Page 29 of Fight Or Flight

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. “Thanks.”

He watched her leave, even gave her a wave when she looked back. Then he stood there for a moment, brainstorming how was he going to convince her to care about two things she clearly despised: the snakes and Mapleton.

seven

Natalie was not a patient person.

She had to make a conscious effort to achieve an air of calm when in the company of a dawdler, but she could usually manage if she took deep breaths and counted backwards from a hundred by sevens.

Even now, as she slammed the back screen door behind her and marched toward the barn in search of Elizabeth’s old bike, she had to go to her happy place. Dealing with the first of the inherited relatives, the patriarch of the family, Mr. Victor Monroe, had taken a toll.

He was in his late seventies, still tall and unbent, as if he refused to let gravity get the upper hand. His once dark hair, same as all the Monroes, had completely greyed, and his impeccable suit gave off an entitled air that reminded her of Robert.

It was hard to be in the same room as him.

But the worst of it was when he strutted around, taking his time looking at every sight as if walking through a museum.He ran his hand along the furniture, peered into the fireplace, took in photographs. When he stopped at the china cabinet in the dining room and stared at the dishes for an eternity, she reminded him that the grandfather clock he inherited was on the second floor, near the balcony doors.

He stopped in his tracks, looked down his aristocratic nose at her, and spat, “I know where my clock is. It’s been sitting in that spot since before I was born. I’ll take my time in my family home, Natalie.”

The entitled remark had made her temper flare, just as it had as a teen when Robert would visit her mother and make comments about their small, broken-down apartment. The apartment that her mother worked so hard to pay the rent for, all by herself.

She had volleyed back, “I believe this is my home now, Victor,” then she sat down at the head of the dining table and crossed her legs.

It had done the trick. He bared his teeth but made no further comment. Then he clapped his hands three times like gunshots at the hired help he’d brought along. They leaped into action, and within five minutes, they were history.

She had felt a rush of satisfaction, but now she berated herself for it. Giving off an air of indifference was far more effective than fighting. Fighting meant you cared. And she didn’t. When the next relative, Harold Monroe, came to collect his grandfather’s gun collection, she would breathe deeper, count longer.

She checked her phone just as she got to the barn. She had about forty minutes before he came. It was just enough time to find the bike, get to the grocery store, and buy some much-needed groceries.

The only grocery store in town was a family run business that didn’t even have a website, so her plan to place an online delivery order was out. The last thing she wanted to do was makean appearance in town, but she was desperate for proper food. She’d eaten a can of creamed corn for breakfast, and the only thing left in the house was a jar of pickled beets that had expired two years ago.

Hopefully, this time when she stepped out, she wouldn’t have another wardrobe malfunction and nearly flash everyone. Thank God the shockingly attractive nerdy snake lover was there with a jacket to save her a lot of embarrassment. She would never have guessed that Ethan was Amy’s brother, but to be fair, she couldn’t see half his face until the wedding. Once Amy introduced them, she could see the similarities. He had a demeanour and a general goodness about him that was just like Amy and his parents. She knew she shouldn’t have asked him to dance, but there was something comforting, maybe even protective, about him when she was feeling so out of place.

The words were out before she could stop them, and when he pulled her into his deliciously male smelling wall of chest, she thought it was the best impulse she’d ever had.

Then her stupid dress broke, and the feeling of his rough hands on her skin and his warm breath fluttering down her neck and shoulders made her want to both sink into him and run away.

She shook the thoughts out of her head and grabbed hold of the handle on the huge barn door. The second the door was open a crack, a black bat swooped down from above the door and flew deeper into the barn.

Natalie watched in horror, a shudder working its way through the hollows of her spine.

She peered around the corner and caught sight of the old baby-blue bike with a basket on the back that Elizabeth used to ride around town. It was only a few feet in. There was a good chance the old barn was home to many bloodthirsty creatures hiding amongst the rusting farm equipment, but she had nochoice. She’d never make it back in time for Harold if she went on foot. Taking a cab only increased the interaction with the townspeople. So she counted to three, darted into the barn, grabbed the bike, and bolted out of there.

Five minutes later, she arrived at the store.

The grocery store, opened eighty years ago, was built into an old building on a corner lot, giving it an awkward V shaped layout. The entrance to the store was on one street, and the exit led to another street.

Natalie propped the old bike against the far side of the building near the entrance and walked in. She grabbed some fruit and veggies, then went to the bakery section and stopped in her tracks at the towering display of butter tarts.

It had been a decade since she last had the deliciously gooey treat. Her mouth watered, and she grabbed a box, then hesitated and picked up three more. It was going to be a long two weeks. She might as well have something to enjoy. In fact, there were probably a ton of long-forgotten Canadian delicacies she hadn’t had in years. She went on a hunt through the rest of the store for all her favourite childhood treats.

By the time she made it to the checkout lanes, her arms were bursting with boxes of Kraft Dinner, all dressed chips, Nanaimo bars, and some local beer and two bottles of icewine. She dumped it all on the belt with a nostalgic smile and happily watched as the cashier scanned the items.

She paid, hefted her bags toward the door, and nearly tripped over her own feet.

In front of her, blocking the exit, was a long, white table with a navy-blue banner pinned to the front that read ANNE MONROE FOR MAYOR. On either side of the table were bunches of blue and white balloons, and behind the table stood Anne Monroe herself, wearing a pressed white suit with an intricate sapphirepin on the lapel, high heels, and petal-pink lipstick outlining a soft, genuine smile.

Natalie felt all the blood drain from her face. She forced her step to steady, not wanting to draw attention. Luckily, a mother with a little girl in a pretty pink dress stopped at the table and drew Anne’s attention. She bent down to the little one and handed her a perfectly decorated sugar cookie in the shape of the letter A, wrapped in cellophane and tied with a little blue bow.

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