Oak Hollow, page 11
“Ah. I see.” This town might be stunning to look at, but it was without a doubt weird, like a lump of coal wrapped lavishly in fancy gift-wrap and a big, vivacious bow festooned on top. “So that church is abandoned?”
“Yep.”
A Godless town. Tracey shivered. She wished she hadn’t let that simile sprout in her head.
“That’s where Nick lives with his mom,” said Pamela. “Back behind the old church.”
“He lives back there?”
“Yeah…”
Tracey felt a twinge in her stomach. Why would he live so close to such a haunted-looking pustule? Even though it was a weird spot for a house, it was still what he called home. Sleeps…showers. She pictured his tight, lean body standing under the scatter of a hot shower’s spray. The muscles on his back glistened, his cute butt clenched with a dimple on each cheek. She shook her head, trying to dislodge that illustration and bring her attention back to wondering why they chose that area, of all places, to make their home.
Must have their reasons.
Then more trees whisked by in a blur that seemed to swallow the town of Oak Hollow. It took her mind away from Nick showering and brought it back to the lovely terrain, which was almost as breathtaking.
Almost.
“It would probably be a good idea to get you in front of the doctor.”
“There’s an OB/GYN out here?”
Pamela coughed out a chuckle. “Sure!” She laughed. “We only have one doctor, but she’s good.”
“She comes to the house?”
“No!” Pamela laughed. “She’s not going to deliver the baby in your bedroom or anything. She’s not a midwife.” She laughed again. “We’re backwoods…but not that bad!”
Tracey couldn’t believe she’d thought this town was so archaic that a doctor would actually come to Pamela’s house, by horse and buggy no doubt, with a black satchel clutched to their chest filled with old-fashioned tools and remedies.
Damn, I’m dumb…
Minutes later, Grandma was parking her colossal truck in a tiny gravel lot behind the store. Tracey climbed out, her gaze combing the building. It was a cute structure, small and friendly, if a little plain and dull. The wood was coated in a dark varnish to give it a rustic look, and the building was capped with a green tin roof.
Entering through the back door, they made their way through the overstock, which was mostly bags of animal food stacked like small forts. There were giant bags for dogs, cats, chickens and several others Tracey was too far away from to read. She stepped onto the main floor, noticing right away the store seemed much bigger than it seemed from the outside. There were aisles of groceries, basic car supplies such as oil, filters and antifreeze lined from the left to center. To the right was a home and garden section. Tools of all varieties, and even behind the wraparound counter a few guns hung on a rack attached to the wall.
Then she spotted a decently sized section of used paperbacks.
As Pamela stopped at the breaker box and began clicking on the lights, Tracey went to browse through the books, which were separated by genre. She was immediately engrossed by the horror section. She scanned some wonderful covers. There were some she hadn’t seen in years since paperbacks had started being phased out, and others she’d never seen at all.
Authors she adored were there on the shelves, and plenty more she’d never heard of.
“A reader too, huh?”
She turned around. Pamela stood near her and was putting on a green apron. It was already looped around her neck, and she was knotting the straps behind her back. She had another one tucked under her arm. Tracey figured that one was for her.
“Yeah, you’ve got some good ones, too.”
“Thanks. They don’t sell like they used to.”
“I bet not. I love carrying a book around with me. All my friends have e-readers, so they tease me whenever they see me crack one open. I haven’t felt the need to buy one yet.”
“A what?”
Tracey looked at grandmother, her mouth hanging open. “An e-reader.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“It’s a device that stores books on a little hard drive.”
Pamela grabbed a Stephen King novel from the shelf, one of his Bible-length epics. “How can you fit something like this on a hard drive, let alone several this size?”
Tracey laughed. “That’s a good question, but somehow they do. I’ve heard you can store up to three thousand and more on one device.”
Pamela shook her head. “Technology. But you know what I don’t like about that?”
“What?”
“You can’t do this.” She opened the King novel, raised it to her nose, and took a heavy whiff. She sighed with pleasure. “There’s no book smell if it’s on a device.”
Tracey shook her head. “Nope.”
She returned the book to its spot on the shelf, then tossed Tracey the other apron. It felt brand new, a little stiff, but clean with that new fabric scent.
“Time to open up!” Pamela marched to the front door, turned the sign hanging in the bay window around so that Open faced out and unbolted the lock.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Tracey.
