Chapter 2
The next morning, I awoke in a foul mood and didn't remember why until came out into the living room and saw my coat where I had dropped across a chair rather than hanging it up. Derrick. Annoyance. I snarled, though quietly. My roommate and cousin, Sonia, had been in bed by the time I got home and still asleep this morning. The girl did like to sleep. We saw little of each other, except to occasional cross paths in the early evening or on the weekends. I virtually lived alone.
After my shower I sat in a warm robe, staring out the kitchen window while I waited for the toast to pop up. I could see all the way to the highway from here, with a view of the second floor of the hotel and the gas station sign rising up into the gray sky. Sometimes my world seemed too small and confining. Other times, it felt safe, small, and warm.
I liked the people here. I even liked my jobs -- the Gas and More at night where I got to visit with friends who stopped by and the Senior Center three days a week where I helped coordinate events and visited with older friends. I usually stayed through the noon meal before heading home for a few hours and then on to the night shift at the Gas and More.
And that was my life. Sometimes I even admitted how pathetic I sounded.
However, this morning those thoughts quickly turned to indignation at the memory of Derrick Weston's rude behavior the night before. At least the locals didn't --
Derrick and Junior had both been raised here.
Sonia stumbled out of her bedroom, her short hair standing straight up and her makeup smeared.
"What are you doing up so early?" I asked.
"Taking Tim for a job interview over in Dow Station," she said through a yawn. "Why do they do these things so damn early?"
I surreptitiously at the clock over the sink -- Nearly 9 am. I clamped my mouth shut over a rather too snide 'poor baby' remark and buttered my toast instead. "You want to me to drop a couple more pieces of toast in for you?"
"Cool." She gave an emphatic nod. "I'm going to take a quick shower."
I knew Sonia's idea of quick, so I put the toast in and got out her favorite orange marmalade. I headed off to work before she had turned off the water.
Most days I didn't mind working in the Senior Center, but not today. Jackson Hoy wouldn't be there and I'd see the loss -- and sometimes the fear -- the eyes of the others. I'd liked Mr. Hoy, and I'd miss him. He'd been one of the few who had shrugged off death as inevitable, and I had never asked him about his religion. I don't know what he believed, but I hoped things were better for him now. I hoped he could go for hikes again, like he used to talk about.
I didn't want to be morose, so I took my time walking to work and doing my best to improve my attitude. The walk still felt good despite the cool, damp weather and I worked off some of the anxiety from my encounter with Derrick Weston. I'd be glad when he left town again. The Westons were nothing but trouble.
Mrs. Hibble had already opened the Center when I arrived. She had the same resigned expression I saw so often these days: Inevitable loss, nothing more we can do.
"I think we'll have a light turn out today," she said as we put our coats away in the closet. She headed straight for the kitchen and I followed behind. "I heard we might get ice today, so I doubt we'll get anyone from the farms."
"Ice?" I grimaced. "Just as well I didn't drive the car."
"Yes." She nodded as she opened the refrigerator. Then she shook her head. "Or no. We need milk and cheese. Do you think. . . ."
She let the words trail off. I hated going to the local grocery store. Mr. Bilton, who owned the place, took the presence of the Gas and More as a personal affront. Since I'd worked for him for two summers in high school, he seemed to think that gave him a proprietary claim on me, even over my uncle Pat, who owned the Gas and More.
"I'll go," Mrs. Hibble said with a sigh. She started back to the front. "You had better start making the rolls --"
"No, no. I'll go." In the scheme of things, Mr. Bilton's attitude wasn't the worst thing I'd be facing over the next couple days.
"Thank you, dear. Tell him to put everything on the bill."
I nodded, grabbed my coat, and headed back outside. The sky hadn't brightened much since dawn, and low gray clouds seemed to turn everything dull, reflecting my mood. I knew nothing good would come of this day.
I'd hardly walked a block when it started raining. I sighed and trudged on.
Mr. Bilton saw me coming into the store. Great. Wonderful.
"Well, Ginger," he said in the same nasally voice I had hated even when I liked the man. I didn't like him now. "What could you possibly want at my little store?"
