Page 52 of Nothing Less than Magic
“You’re sure no one can look at it today? I can pay extra for the rush.”
She scowls at me like she’s a cop to whom I’ve just offered a bribe. “That wouldn’t be fair to our other customers.”
“When will it be ready then?”
“It’s hard to say.” With her dagger-long nails painted a bright purple, she taps out a series of keys on the counter’s computer. “There are five people ahead of you, so it could be a couple of days. It’s up to you.”
I’m tempted to look for another computer place, but who knows if it’ll be any different there? And I really need to be able to send emails, so I reluctantly leave my laptop with the hope that it’ll be fixed no later than tomorrow.
On the way home, I stop at the fancy grocery store in the strip mall next to the one with the computer store. It’s one of those co-op deals that looks a lot like Whole Foods but is even more expensive. Their cheese section, though, is unrivaled, and their organic produce is marvelous. Since I won’t be here for the next farmers’ market, I stock up.
Knox is on the roof when I get to the cabin. The roof, it seems, has become a full-time job. He waves down to me, and I yell for him to come in for lunch. It’s more like an early dinner, but I’m starved.
I decide to make a charcuterie board with all the cheeses I’ve bought and try to copy a picture of one I find on my phone. Whoever did it makes it look easy, effortless, like they blindly threw cheeses, meats, olives, grapes, and veggies together on a platter andvoilà,an Impressionist painting. Whereas mine looks like vomit—literally, like someone threw up.
I set the board, a wedding gift that has never been used, on the table anyway and find a bottle of red hiding in the back of the pantry.
Knox comes in and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. “Kind of late for lunch, don’t you think?”
“Probably. But aren’t you hungry?”
“I’m always hungry,” he says, then looks at the table, or more accurately, my poor attempt at charcuterie. “Nice. Fancy.”
I laugh, despite myself. “Don’t be shy, dig in.”
He opens the wine and pours us each a glass.
I clink my goblet against his. “After this, I don’t think you should get back on the roof.”
“I’m officially done. Your roof, I’m proud to say, is as good as new.”
This announcement of his should be great news, yet all I can think is now Knox won’t have a reason to come around anymore. And I’ll miss him. I’ll miss our morning coffee and our impromptu meals. I’ll miss our conversations and our stories. I’ll miss going to sleep at night, looking forward to seeing him in the morning.
“So I guess you can focus full time on your book now.”
He nods. “The deadline is looming.”
And suddenly I have this very odd sense that our—his and my—deadline is also looming.
Chapter 13
The Ghost Inn is packed this evening, but Katie has saved us a table at the back of the bar. It’s Sadie, Ginger, the woman I have since learned is Amanda, and me. Tonight, at least until seven o’clock, Ghost Ghouls are half price, and it’s five bucks for anything on the happy hour menu, including their famous smoked chicken wings.
We get a round of drinks for the table and order enough five-buck bites to count as dinner. Ginger is still talking about the boy who saved the dog, calling it “the height of stupidity.”
And I tell everyone about my scary encounter with the kids at Bear Creek Beach.
“People think small towns are these safe little islands,” Sadie says. “Well, let me tell you, we’ve got bigger drug problems here than they do in the big cities. OxyContin, fentanyl, methamphetamine, we’ve got ’em all.”
“I think these kids were just smoking pot,” I say.
“I doubt it.” Ginger passes the basket of chips around the table. “Sounds to me like they were a bunch of juvenile delinquents, high on God knows what. Probably homeless.”
“One of them had a fairly expensive SUV. They didn’t appear homeless to me, just bored, and out for a good time, even if it was at my expense.”
“Probably stole that SUV,” Ginger says. “Did you check the police blotter today?”
I hadn’t. I didn’t even know there was one.