“Just hang around me. I’ll show you how to do some things on the register.”
“Trust me. I know my way around one of those.”
“Where did you work again? Wes told me, but I can’t remember.”
“I was a cashier for Office Warehouse back home.”
“Wasn’t the guy you worked for the one who…got you…?”
“Pregnant? Yep.”
“Never eat where you shit.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you never get a lay where you get your pay. You wouldn’t eat off the toilet, right?”
“I certainly hope not.”
“Well, if you wouldn’t do that, then you wouldn’t want to fool around with someone at work. It’s the same concept.”
“So, don’t shit where I eat?”
“That’s right.”
“Trust me—I’ve learned my lesson. I was eating his shit a long time.”
Pamela laughed. “It’s amazing how much shit we’ll actually eat before we realize we don’t like the taste of it.”
“I wouldn’t say amazing. Sad, but not amazing.”
“Sad is a good word for it.”
The bell above the door dinged.
The first customer of the day had arrived. A man, wearing lounge pants and a T-shirt, wandered in. He had no hair on top of his head, but the belt going around his head was wild and frizzy. A thick black moustache crowned his top lip. The look on his face showed bewilderment and a hint of frustration.
“Hi there,” greeted Pamela.
He almost looked shocked that someone had spoken to him. “Oh…yes.” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then opened them again. “I think I am incredibly lost.”
Smiling, Grandma put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on over, have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
Tracey remained with the books, observing as her grandmother escorted the guy to a barstool in front of the counter. There was a display of pastries and cold meats to the left. Seemed like she sold a little of everything here.
“I haven’t been in long enough this morning to get some coffee made, so if you’ll bear with me a moment, I’ll brew up a pot and get you where you need to be going.”
“Thank you so much,” he said. “Feels like I’ve been driving around all night.”
“Where are you trying to get to?”
“Autumn Creek.”
“Not familiar with that place.”
“I think I’m pretty far off. I’ve never much believed in GPS systems until now. I could really use one.”
Pamela frowned. “Is that one of those little gizmos that directs you places?”
Laughing, the man nodded. “Yes. That’s what it is.”
Wow. Pamela is really out of touch.
“I’m Bob Newberry, by the way.”
“Pamela Parks. Nice to meet you.” She walked over to where a row of metal tins sat. She opened the first one and began scooping out spoonfuls of dark grounds and dumping them into the coffee maker.
Tracey could smell them from where she was standing. They smelled wonderful. She hoped there was enough so she could have a cup as well.
“That’s my granddaughter, Tracey, standing over there,” said Pamela, taking the coffee pot over to a small sink behind the glass display. She turned on the faucet and put the pot underneath to fill.
Bob spun his seat around. “Hello.” His eyes found her belly. “Oh.” He acted as if he wanted to say something else, but only smiled instead.
Tracey figured she knew why he was tentative. “Yes,” she said, gently rubbing her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
He looked relieved. “Okay, I was going to congratulate you, but was afraid you’d tell me you weren’t pregnant.”
Tracey laughed. “I bet that would have been embarrassing if I wasn’t.”
“It’s happened to me before. Just trying to be polite and strike up a conversation, I asked a lady when she was due.”
“Ah.”
“And she wasn’t due. She just had a big belly.”
“Oh, heavens,” said Pamela. “I bet that was awful for both of you.” She poured the water into the vent on top of the coffee maker, then set the pot on the warmer.
“I felt like a jerk, that’s for sure.”
Pamela flicked the switch. An orange light began to glow on the front. After a few seconds, bubbling sounds began to fill the open space. “Now, let’s see if we can get you heading in the right direction.”
“Great.” Bob turned around and faced Pamela. Then he groaned. “Damn. I left my map in the car.”
“It’s okay. I have one.” Pamela opened a drawer, shuffling through the contents inside. “Here it is.”
As she spread out the map on the counter, Tracey joined them. She sat on a stool to Bob’s left, keeping an empty seat between them.
“Wow, that coffee smells great,” said Bob.
“Oh, thank you.”
“What kind is it?”
“I get the beans from a place in Concord and grind them myself.”
“No way.”
“It’s true.”
Bob shook his head. “Wonderful. That is just wonderful.”
Pamela’s cheeks reddened as she scanned the map. A strand of hair fell into her face. Tracey noticed that Bob almost reached over to move it, but stopped himself.
