“Welcome,” she says. “How are ya? Can I help you?”
“Just looking,” I say.
She smiles at me. She’s got on dark purple lipstick. It’s mostly on her teeth. “You must be Annie.”
“Yes,” I say. “Nice to meet you. Do you work with Sophie?”
She flinches when I say Sophie’s name. She touches her cheek like I’ve just smacked her across the face.
“Sorry,” I say. “She was here the last time I came in.”
What am I missing? I thought Sophie was part owner of the store, involved somehow.
“That’s all right,” the woman says, her voice squeaky. She shakes her hands at me. “No worries. Sophie’s in here all the time. We love Sophie. Love Sophie.”
There’s obviously something else going on here. Is Sophie downplaying the fact that she’s actually some überpowerful real estate mogul/investor with a crazy stake in this town? Is she a terrible landlord? What is it? What’s the deal?
“We got in a really nice gin,” the woman says. “And we have a Malbec I’m partial to. I’m Alex, by the way.”
“Malbec sounds good. I’ll have that.”
“All right,” she says. She walks over to the shelf and reaches for a bottle. She’s a very small person. I don’t think she’s wearing shoes. I think they’re slippers. If they are, I admire her. I want to wear slippers to work. “It’ll be sixteen eighty.”
I pick a twenty out of my wallet and hand it to her. From the folds of her sweater, a fanny pack emerges. She stuffs the twenty in and takes out a stack of singles and some coins.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me my change and the bottle. “Rough day?”
“Can you tell?”
“Wine on a Monday right around the end of a workday? Easy guess,” she says. “You’re a teacher? Rose told me. She and I are buds. Longtime.”
“Yes, I teach.”
“God bless ya,” she says. “In my day, probably coulda done it. Kids are different now. Don’t need a bag, do ya?”
“No, thanks. All set.”
“Hope it helps, doll.”
“Thanks, Alex.”
“Yep,” she says. “Take it easy.”
When I get back to my apartment, I waste no time opening the bottle. I sit on the couch drinking and watching a documentary about cults.
It’s a valiant attempt, but it does not stop me from thinking about what happened at school with the spider. It does not stop me from thinking about the look on Alex’s face when I brought up Sophie.
It does not stop me from thinking about yesterday morning at the diner. The image of her, it’s seared into my brain. I can see the light across her cheek, the sprigs of orange sunlight coming in through the slats of open blinds. I can see the stack of half-eaten pancakes, the remaining strawberries steeping in cream, her fork resting on her plate.
I can see her leaning forward, elbows wide, just touching the table.
I can hear her. I can hear her like she’s next to me. Like she’s speaking directly into my ear. No, like she’s speaking from inside my head.
Want me to curse them for you?
A chill climbs my spine.
“No,” I say out loud. I put the bottle down on the coffee table and stand up. “One, it’s not possible. Two, I’m only psyching myself out because I’m vulnerable and alone. If Sam were around, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea.”
But he’s not, and I am entertaining it.
It would be just my luck, wouldn’t it? To move to this charming, picturesque small town and befriend an impossibly cool, glamorous stranger, only to find out that I’ve wandered into some kind of creepy Halloween town with haunted houses and curses.
Terrible things can happen to women who are alone. And here I am. No family, no friends. No boyfriend.
I’m pacing around my living room, allowing myself to indulge in this ludicrous theory, contemplating my chances of survival if this is an actual real-life horror situation, when my phone goes off.
It’s Sam.
I pick up.
“Hey, sorry I missed you yesterday. I just got out of work and am walking to the train, so I thought I’d call. How’s it going?”
It’s amazing how quickly the rest melts away.
“Good! How are you?”
“Also good,” he says. “Probably not as good as you.”
“On a scale of good to good, how good are you?”
“Medium good.”