Page 4 of Zinnia and the Zombie
And yet, this new warmth, this softness, called to him. But it was a call he could not answer.
CHAPTER THREE
“Ireally didn’t expect the bank to approve the loan,” Zinnia told her zombie, “but Mrs. Jensen spoke to the bank manager. I suppose that’s one of the advantages of a small town. Everyone knows everyone, and they didn’t want the shop to close down. They were trying to bring business back to Main Street, and empty storefronts wouldn’t encourage that.”
She sighed and patted her zombie’s leg. She’d noticed that when she touched him, the faint golden glow he emitted would increase a little, chasing away more of the shadows that surrounded her.
My zombie.
The nickname had been ironic at first. She’d been telling him about how much she hated horror movies, ever since an early boyfriend had taken her to a late-night screening of Night of the Living Dead.
“I think he thought I’d get scared and turn to him for comfort,” she reminisced with a shake of her head. “He didn’t realize that I get angry when I’m scared. I punched him when he put hisarm around me and ran out of the theater. That was the end of that boyfriend. You know, you kind of remind me of one of those zombies—not because you’re gross and disgusting, but because it feels as if you’re alive in there. And at least I don’t have to worry about you trying to eat my brain.”
Since she didn’t have any other name for him, her zombie had become his permanent title.
“I still think he was surprised when I paid off the loan three months early,” she continued. “The disadvantage of a small town is that everyone knows about your past. And now you know it too.”
She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d been taken. There was no difference between night and day in the container, but the number of wafers in her food box had been slowly decreasing. At least the water never seemed to run dry. Once she realized that, she’d even used some of it for washing. She didn’t have anything resembling soap, but it was better than nothing.
She’d started talking to the statue out of sheer desperation, desperate for something to occupy her time and prevent her from thinking about her future. She found herself telling him her life story—not that there was a lot to tell. She’d lived in the same small town most of her life, and she’d spent a good part of that life hating it. Hating being poor. Hating the whispers about her mother. The fact that a lot of those whispers were true had only made it worse.
But in the end, it had been the town that saved her.
She had been sixteen when her mother died, already working a part-time job at the local grocery store to try and keep foodon the table. The landlord of the small trailer park where they lived had knocked on the door the same day as the funeral. She had been sitting on the couch, still in shock, wearing the too-tight black dress she’d had to borrow from one of her mother’s friends.
“The rent is due this Saturday,” he told her.
“I don’t have the money.”
He shrugged. “Then you’d better get it.” His eyes traveled down her body in a way that made her shudder. “Of course, you could always pay it the same way your mother did.”
“I’d rather be homeless,” she snapped.
He scowled at her. “Suit yourself, girly, but I’ll be here on Saturday to collect, one way or the other.”
The next day, she’d gone to the manager of the store where she worked, asking for a full-time job and praying he would give her an advance on her future wages.
“You’re still in school.” Mr. Jensen frowned at her. He was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a perpetually sorrowful look, liking an aging basset hound.
“I’m dropping out.”
“I have a better idea,” he said slowly.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she snapped, and he reared back as if she’d slapped him.
“Of course not! Why would you even—” He broke off, giving her a far too discerning glance. “Bill Thompson been around?”
“Yeah. The rent is due Saturday, and I can’t…”
“Of course not. Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, instantly suspicious.
“To see my wife,” he said firmly.
He’d done exactly that and Mrs. Jensen immediately sprang into action. By the end of the day, Zinnia had a new place to live in the mother-in-law suite over the Jensen’s garage. Mrs. Jensen and one of the town’s deputies had accompanied her back to the trailer park to collect her belongings, which turned out to be just as well, since Bill Thompson immediately tried to claim she owed back rent. The deputy had told him he was lucky he wasn’t arrested for attempting to blackmail her into sex, but she suspected it had been Mrs. Jensen’s disapproving glare that had scared him the most.
It hadn’t been all smooth sailing from there. She was still sad and lonely, and the other kids could still be cruel, but it had gotten better. Mrs. Jensen had been in her corner every step of the way, even when she went off the rails. She worked part-time in the Mrs. Jensen’s florist shop until she graduated, and then went full-time while taking business classes at night at the local community college. When Mrs. Jensen—Margaret, by then—finally decided to retire, she’d passed the business on to Zinnia.