“You said Autumn Creek?” asked Pamela.
“Yes,” said Bob.
“Hmmm. I don’t see it.” She put her finger on the map and ran it across the paper. It crackled as her finger scurried along. “Oh wait, here it is. Wow. You are far off.”
Bob laughed. “I figured that much. I’m awful with directions.”
“I’ll say.”
Bob’s cheeks flushed. Tracey laughed at his obvious embarrassment from Pamela’s ribbing.
Pamela’s face crinkled up as she examined the map. “Looks like if you just take Old Eighty, it will get you back on the right track after an hour or more.”
“Wow, I’m that far off?”
“Looks that way, yeah.” She tapped the map. “See this right here? This is where Old Stone Road should be. This map is too new to even include it on there. It’s not in the best of shape since no one uses it anymore, but it will take you to the Old Eighty Bypass much quicker than trying to find it on your own. Just follow it off Stone Road and you’ll be set. You should be able to find your way after that.” She spun the map around so Bob Newberry could see, then she stepped away to the coffee pot. A chimney of Styrofoam cups sat beside the pot. She took one off the top and filled it with steamy coffee.
“How do you like it?” asked Pamela, a little coyly, thought Tracey.
Obviously, Mr. Newberry thought the same. He gulped before answering. “However you have it made is fine.” His voice sounded thick and bubbly.
Pamela put a lid on the cup, then brought it over to Mr. Newberry, setting it in front of him. “Hope you like how I have it made.”
Tracey began to wonder if she was too young for this conversation. Maybe not too young, but it was definitely too awkward. She thought about excusing herself to either go to the bathroom, outside, or anywhere.
Was she actually witnessing her grandmother hitting on someone?
“Thank you,” said Bob. “I’m sure I will enjoy it just fine.” He cleared his throat, intentionally loud. “Well, I thank you for the directions and the coffee. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh please…after the night you’ve probably had trying to find your way, I wouldn’t dream of charging you for the coffee. Just stop in and see me next time you’re through here.”
“You better believe I will. Probably on my way back.”
“I can’t wait.” She smiled.
“It was nice meeting you.” He scooted off the stool. Then, as if remembering there was someone else in the room, he suddenly turned to Tracey. “And nice meeting you too.”
“You too.”
He walked backwards a few steps, unable to take his eyes off Pamela, who was holding his stare equally. “Take care.”
“Be safe out there.”
He threw his hand up to wave, turned around and hurried through the door. The bells chimed when he left. Tracey saw the flash of a Buick as it whisked by the windows.
After a few moments Pamela said, “He seems like a real nice man.”
“If I weren’t here you could have seen how nice.”
Pamela offered a single, “Ha.”
Finding Old Stone Road was even easier than Pamela had claimed it would be. Bob Newberry slowed his Buick and clicked the blinker to the right-hand side. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw that it had been pointless to use the signal. No one was behind him or in front of him. He hadn’t seen proof that anyone else other than Pamela and her expecting granddaughter lived in the inconsequential town of Oak Hollow.
Although he didn’t see anyone else, he damn sure could feel them. Not so much before going into the general store, but definitely afterward. He’d sensed baleful eyes on his back, spying his every move. Even getting back in the car hadn’t felt the same as getting out had. Just being there had made the ambience sour.
Don’t spook yourself.
That was exactly what he was doing. Working himself up for no reason. Oak Hollow was just a weird place, nothing more, and he was glad to be away from it.
Pamela was really cute, though.
So what if she was? He needed to put her out of his head. After all, he was a married man with two kids at home who were probably glad to be without him for a couple days. He wished he were at home, and not because he missed his family, since in actuality he didn’t miss them all that much. He was tired of taking these jobs that had him driving all over the goddamn state to snap pictures of foreclosed homes for realty companies. It paid just enough to cover the bills, and what he spent in gas usually drained any profit he might get. Since losing his job at the bank last year (downsizing) he took whatever work he could get, and sadly, this was about all that was coming his way.
Some blamed the president for their problems, and others said it was God’s fault. Bob Newberry never much cared for politics, didn’t believe in God, but sure liked to say fate was cruel, at least to him, anyway. Take that Pamela Parks for example. She obviously wanted him, and he’d be a fool not to have a go at such a nice piece. But it was like sitting a plump, juicy steak in front of someone who’d just had all their teeth extracted. Nice to look at, maybe even enjoy the smells, but putting your mouth on it was pointless.
