Chapter Ten
Amerella woke earlier than normal. She knew when she opened her eyes. The sun was usually much brighter when she peeled the sleeping mask from her face. Thinking back to last night, she didn’t remember waking once, which was extremely unusual for her. Guess feeling safe and cared for worked better than meds. She’d forgotten to take them after talking with Frank on the back porch.
Frank.
She couldn’t believe she was in his mother’s home. After their three years together and four apart, never once did she think she’d be here. She wondered if Frank was still asleep. Quietly, she slid through the door on her side of the shared bathroom and opened the door to his room just enough to peek in.
His bed was messy, but nobody was under the covers. Darn.
No, no, no. She couldn’t think that way. Her options were clear—she had none. She couldn’t let herself open to him. Not if she wanted to keep him alive.
After a quick shower, she dressed in a casual pantsuit and heels then headed downstairs. Everything was so quiet here. No cars zipping along the road. No siren or people shouting. No blaring music from the pain-in-the-ass neighbor kids. It was nice, but a little spooky. Like in a Twilight Zone episode where everyone on the planet disappeared but her.
“Hello? Mom Dubois?” The kitchen door closed, startling her.
Mom looked her up and down. “Good morning, Amie. I didn’t expect you up so early.” Amie eyed Mom’s housecoat and flip-flops. Mom’s cheeks reddened a bit. “Oh, don’t mind this old thing.” She gestured at her garb. “I was out for a run in the woods. It’s a beautiful morning.”
“A run?” Amie asked. “In flip-flops?”
Mom looked down at her feet and remained quiet for a second, then looked up. “I’m going to change. How about you pull out some things for breakfast and I’ll be right back.”
Amie watched her leave and wondered what that was all about. Who ran in the woods in flip-flops? She could barely walk in the damn things without stumbling over her own feet. She brushed it off to living in a small community, and headed for the fridge. She was hungry.
As soon as she opened the refrigerator door, her memory of the contents from the night before came back. Meat, meat, and more meat. Except only half of what was there last night remained. Had Frank eaten already? Was he even here? Could she eat a steak for breakfast? The thought turned her stomach.
She closed the fridge. Hopefully they had cereal. Her favorite was cinnamon Life. That shit was so good, she could go through a box in two sittings. But seeing as there wasn’t much fiber in it, she had the occasional bowl of tree bark doused in sugar. And that shit was never good. No matter how much sugar was added to cardboard, it still tasted like cardboard.
On the counter sat a couple of paper grocery bags. She peeked inside to see normal food. Thank god. Wheat bread, eggs, a stalk of romaine lettuce, veggies, fruit, sliced chicken, mayo, and other things she’d gladly eat were stuffed inside. She thought about unpacking the bags, but then wondered if they were meant for someone else.
Mom came back into the room wearing another dress Beaver Cleaver’s mom would wear on a bad day. If that’s what she liked, who was she to criticize?
Mom said, “Looks like François did some shopping this morning. Let’s see what he got.” She pulled items out of the bag like she’d never seen such things before. She shook her head, rolled her eyes, and said, “Of course, how silly of me.” She carried items to the fridge. “I forget that our little town has its quirks and when visitors come we need to be prepared. Not that my son gave either of us much time to prepare, huh?”
Amie remembered her own dash through the closet and bath to pack things before Frank pushed her onto a plane to BFE. “I agree. Not much time. But I’m not picky when it comes to food.” She gestured to herself. “As you can see.”
Mom looked at her. “I can see what?”
Amie raised a brow. “I’m a big girl, Mom Dubois. Nothing like you.”
Crossing her arms, Mom leaned against the counter. “Dear, you are stunning. Every man in town will kiss your feet when you walk by. Now, don’t get me wrong, sweetie. In our town, you’re beautiful. But even if you were skinny, you’d still be welcomed. We’d just feed you a lot so you’d look healthy.”
Tears stung Amie’s eyes. No one had ever made such a fuss telling her she was beautiful, except Frank. He’d loved her body even though there was more of her than other girls he could’ve had. He always called them scrawny with pointy knees and elbows. He liked her softness against him, not bones. And he had shown her almost every night how much he loved her softness by pounding into her again and again. A shudder crept down her back.
Mom took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “François is in town talking with the police chief. I think he wants to let them know you’re here and to keep an eye out for anything unusual.”
She stiffened. “Do you think there will be any problems?”
“No, there never is. Because the single road here is somewhat hidden in the trees and hard to find, usually only the people who live here come this way. I don’t even think Google has us on their map. Maybe the satellite view, but not the ground view. When we heard the vehicle with the video recorder was in the area, several of us disguised the turn-off as a camp road that dead-ended quickly. They drove right on by.”
Amie laughed. “That would be an accomplishment. Google has everybody’s number.”
“It seems that way. Now, how about eggs, toast, and bacon for breakfast? That’s normal, isn’t it?”
