Z-Town

by Eden Darry

  “No, I guess not. Look, Lane—”

  “Are you dumping me?”

  Lane saw Meg wince, and she knew. Her heart beat hard in her chest, and her eyes prickled. Shit, this hurt.

  “It’s not about dumping you. I just don’t think we’re right for each other. We knew it was going to be a short-term thing—I’m heading back to the US next year. I just think it’s better to end it now.”

  “Why?” Lane struggled to keep her voice from wobbling.

  “We’re so different.” Meg reached for her hand, and Lane couldn’t bring herself to pull it away. She wanted to. She wanted to make Meg hurt like she was hurting. To lash out and share out some of the pain. She didn’t, though. She hadn’t been raised that way.

  Lane kept her hand where it was. She let Meg take it and hold it and tried not to think this was the last time she’d touch her. She furiously blinked away tears that formed in the corners of her eyes and tried to speak around the knot in her throat.

  “You never meant this to last?”

  “I was only ever going to be here two years. But that’s not the point. The point is that we’re so different, Lane.”

  “We aren’t so different,” Lane replied.

  “Maybe it doesn’t seem like it now, but those little differences will get bigger. They’ll destroy us,” Meg said.

  “Is this to do with your father? Him walking out? You’re worried we’ll end up like your parents.”

  When Meg recoiled, Lane realized her mistake. Meg never wanted to talk about anything even verging on her vulnerabilities. She couldn’t handle the idea she wasn’t invincible.

  “It has nothing to do with that. I want to buy my own bar and build a career for myself. You want to party and spend your family’s money.” Meg let go of Lane’s hand, and Lane left it there for a moment, hanging between them in an awkward disembodied way, before she picked up her drink.

  “I see. Well, thanks for letting me know. You could have just ghosted me, but you didn’t. I appreciate it.” Lane channelled her mother. She was the coldest person Lane knew. Lane forced that same coldness into her voice and into her eyes.

  “You’re welcome.” Meg looked confused.

  “Is that all?” Lane stood.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good luck, Meg. I hope you get your bar.”

  Lane refused to look back as she left the pub. The knot in her throat was growing, and the tears were coming too fast to blink away. All she had to do was get to the car. Just get to the car.

  * * *

  Lane took a deep breath and shook off the memory. She saw a nice looking restaurant set back slightly from the road and decided to go in. Admittedly she’d only gotten about a hundred feet down Provincetown’s main street, Commercial Street, but she was hungry. And she needed tea—or coffee—and she could look for Meg later. Her stomach growled in agreement.

  Inside, the place had vinyl checked floors and bright red and chrome booths. There were windows all the way round and, at the back, views of the ocean.

  A waitress showed Lane to her table and handed her a menu. “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Yes, please,” Lane said. And then, because she couldn’t help herself, “Do you know a Meg Daltry?”

  “Meg? Sure. She works over at the Squealing Pig.”

  “The Squealing what?” Lane put down her menu.

  The waitress laughed. “The Squealing Pig. It’s a bar about ten minutes’ walk from here. Right down Commercial. You a friend of hers?”

  “No, not really,” Lane said.

  The waitress frowned. “Not really? Guess I should have asked before I told you where she worked.”

  “No, no. I mean, I am a friend. I knew her in London. I’m here to surprise her.” Lane fiddled with the salt shaker.

  “You flew all the way from London to surprise her? You her girlfriend?”

  “Yes—I mean, no. I used to be. We split up.”

  “Split up?”

  “Broke up. Well, she dumped me.”

  The waitress’s frown rearranged itself into something that looked like pity. “Oh, I get it. I’m sorry, that sucks. I got dumped too last week. But flying all the way over here…isn’t that a little desperate?”

  Lane died inside. This was not how she wanted things to go. Did she seem desperate? “I was hoping it would look more like, you know, a grand gesture. Like I’m serious about her.”

  “Sweetheart, if she dumped you, I’m not sure she wants you to be serious about her. I know Meg a little bit. She’s all about work. About that bar in Boston she’s going to open. I’ve never seen her with anyone since she got here. She doesn’t strike me as the type for big romantic gestures. I’m going to get you that coffee now.” The waitress patted Lane’s hand before walking off.

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Lane covered her face with her hands. It hadn’t occurred to her that Meg dumped her because she wasn’t interested in a relationship—or rather she’d chosen not to think about that. Lane had decided it was because Meg didn’t see a future with her. She hadn’t allowed herself to consider the possibility it might be because Meg just really wasn’t that into her. And now she’d flown thousands of miles across the ocean and made a fool out of herself in front of the waitress.

  “Excuse me,” she called to the waitress who was making her way back over with coffee. “Is there anywhere around here that sells art supplies?”

  The waitress frowned again. “You’re going to paint her a picture?”

  “What? No. No, not at all.”

  “Further up there’s a store on the left. About five minutes’ walk. They don’t open until ten, though.”

  Ten would be fine. Lane decided she’d have her coffee, but she wasn’t hungry at all any more. Painting helped her think. Helped her sort out her feelings. Meg once told her she should try to sell them, that she was really good, but Lane knew Meg was just being kind. She painted as a hobby and nothing more. There was a time she thought she might like to be an artist, but as her parents said, how likely was it that she would ever make a career out of that?

  Lane drank her coffee and tried not to think about how coming here might have been a huge mistake.