"Milk and cheese for the Senior Center." I smiled bright as I went past. I'd learned to ignore bad manners, which only annoys people more. I walked past him.
Then things got worse. I found Markie Weston with Reba Abbott in the dairy aisle. We went to school together, Reba and me. We fought like cats and dogs in those days, and the relationship never got better. Ever since I came back home she'd been making pointed remarks about how her wonderful marriage, to counter my divorce. Well, I supposed the marriage was great if you didn't count Shep Abbott drinking most of the take home pay, and their three kids -- still in grade school and already wtih records most delinquents didn't have by the age of sixteen. Very few stores even allowed the kids in the door, in fact.
"Ginger. Didn't expect to see you here," Reba said, her eyes looking me up and down as though she thought I'd just gotten back from my latest alien abduction.
"And I didn't think you came out in the light of day," I answered.
Her lips drew back in a snarl, and I half expected to see vampire teeth. But I went past, nodding to Markie. I swear, the woman appeared more dazed and disconnected each time I saw her. I couldn't imagine what she and Reba talked about, and I didn't care.
I headed down the aisle, grabbed a gallon of milk and the three sets of cheese we use for lunch. Reba and Markie had followed me, and when I turned around, Reba stood far too close. She smelled like she'd had a beer or two already this morning.
"Ginger, I don't suppose you know, but my old boyfriend is back --"
"Derrick? Sure. We talked last night." My smile grew brighter this time. "Not that him being here should matter to you, with your great marriage and all."
As I walked up to the register, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I glanced back to see the two of them leaning close and whispering. Even Mr. Bilton didn't take any more time to berate me. He had his eyes on them.
The encounter left a sour taste in my mouth. I hated being snippy, but Reba always brought the worst out in me -- and everyone else, including her husband and kids. I'd tried being nice to her when I first came back home, but she turned on me every time. I'm sure the fact I'd talked to Derrick and she hadn't (I assumed), had to have been the best little jab I'd ever managed. I certainly didn't mention how badly the conversation went.
The rain fell harder on the way back to the Senior Center, but when I came in the door dripping wet, Mrs. Hibble and Mrs. Abrams -- one of the older women who showed up nearly every day -- started mothering me. I had hot cocoa and a warm spot, and nice fresh rolls when they came out of the oven. I think it helped them having something to do.
Mrs. Abrams sat by me and we talked about planting fall bulbs and if we were in for a long winter -- and then she suddenly stopped, brushed a strand of white hair from her face, and frowned.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, startling me. "Oh, we appreciate you Ginger, but you shouldn't be stuck in this little town, filling your time with jobs and with no time for a life. You're too young to be hanging around with us old fogies all the time."
"You're interesting people!"
"Well yes we are." She laughed, dropping a hand on my arm. Her thin fingers felt cold. "But that's because we went out and had a life. You had a bad turn with your ex-husband. I had two ex-husbands before I got things right."
"Did you?" I asked, shocked.
&
nbsp; "I did. I didn't give up just because the first two turned out to be such stinkers. You shouldn't give up, either. Stop hiding in this little dark hole of a town. Get out and have a life!"
"But --"
Her long, thin fingers tightened on my arm. "No excuses."
Then she stood and went off for her daily card game with Patricia Peters. Both of them cheated and made up rules on the fly, and spent so much time laughing they barely got through two rounds in an afternoon. No one else would play with them any more, and they didn't care. They had fun.
When had I stopped having fun? When my ex-husband, the one I had helped put through college, came and told me he'd fallen in love with one of his fellow students? Had I given up when he told me the two of them had far more in common than he and I ever would?
I had been working for years toward a time when my lawyer husband would have a good wage and I'd get to go back to school and do things for myself. And when the marriage ended, I came home and went to work... and never worked toward a better future again.
I spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between trying to imagine a better future and wondering if trying something different could possibly be worth the possible pain. I felt comfortable here. There's a lot to be said for comfortable and safe.
But then I thought of myself, fifty years from now, with no stories to tell, sitting here in the Senior Center and wondering where the time had gone and why I'd never done anything with my life.
None of the thoughts put me in a better mood.
And the rain poured down all morning.