she waited for the following thunder, but it never came. “I could tear this up and that two-fifty could stay snug in your wallet.”

Sighing, she placed her hands on the counter. “Brian, let me sign.”

“I like you, Beth.”

“And…you’re a nice guy. A nice mechanic whom I will pay—with
money
—for your services, because we have a professional relationship.”

He also sighed, slouching. “Okay, then pay me the money. Let’s leave work out of this. We can be strictly lovers tonight if that’s what you—”

She snatched the paper from his hand and signed a sloppy signature at the bottom of the invoice. From her wallet, she pulled two hundred-dollar bills and a fifty, the ones she’d set aside, slammed them down on top of the invoice, and threw the pen beside them. “Key,” she insisted, holding out her hand.

He reached below the counter and took her key from a hook. With a reluctant hand, he gave it to her. “I guess that’s a no.”

“It’s a never.”

“Really,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She opened the door and rain fell furiously. “Then I guess I won’t mourn it, will I?”

***

The sun was setting when Elizabeth walked into the diner, shoulders high and abdomen aflutter. The Maybach had driven past only minutes before, and if she was to make a move it needed to be now, before Mr. Clayton tried pushing her out of town himself. But seeing the car had reminded her of the peculiar pain in his eyes. She’d called him an asshole, nothing more—something he’d probably been called before. So why did it feel worse? What it came down to was no matter how much fire he brought out in her, or how much he deserved her insult, the sight of his car triggered her guilt. She found it triggered now, amidst her desire to stay in
his
town.

A bigger crowd than she’d expected mingled in the diner; even Sheppy, the Thurmans, and Doctor Ortiz—whom she’d met only once—occupied the booths. She could almost taste the aroma of salty fries. Brian, who still wore his mechanic coveralls, did a double-take when he saw her, then waved her over.

She took a deep breath as she approached. He sat on a stool and Nicole and Regina stood next to him, an empty coffee pot in Regina’s hand and a sour look on Nicole’s face—a look that hadn’t appeared until Elizabeth walked through the door. Aside from Nicole and Taggart, who took large bites of a hamburger, everyone gave their friendly nods—even Deputy Holman, who sat with Taggart and whom Elizabeth hadn’t seen since her first night here. His skin was only slightly lighter than Regina’s, but his frame was slender and tall, and silver sprinkled his short, black hair. She gave everyone, including him, a smile and a hello.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Brian said, smiling as usual. She admitted it wasn’t a bad smile.

“She wouldn’t leave without giving a proper goodbye,” Regina said, ushering her to the stool beside Brian. “What can I get you tonight, honey? Dinner?”

“Nothing now. I’m not very hungry.”

“Coffee then?”

Elizabeth tried not to grimace. “No, thank you.”

“So,” Nicole said, smiling. It appeared hard for her to do. “When you leaving, Beth?”

Elizabeth looked at her hands, which were interlocked on the countertop marbled with gold swirls. “I’m…not sure.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” Bill Thurman said from behind. He and Anita smiled so generously she almost gained the courage to blurt out her plans right then.

“Thank you. You’ve all been so generous.”

“I didn’t think you
wanted
to stay,” Brian said. “I thought you hated it here.”

“On the contrary, actually.”

“I just assumed. With what happened to you, and how you treat
me
like the plague…”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Well, there are negatives to everywhere, aren’t there?”

He chuckled too, nudging her, and she thought she should probably stop being so friendly before he got the wrong idea. Though she’d been joking, she definitely viewed Brian’s attempt to sleep with her as a downside to Hemlock Veils. But worse of a downside was Mr. Clayton, and all his rules. Still, even with those weighting factors, and even with her guilt at how she’d lashed out at the man, she needed this place. Really, she just realized with anxious humility, she needed these people.

“You like it here?” Nicole asked, her brow and voice incredulous.

“I really do.”

Nicole shook her head at the same time Taggart spoke. “She almost dies and now she wants to stay.” The smile on his face almost surprised her. He finished his food and pushed the plastic basket lined with greasy paper away, wiping his hands on his napkin. Holman was finished as well, fingers interlaced before him as he rested casually on his elbows. Both wore their uniforms, tan and boring.

Regina touched her arm. “I need a smoke break,” she said. “Take a walk with me.”

They went outside but stayed beneath the awning, since rain still poured. It ran off the canopy, trapping them behind a waterfall. Regina lit up, then placed her free hand in the pocket of her purple sweater and closed it more tightly against her wide, curvy figure. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Elizabeth only looked at her.

“You’re thinking of staying, aren’t you?” She barely gave Elizabeth time to nod. “Not that I’m opposed to the idea, but why?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it, but…” Through the waterfall, street lights reflected off the silver sidewalk, pockmarked with a thousand raindrops. “I feel pulled here. It feels like…home.”

Regina studied her eyes. “You ain’t got family to go back to?”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“Is that true what Mr. Clayton said about your father and brother yesterday?”

“Yes.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” She freed her hand from her pocket to rub Elizabeth’s shoulder. “My condolences.”

“Thank you. I’ve just never had a place I could call my own, since I was always taking care of them. And not that I regret it or wish it didn’t happen that way, I just…This is the first place I’ve been that feels like…me.” She looked to her feet, shrugging into her jacket. It was almost cold enough to see her breath. “I know, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Regina countered, in a voice so soft Elizabeth wasn’t sure it was hers. “You make it happen then. If this place feels as special to you as it does to most us folks, then you make it your home.”

Elizabeth’s heart warmed, but she smiled only briefly since she knew what would follow.

“What would you do out here, get a job with Doc Ortiz? I’m sure he’d be happy to give you an interview.”

“Actually, I was thinking something else.” She took a deep breath. “This is where I need an okay from you, because I would never do something that would jeopardize the livelihood of anyone in this town, especially you. So, unless I have your permission…”

“What is it?”

“When I worked for Frank Vanderzee, the man Mr. Clayton mentioned, my favorite part of the job was utilizing his kitchen. I cooked mostly, but what I really loved was baking. I was good, Regina. Even Mr. Vanderzee, who never gave his approval of anything, loved it. But there was one thing above that, one thing I mastered to perfection.”

Regina gave a hopeful, teasing smile. “Coffee?”

When Elizabeth nodded, Regina displayed a look of pleasant shock. “Really, it’s the only accomplishment I pride myself on, as small as it is—even more than my decent baking. I
can
say it’s perfect because I spent so many hours, and so much of Mr. Vanderzee’s money, on getting it that way. It wasn’t until afterward I realized how much I loved the process. Ever since then, it’s always been my dream to own a little coffeehouse or bakery of some sort. And what better place to do that?”