Be sure to stop in and see me next time you come back through.
He could do that, sure, but would he? Doubtful. If Carol found out about it, she would toss him out on his ass. Bob didn’t want that to happen because he had nowhere to go, and these days, Carol was just looking for any reason to get rid of him. It’d definitely make her mother happy, might even make the kids happy as well.
The car bounced, then something exploded underneath. The Buick rocked along the road, swerving out of his control. Bob tried to get a firmer grip on the steering wheel, but it was spinning way too fast to hold onto. It finally flew out of his grasp. The Buick’s back end left the road and dropped down into the ditch. Bob was jostled in his seat. His neck popped, teeth clacked together. The glove compartment dropped open like a yawning mouth, spewing papers, old receipts and napkins from fast-food restaurants all over the floorboards and seat.
The air bag didn’t deploy.
Good thing he hadn’t hit anything head-on or he might have been killed.
“Shit on a fuck stick!”
He slammed his fists against the steering wheel. Then the air bag burst through the horn pouch, socking him in the chin and knocking his head back. His arms were propelled away, his left elbow shattering the driver’s side window. His right arm smacked the passenger seat.
Bob was still aware, but heavily dazed. It looked as if he were viewing things through fogged-up goggles underwater. He couldn’t hear much through the blustering drone in his ears. His arm felt hot and tight from where the glass had slit through his clothes to slice up his flesh.
As stunned as he was, he still imprecisely noticed the truck approaching from the direction he’d been traveling. East, he believed, but couldn’t quite recall right now. The truck veered off the road and parked at the nose of his Buick. Someone flung open the door and hopped out. A figure scurried around the front of Bob’s car and came to the door, yanking it open. He felt hands grabbing at him. For whatever reason, Bob doubted they were here to safely help him out of the car. Slapping at them hands, he tried to fend them off, but it was a futile attempt.
They dragged him from the car.
Bob landed on the black top, hard and firm, blasting the wind out of his chest. Trying to suck in a breath was like trying to breathe through a coffee straw. His lungs made high-pitched wheezing sounds as he was hauled away from his vehicle. Hands went under his arms, tugging, and Bob could only stare dumbly at his limp legs as they scooted along the road. It felt like his stomach was being squeezed whenever he tried to breathe.
“Yep.”
A Godless town. Tracey shivered. She wished she hadn’t let that simile sprout in her head.
“That’s where Nick lives with his mom,” said Pamela. “Back behind the old church.”
“He lives back there?”
“Yeah…”
Tracey felt a twinge in her stomach. Why would he live so close to such a haunted-looking pustule? Even though it was a weird spot for a house, it was still what he called home. Sleeps…showers. She pictured his tight, lean body standing under the scatter of a hot shower’s spray. The muscles on his back glistened, his cute butt clenched with a dimple on each cheek. She shook her head, trying to dislodge that illustration and bring her attention back to wondering why they chose that area, of all places, to make their home.
Must have their reasons.
Then more trees whisked by in a blur that seemed to swallow the town of Oak Hollow. It took her mind away from Nick showering and brought it back to the lovely terrain, which was almost as breathtaking.
Almost.
“It would probably be a good idea to get you in front of the doctor.”
“There’s an OB/GYN out here?”
Pamela coughed out a chuckle. “Sure!” She laughed. “We only have one doctor, but she’s good.”
“She comes to the house?”
“No!” Pamela laughed. “She’s not going to deliver the baby in your bedroom or anything. She’s not a midwife.” She laughed again. “We’re backwoods…but not that bad!”
Tracey couldn’t believe she’d thought this town was so archaic that a doctor would actually come to Pamela’s house, by horse and buggy no doubt, with a black satchel clutched to their chest filled with old-fashioned tools and remedies.
Damn, I’m dumb…
Minutes later, Grandma was parking her colossal truck in a tiny gravel lot behind the store. Tracey climbed out, her gaze combing the building. It was a cute structure, small and friendly, if a little plain and dull. The wood was coated in a dark varnish to give it a rustic look, and the building was capped with a green tin roof.
Entering through the back door, they made their way through the overstock, which was mostly bags of animal food stacked like small forts. There were giant bags for dogs, cats, chickens and several others Tracey was too far away from to read. She stepped onto the main floor, noticing right away the store seemed much bigger than it seemed from the outside. There were aisles of groceries, basic car supplies such as oil, filters and antifreeze lined from the left to center. To the right was a home and garden section. Tools of all varieties, and even behind the wraparound counter a few guns hung on a rack attached to the wall.
