Page 24 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
“Solitudinarian?”
She shrugged. “My English teacher is big on making us learn a new word every day.”
Sometimes, I forgot that Michelle was still in high school. Not only was she a hard worker, but she also managed to keep her grades up and have an active, healthy social life too. She was more mature than some of the adults I knew.
“Please, Casey?” Michelle pleaded. “Come, even if it’s only for a little while. If you’re not having a good time, you can leave, but at least make an effort. It would mean a lot to everyone.”
What could I say to that without sounding like a complete and total bitch?
“Fine,” I grumbled, walking to my car. “Get in.”
9
According to Michelle,Ziegler Farms consisted of about five hundred acres of prime agricultural land, nestled among gently rolling hills, striped in wide swaths of green and brown. Most of it was actively farmed, but not all. Some was left as forested land, other parcels for open space.
The Zieglers had their own store, where they sold farm-fresh produce and products as well as homemade baked goods and unique items made by local craftsmen. The place was popular with locals and tourists alike, Michelle told me. That was something I’d already known, as I’d stopped several times over the course of the last month.
What could I say? I had a weakness for whoopie pies.
After turning off the main road, we made our way down the long drive, lined with stately old oaks and maples on either side, ablaze with autumn colors. Hand-painted signs held warm welcomes and promises of good family fun. Grinning scarecrows and gauzy, friendly ghosts pointed the way.
The scenic lane opened into a large, well-lit clearing, where a handful of cars were already parked. There weren’t nearly as many as I’d expected. The lot was usually packed.
“Zieglers is closed to the public tonight too,” Michelle explained, as if reading my thoughts.
I recognized Max’s project car, an old Chevy Nova, as well as John’s platinum-colored Lexus SUV. Lou’s gleaming pickup truck was there too, parked next to a minivan that had seen better days. I assumed the van was Shannon’s. I scanned the few remaining vehicles out of habit, looking for out-of-state plates or rental stickers, finding none.
We got out of the car, and I took a moment to look around. The sun hadn’t yet gone down completely, and there was enough light to see beyond the lot. It was pretty in a picture-postcard way. Grassroots Americana at its very best.
I could live here and be happy, I thought.
Various trails led outward, like spokes on a wagon wheel, with signs explaining where they went. The path straight ahead directed people toward pick-your-own patches of pumpkins and gourds as well as orchard and cider-making tours. To the left was a massive, digitally designed corn maze. The maze was so large that each party was given a handheld GPS device, programmed with interactive clues as well as a highlighted exit path for those who wanted a quick out. To the right was an obstacle course, created almost solely of hay bales and what looked like a dirt racetrack, complete with tricycles. And, of course, there was a path leading into the woods for the haunted hayrides.
I stifled a shudder. At one time, I would have enjoyed coming to a place like this. Now, the thought of being trapped in a maze or having things jump out at me from the dark was enough to set my heart thumping furiously and chill my blood. I could feel the panic skulking around the edges of my mind, looking for the slightest crack in my defenses.
You can do this, Casey. Nothing is going to happen. Smile, put in an appearance, then leave quietly with no one the wiser and your dignity intact.
As if sensing my desire to flee, Michelle looped her arm through mine and led me toward the large barn looming before us. It was painted a deep shade of red and adorned with intricate and brilliantly colored Pennsylvania Dutch hex signs. The big doors were open, and sounds of music and laughter drifted out to us.
It looked and sounded like people were already having a good time. Still, I might have turned tail and fled had it not been for the mouthwatering aromas emanating from within. I inhaled deeply, able to discern some of my favorites. Tangy barbecue. Grilled burgers and hot dogs. Fresh apple cider. Deep-fried powdered doughnuts.
And though I couldn’t smell them, I knew there would be whoopie pies. Lots of whoopie pies. Chocolate. Red velvet. Vanilla. Pumpkin spice.
Yep, this was my happy place.
I thought I’d gained five pounds just from the smells alone. For the record, I was totally okay with that.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I’d had nothing to eat but cereal for over twenty-four hours. I’d planned to grab something at the inn, as usual, but clearly, that wasn’t happening. I decided I’d stay long enough to be polite, partake in some of the treats, then slip away.
Rose beamed when Michelle marched me through the door. I was welcomed warmly. So warmly, in fact, that I felt a twinge of guilt. Had it not been for Rose’s scheming—yes, I knew Michelle’s escort services were her doing—I wouldn’t be here.
After saying hello to everyone, I helped myself to cider and a hot dog and mentally whispered,Later, beautiful, promises to the whoopie pies.
I hefted myself up onto a rectangle of hay that had been covered with a thick cloth. Feet dangling, I was content to sit and watch those around me until enough time passed that I could leave without being rude.
Rose and John were the center of attention, as usual. They regaled the group with outrageous but very funny stories from their time overseas. John had been stationed in Asia, Europe, and South America while in the Navy. I’d never been out of the country, but after listening to them, I movedinternational travelup on my bucket list. I’d already seen a good portion of the US.
I recognized nearly everyone there, and those I didn’t, I was able to guess at. The long-haired guy with piercings hanging close to Michelle had to be her boyfriend, Jason. The beefy, bearded guy wearing a Peterbilt cap and laughing with CJ was Shannon’s husband, Mike.