That was strange. Was it not normal for them? “Yes, that would be very normal. Thank you.”
After a couple attempts at the eggs—the first set burnt to a crisp while the two ladies searched for the toaster, which they never found—several slices of bacon cooked to perfection, and fruit, Amie was once again full. Maria’s cooking was great. But seldom did Maria create a meal for her. Usually, it was just tacos, burritos, veggie burgers, pizza. But both she and Maria made certain their little Francis had all the food groups, even though he barely touched anything but meat.
Mom stood at the open refrigerator. “Well, seems we’re low on red meat. Would you like to go into town with me to the butcher’s?”
“Sure, it’d be great to walk around and see the place.”
Mom clasped her hands together. “Great. I’ll be right back.”
Amie found her purse by a chair in the living room and noted the blanket and pillow on the sofa. She wondered if Frank slept there last night. Did he despise her so much that he couldn’t even be on the same floor as her? Her heart broke a little. She hurried out of the room, mad at herself for letting her walls down.
She nearly collided with Mom in the kitchen. “What’s wrong, dear?” Mom asked.
“Nothing. Let’s go.” Amie hurried outside.
Mom was right about it being a great day. The late-morning sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot with the fresh, cool breeze in their faces. As they walked along the crumbling sidewalk toward the shops, Amie noticed the lack of people around. In Vegas residential areas, others were always out walking dogs, working in flower beds, washing cars. Games of pick-up basketball were almost continuous with the kids.
The single court they passed here had more weeds than asphalt and the one hoop still up didn’t look like it would be that way much longer. “I guess you all don’t have many children around here?”
Mom looked at the court also. “We do, but I guess they do other things.”
“All you need to do is put salt in the cracks with the weeds to kill them without using chemicals, then put a coating over the top of the asphalt, and you’d have a clean surface again. Wouldn’t cost more than a couple hundred dollars.”
“Really?” Mom said. “That doesn’t seem too hard.”
“It’s not. And if basketball doesn’t work, you can stretch a rope across the middle with mosquito netting hanging over it for tennis or volleyball. Badminton, too.”
“That’s a great idea. I will bring that up at the next community meeting. Thank you.”
Pride swelled in Amie’s heart knowing she contributed something important and someone cared about her ideas. She was starting to like this place more and more.
They crossed the street toward a building that could use a couple layers of paint. The sign out front read Butch’s Butchery. Catchy name. Mom stopped at a window outside a vacant store and picked at her hair. Amie then noticed Mom wore a touch of lipstick—wrong color for her skin tone, but she tried. This was interesting.
Mom opened the door and walked into the cool butcher-shop air. A few people milled about, each stopping to take a good look at Amie as she walked in. She felt a bit overdressed with her flashy jewelry and high heels. One old lady in particular sneered at her. Amie hurried to catch up with Mom.
Mom whispered to her, “Don’t worry about old Mrs. Hagerty. She doesn’t like strangers. Or locals, for that matter.” Amie covered a smile with her hand and caught the old woman’s narrowed eyes again.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hagerty. It’s nice to meet you,” Amie said, figuring she’d agitate the woman more than anything. She was right. The old bitty turned her nose up and walked out the door. Then Amie felt bad for the lady. Living a life disliking everyone. The lady probably seldom came out of her home and probably didn’t attend any social functions. Amie could see herself turning into Mrs. Hagerty in twenty years.
Mom Dubois smiled with a shy look toward the man behind the counter. “Good morning, Butch.”
The man spun around and his face lit up. “Good morning to you, Jean. You’re looking stunning his morning.” His eyes twinkled.
Oh my god. Did Amie see what she thought she was seeing? Mom Dubois was flirting with the town butcher? Holy shit. Did Frank know his mom had the hots for the meat man? Was that why there was so much meat in the fridge at home? The meat man giving Mom the meat. Geesh, she could be so dumb. She needed sex. Badly.
Mom gave a coy wave of the hand. “I bet you say that to all the single ladies who come in.”
Butch winked at Mom. “Maybe. But with you, my darling”—he leaned over the counter closer to Mom—“I ain’t lying.” Or did he say lion?
As Amie watched, the butcher’s face contorted to form a furry snout, large eyes and mouth, and a light brown Mohawk down the back of his head. Amie sucked in a breath then screamed louder than she thought possible and ran out the door. She ran straight across the street, lucky no cars were driving by. She didn’t even slow down to look before flying off the sidewalk. The image of the man with the lion face filled her chest with horror. She couldn’t breathe.
She ran past another store before noticing two wolf pups and a cougar or mountain lion cub sitting back on their haunches, watching her barrel down the sidewalk, yelling her fool head off. One of the wolves shifted into a small boy, then opened his mouth to say something. Amie sucked in another breath, screamed, spun around, then slammed into a glass door that had been opened by someone peeking outside to see what all the commotion was about.
Amie felt a sharp pain in her nose, then her world went black.