Then she spotted a decently sized section of used paperbacks.
As Pamela stopped at the breaker box and began clicking on the lights, Tracey went to browse through the books, which were separated by genre. She was immediately engrossed by the horror section. She scanned some wonderful covers. There were some she hadn’t seen in years since paperbacks had started being phased out, and others she’d never seen at all.
Authors she adored were there on the shelves, and plenty more she’d never heard of.
“A reader too, huh?”
She turned around. Pamela stood near her and was putting on a green apron. It was already looped around her neck, and she was knotting the straps behind her back. She had another one tucked under her arm. Tracey figured that one was for her.
“Yeah, you’ve got some good ones, too.”
“Thanks. They don’t sell like they used to.”
“I bet not. I love carrying a book around with me. All my friends have e-readers, so they tease me whenever they see me crack one open. I haven’t felt the need to buy one yet.”
“A what?”
Tracey looked at grandmother, her mouth hanging open. “An e-reader.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“It’s a device that stores books on a little hard drive.”
Pamela grabbed a Stephen King novel from the shelf, one of his Bible-length epics. “How can you fit something like this on a hard drive, let alone several this size?”
Tracey laughed. “That’s a good question, but somehow they do. I’ve heard you can store up to three thousand and more on one device.”
Pamela shook her head. “Technology. But you know what I don’t like about that?”
“What?”
“You can’t do this.” She opened the King novel, raised it to her nose, and took a heavy whiff. She sighed with pleasure. “There’s no book smell if it’s on a device.”
Tracey shook her head. “Nope.”
She returned the book to its spot on the shelf, then tossed Tracey the other apron. It felt brand new, a little stiff, but clean with that new fabric scent.
“Time to open up!” Pamela marched to the front door, turned the sign hanging in the bay window around so that Open faced out and unbolted the lock.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Tracey.
“Just hang around me. I’ll show you how to do some things on the register.”
“Trust me. I know my way around one of those.”
“Where did you work again? Wes told me, but I can’t remember.”
“I was a cashier for Office Warehouse back home.”
“Wasn’t the guy you worked for the one who…got you…?”
“Pregnant? Yep.”
“Never eat where you shit.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you never get a lay where you get your pay. You wouldn’t eat off the toilet, right?”
“I certainly hope not.”
“Well, if you wouldn’t do that, then you wouldn’t want to fool around with someone at work. It’s the same concept.”
“So, don’t shit where I eat?”
“That’s right.”
“Trust me—I’ve learned my lesson. I was eating his shit a long time.”
Pamela laughed. “It’s amazing how much shit we’ll actually eat before we realize we don’t like the taste of it.”
“I wouldn’t say amazing. Sad, but not amazing.”
“Sad is a good word for it.”
The bell above the door dinged.
The first customer of the day had arrived. A man, wearing lounge pants and a T-shirt, wandered in. He had no hair on top of his head, but the belt going around his head was wild and frizzy. A thick black moustache crowned his top lip. The look on his face showed bewilderment and a hint of frustration.
“Hi there,” greeted Pamela.
He almost looked shocked that someone had spoken to him. “Oh…yes.” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then opened them again. “I think I am incredibly lost.”
Smiling, Grandma put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on over, have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
Tracey remained with the books, observing as her grandmother escorted the guy to a barstool in front of the counter. There was a display of pastries and cold meats to the left. Seemed like she sold a little of everything here.
“I haven’t been in long enough this morning to get some coffee made, so if you’ll bear with me a moment, I’ll brew up a pot and get you where you need to be going.”
“Thank you so much,” he said. “Feels like I’ve been driving around all night.”
“Where are you trying to get to?”
“Autumn Creek.”
“Not familiar with that place.”
“I think I’m pretty far off. I’ve never much believed in GPS systems until now. I could really use one.”
Pamela frowned. “Is that one of those little gizmos that directs you places?”
Laughing, the man nodded. “Yes. That’s what it is.”
Wow. Pamela is really out of touch.
“I’m Bob Newberry, by the way.”
“Pamela Parks. Nice to meet you.” She walked over to where a row of metal tins sat. She opened the first one and began scooping out spoonfuls of dark grounds and dumping them into the coffee maker.
