Page 65 of Even After Sunset

He smiles back. And for right now, that’s enough.

The rest of the day is perfect. We stop in Freeport to take a photo in front of the world’s largest rotating globe, visit an automaton museum in Wiscasset, a shell museum in Boothbay and the Moxie Bottlehouse in Union, Maine. We even do a brief stop in Rockport when Silas discovers during his research en route that the town is the birthplace of the donut hole. So obviously, I need a picture of the gravestone of Captain Hanson Gregory, who one day in 1847 supposedly impaled blobs of fried dough on the handles of his ship’s steering wheel for easy snack access, thus inventing the donut hole. Which is seriously awesome and so obscure that I have no idea how I did not come across this tidbit of history myself during my trip research.

About an hour past Rockport, along Route 1, we pass a massive cedar shingled building that looks like a cross between a barracks and an old barn, with a sign that saysBig Chicken Barn Books. It is so huge that I am fascinated, because what is a gigantic bookstore doing in the middle of nowhere?In an old barn?I pull into a driveway and turn around to go back. I’m going to regret it if I don’t at least take a peek.

Silas is not even remotely interested. Possibly less interested than he was before entering the Toilet Museum. But he follows me through the door that seems way too small and way too rickety for such a massive structure. And we step into a dusty-dim maze of antiques and clothes, old signs and furniture and, well,… junk. But junk that oozes charm. Mostly.

This place is the definition of eclectic. It’s stuffy but seemingly endless. And honestly, pretty overwhelming. I’m a little disappointed though, because there’s not a book in sight. For the same reason, Silas looks pleasantly surprised. He wanders down an aisle crammed with old Star Wars figurines and about five thousand… spinning wheels? I think?

“The books are all upstairs,” a perm-haired woman who I hadn’t noticed amidst the clutter, tells me from behind a counter by the door. She must have seen the look of confusion on my face when I walked in.

So I head upstairs and peruse the rows and rows of old books while Silas gets lost in the jumble of antiques on the main level. When I meet up with him twenty minutes later, he’s at the cash where he’s paying for a huge, weird-looking contraption.

“What the heck is—”

“A cotton candy machine,” he informs me, like it’s the most normal purchase in the world.

“You bought an oldcotton candy machine?”

“Vintage,” he grins back. Because apparently he likes hoarding my admonishments, so he can dish them back to me days later when it suits his purpose.

“Isn’t that kind of… gross?”

He gives me a funny look. “You don’t like cotton candy?”

Yes. But that’s not the point.

And yet… this is exactly the kind of thing that ten-year-old me would have imagined future seventeen-year-old Silas buying, if he ever had the chance.

“Yeah,” I say. “I love cotton candy.”

And he looks even more pleased with himself. He lugs it out to Trudy, who’s stretched out in the gravel parking lot, basking in the evening sun. We re-arrangea bunch of stuff in her storage compartment until we manage to make space for Silas’ new (used) purchase.

We’re still half an hour from Bar Harbor, where tomorrow’s festival is, but after this last stop, we’re both hungry and pretty beat. So when we pass a small but secluded picnic area a little ways past the Chicken Barn, I decide to stop there for the night. We have enough water to last until tomorrow and anyway, it’ll be kind of nice to spend the night somewhere a little quieter. We’re the only ones here, and it feels good to have privacy after four nights of mayhem.

But Silas gets quieter and broodier as the evening wears on, and the easy-going guy who walked out of The Chicken Barn just a couple hours ago with a huge cotton candy machine in his arms and an even bigger grin on his face, seems to have dissipated into the evening shadows.

He’s been outside since we finished our supper of Kraft Dinner and crackers, sitting at a picnic table sucking on a cigarette like it’s some sort of miracle elixir. I figure it’s best to give him his space, so I leave him be and get lost in Photoshop for almost two hours. It’s almost nine-thirty when I finally finish my first commission. The sun is just setting, and I can hear the crickets chirping through the screen door. But other than that, I’m surrounded by blissful silence.

I get up and peer outside to see if I can spot Silas. He’s a ways off, crossing the grass toward the camper. He must have gone for a walk on one of the trails. His head is lowered, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He still looks on edge, and I wish I knew why. I’m worried about him—about his sleeping. Or more accurately, what appears to be his difficulty sleeping. I’ve thought about mentioning it to Richard, but it’s really not my place to do that. If I want him to trust me, then I have to earn it.

I sigh, stepping away from the window to close my laptop and stash it in the upper cupboard.

I felt so close to him today. And now, he suddenly feels a million miles away again.

Chapter Eighteen

Silas

I’ve got money on the brain. Money and liquor.

It was stupid to lose my shit yesterday on Steve when he told me I was done. I should have left it alone. Then maybe I could have gone back tomorrow and tried to convince him to hire me back. Not to mention that it’s embarrassing he had to escort my drunk, passed-out self back to the camper. He’s a decent guy; he stuck his neck out for me by giving me that job in the first place. And then on top of it, he lugged me all the way back to Trudy after I treated him like crap.

And I shouldn’t have bought that stupid cotton candy machine this afternoon, either. I have no job, and only fourteen dollars left to my name. I let myself get swept up in the moment and in everything that was so good about today. But it was a dumb move. Now I don’t even have enough money left to buy a fifth of vodka, let alone anything for next week or the rest of the month.

And all I can think about is the fact that we’re camped out in the middle of nowhere - literally miles from anyplace where I might be able to score booze. Because even though I may be broke, I can be resourceful when a situation calls for it. Which this situation does. So I have no idea what I was thinking going along with this plan. It’s going to be another long night, and I’m dreading it already. As in, I am literally sweating just thinking about it. I would trade the rest of my smokes for just a couple shots of anything right now. Just to take the edge off. Just to stop myself from fixating on my lack of access to liquor.

And yeah: I do get the irony there.

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