Tracey could smell them from where she was standing. They smelled wonderful. She hoped there was enough so she could have a cup as well.
“That’s my granddaughter, Tracey, standing over there,” said Pamela, taking the coffee pot over to a small sink behind the glass display. She turned on the faucet and put the pot underneath to fill.
Bob spun his seat around. “Hello.” His eyes found her belly. “Oh.” He acted as if he wanted to say something else, but only smiled instead.
Tracey figured she knew why he was tentative. “Yes,” she said, gently rubbing her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
He looked relieved. “Okay, I was going to congratulate you, but was afraid you’d tell me you weren’t pregnant.”
Tracey laughed. “I bet that would have been embarrassing if I wasn’t.”
“It’s happened to me before. Just trying to be polite and strike up a conversation, I asked a lady when she was due.”
“Ah.”
“And she wasn’t due. She just had a big belly.”
“Oh, heavens,” said Pamela. “I bet that was awful for both of you.” She poured the water into the vent on top of the coffee maker, then set the pot on the warmer.
“I felt like a jerk, that’s for sure.”
Pamela flicked the switch. An orange light began to glow on the front. After a few seconds, bubbling sounds began to fill the open space. “Now, let’s see if we can get you heading in the right direction.”
“Great.” Bob turned around and faced Pamela. Then he groaned. “Damn. I left my map in the car.”
“It’s okay. I have one.” Pamela opened a drawer, shuffling through the contents inside. “Here it is.”
As she spread out the map on the counter, Tracey joined them. She sat on a stool to Bob’s left, keeping an empty seat between them.
“Wow, that coffee smells great,” said Bob.
“Oh, thank you.”
“What kind is it?”
“I get the beans from a place in Concord and grind them myself.”
“No way.”
“It’s true.”
Bob shook his head. “Wonderful. That is just wonderful.”
Pamela’s cheeks reddened as she scanned the map. A strand of hair fell into her face. Tracey noticed that Bob almost reached over to move it, but stopped himself.
“You said Autumn Creek?” asked Pamela.
“Yes,” said Bob.
“Hmmm. I don’t see it.” She put her finger on the map and ran it across the paper. It crackled as her finger scurried along. “Oh wait, here it is. Wow. You are far off.”
Bob laughed. “I figured that much. I’m awful with directions.”
“I’ll say.”
Bob’s cheeks flushed. Tracey laughed at his obvious embarrassment from Pamela’s ribbing.
Pamela’s face crinkled up as she examined the map. “Looks like if you just take Old Eighty, it will get you back on the right track after an hour or more.”
“Wow, I’m that far off?”
“Looks that way, yeah.” She tapped the map. “See this right here? This is where Old Stone Road should be. This map is too new to even include it on there. It’s not in the best of shape since no one uses it anymore, but it will take you to the Old Eighty Bypass much quicker than trying to find it on your own. Just follow it off Stone Road and you’ll be set. You should be able to find your way after that.” She spun the map around so Bob Newberry could see, then she stepped away to the coffee pot. A chimney of Styrofoam cups sat beside the pot. She took one off the top and filled it with steamy coffee.
“How do you like it?” asked Pamela, a little coyly, thought Tracey.
Obviously, Mr. Newberry thought the same. He gulped before answering. “However you have it made is fine.” His voice sounded thick and bubbly.
Pamela put a lid on the cup, then brought it over to Mr. Newberry, setting it in front of him. “Hope you like how I have it made.”
Tracey began to wonder if she was too young for this conversation. Maybe not too young, but it was definitely too awkward. She thought about excusing herself to either go to the bathroom, outside, or anywhere.
Was she actually witnessing her grandmother hitting on someone?
“Thank you,” said Bob. “I’m sure I will enjoy it just fine.” He cleared his throat, intentionally loud. “Well, I thank you for the directions and the coffee. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh please…after the night you’ve probably had trying to find your way, I wouldn’t dream of charging you for the coffee. Just stop in and see me next time you’re through here.”
“You better believe I will. Probably on my way back.”
“I can’t wait.” She smiled.
“It was nice meeting you.” He scooted off the stool. Then, as if remembering there was someone else in the room, he suddenly turned to Tracey. “And nice meeting you too.”
“You too.”
He walked backwards a few steps, unable to take his eyes off Pamela, who was holding his stare equally. “Take care.”
“Be safe out there.”
He threw his hand up to wave, turned around and hurried through the door. The bells chimed when he left. Tracey saw the flash of a Buick as it whisked by the windows.
After a few moments Pamela said, “He seems like a real nice man.”
“If I weren’t here you could have seen how nice.”
Pamela offered a single, “Ha.”
Finding Old Stone Road was even easier than Pamela had claimed it would be. Bob Newberry slowed his Buick and clicked the blinker to the right-hand side. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw that it had been pointless to use the signal. No one was behind him or in front of him. He hadn’t seen proof that anyone else other than Pamela and her expecting granddaughter lived in the inconsequential town of Oak Hollow.
Although he didn’t see anyone else, he damn sure could feel them. Not so much before going into the general store, but definitely afterward. He’d sensed baleful eyes on his back, spying his every move. Even getting back in the car hadn’t felt the same as getting out had. Just being there had made the ambience sour.
Don’t spook yourself.
That was exactly what he was doing. Working himself up for no reason. Oak Hollow was just a weird place, nothing more, and he was glad to be away from it.
Pamela was really cute, though.
So what if she was? He needed to put her out of his head. After all, he was a married man with two kids at home who were probably glad to be without him for a couple days. He wished he were at home, and not because he missed his family, since in actuality he didn’t miss them all that much. He was tired of taking these jobs that had him driving all over the goddamn state to snap pictures of foreclosed homes for realty companies. It paid just enough to cover the bills, and what he spent in gas usually drained any profit he might get. Since losing his job at the bank last year (downsizing) he took whatever work he could get, and sadly, this was about all that was coming his way.
Some blamed the president for their problems, and others said it was God’s fault. Bob Newberry never much cared for politics, didn’t believe in God, but sure liked to say fate was cruel, at least to him, anyway. Take that Pamela Parks for example. She obviously wanted him, and he’d be a fool not to have a go at such a nice piece. But it was like sitting a plump, juicy steak in front of someone who’d just had all their teeth extracted. Nice to look at, maybe even enjoy the smells, but putting your mouth on it was pointless.
Be sure to stop in and see me next time you come back through.
He could do that, sure, but would he? Doubtful. If Carol found out about it, she would toss him out on his ass. Bob didn’t want that to happen because he had nowhere to go, and these days, Carol was just looking for any reason to get rid of him. It’d definitely make her mother happy, might even make the kids happy as well.
The car bounced, then something exploded underneath. The Buick rocked along the road, swerving out of his control. Bob tried to get a firmer grip on the steering wheel, but it was spinning way too fast to hold onto. It finally flew out of his grasp. The Buick’s back end left the road and dropped down into the ditch. Bob was jostled in his seat. His neck popped, teeth clacked together. The glove compartment dropped open like a yawning mouth, spewing papers, old receipts and napkins from fast-food restaurants all over the floorboards and seat.
The air bag didn’t deploy.
Good thing he hadn’t hit anything head-on or he might have been killed.
“Shit on a fuck stick!”
He slammed his fists against the steering wheel. Then the air bag burst through the horn pouch, socking him in the chin and knocking his head back. His arms were propelled away, his left elbow shattering the driver’s side window. His right arm smacked the passenger seat.
Bob was still aware, but heavily dazed. It looked as if he were viewing things through fogged-up goggles underwater. He couldn’t hear much through the blustering drone in his ears. His arm felt hot and tight from where the glass had slit through his clothes to slice up his flesh.
As stunned as he was, he still imprecisely noticed the truck approaching from the direction he’d been traveling. East, he believed, but couldn’t quite recall right now. The truck veered off the road and parked at the nose of his Buick. Someone flung open the door and hopped out. A figure scurried around the front of Bob’s car and came to the door, yanking it open. He felt hands grabbing at him. For whatever reason, Bob doubted they were here to safely help him out of the car. Slapping at them hands, he tried to fend them off, but it was a futile attempt.
They dragged him from the car.
Bob landed on the black top, hard and firm, blasting the wind out of his chest. Trying to suck in a breath was like trying to breathe through a coffee straw. His lungs made high-pitched wheezing sounds as he was hauled away from his vehicle. Hands went under his arms, tugging, and Bob could only stare dumbly at his limp legs as they scooted along the road. It felt like his stomach was being squeezed whenever he tried to breathe.