  Chapter Three

  Outer Cape Echo

  1 hour ago

  LOCAL WOMAN BITES GUEST: Last week cops were called to a local woman’s bed and breakfast after she bit a customer for complaining about the cold coffee at breakfast. The local woman, who cannot be named for legal reasons, apparently latched on to the guest’s shoulder and bit down after he told her the coffee had gone cold. “It was the craziest thing. All I asked was could we get some warm coffee, and she came at me like a rabid dog.” The guest from Florida continued, “It’s no way to treat a paying customer. She won’t be getting a good review from me.”

  The woman was arrested at the scene and later released on bail.

  418 Likes

  7 Comments

  Patty Wold: My nephew got bit by a kid at school just yesterday. And I heard someone down the street got bit by their husband. Maybe there’s some biting disease going around?

  Dolores Cab: Idiot. Patty, the only disease going around is stupid and I’m pretty sure you have it. Not your fault, you caught it from your parents.

  Molly Price: I think there’s something going around too. My cousin got bit by one of her customers when she was doing her hair this morning. Why isn’t anyone looking into this? I think we need some help in Provincetown.

  Dolores Cab: Why don’t you quit whining, Molly? Might not help you, but we’d sure feel better. Failing that, I hear putting your head in boiling tar is a definite cure to this biting disease.

  Molly Price: Stop trolling me, Dolores. I will report you.

  Moderator: Dolores Cab. Do we have to put you in another time out?

  Dolores Cab: [deleted by poster]

  * * *

  Lane tried not to think about her conversation with the waitress. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the
other and making it to the art supply shop. She would buy things, go to the beach, and paint. Once she started painting, everything would become clearer. She’d be calm. It was always like that when she painted.

  Lane was so focused on getting to the art shop she almost walked straight into a little girl.

  “Shit, sorry.” She cringed at the swear word. She wasn’t used to kids. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear. Please don’t repeat that word—it’s not nice.”

  Then she really looked at the kid. She was young. Much too young to be out by herself. Lane crouched down in front of her. “Hi. My name is Lane. What’s yours?”

  “Lois.”

  The little girl still had to look up to meet Lane’s eyes. “Where’s your mummy, Lois? Or your daddy?”

  “My mommy is sick. You talk funny.”

  Lane smiled. “I’m from England. Does your mummy know you’re out by yourself?”

  Lois shook her head. “I have to go to school. I’m late.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be seven in December.”

  “So you’re six?”

  “No. I’m seven in December.” Lois’s little brow furrowed.

  “But that means you’re six now,” Lane said. Why was she arguing with a child?

  “But I am seven in December.” Lois enunciated each word as though she was speaking to someone very slow.

  “Okay, fine. But the point is you probably aren’t allowed out by yourself.”

  “I don’t want to be late for school. Mrs. Shaw will be mad. Excuse me, I need to go now.” Lois started to walk off.

  Lane gently took her shoulders to stop her leaving. “Lois, I think we should take you back home to your mum. She’s going to be worried. And you really shouldn’t be wandering about by yourself.” Or talking to strangers. But she figured she shouldn’t mention that right now.

  “I’m not wandering by myself, I’m going to school.”

  “Who usually takes you to school?”

  “Mommy.”

  “But she’s sick?”

  Lois nodded.

  “Then we should take you home and maybe your mum can call someone to take you.”

  “But I’ll be late.” Lois crossed her little arms.

  This was unravelling. Lane just wanted to get her art stuff and go to the beach. “I know. Mrs. Shaw will understand. Your mum can tell her it’s not your fault.”

  “Then she won’t be mad?”

  “No, she won’t be mad. Well, maybe she’ll be mad at your mum.”

  “I don’t want her to be mad at my mom.”

  “Your mum can handle it—don’t worry. Shall we go?” Lane stood and held out her hand. Lois seemed to consider the possibilities for a second, and then, to Lane’s relief, took her hand.

  “Okay, but you have to tell Mrs. Shaw why I’m late. Then she can be mad at you.”

  “Fine. Where do you live?”

  Lois pointed to a side street.

  “Just down there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  Lane briefly wondered if Lois was a ploy for muggers. Lead her down a dark alley and rob her. No, she was just being paranoid. But it was dark down there. The whole sky was dark, in fact, like an early winter evening. It was strange.

  * * *

  Meg knocked on Joanne’s front door. After a minute, she heard footsteps coming down the hall, and then the door opened.

  For a second, Meg couldn’t breathe. She blinked. Blinked again. She tried to get her throat to work.

  “Lane.”

  For her part, Lane looked equally stunned. “Meg.”

  “What are you doing here?” The last place Meg expected to find Lane Boyd was at Joanne’s house. Her being in Provincetown was weird enough, but at Joanne’s?

  “I found her daughter wandering around outside. I brought her home. I…Wow, this is not how I wanted you to find out I was here.”

  What did that mean? Lane came to Provincetown to see her? Or she was here and knew Meg was and didn’t want her to find out from someone else? What the hell was going on?

  “I’m sorry, you’ve got me at a disadvantage,” Meg said.

  “I know. I know I have. Look, can we talk? Not here. But later. Joanne is really ill. I think she needs a doctor, but she won’t let me call one.”

  Meg pushed past Lane and tried to ignore how her belly tightened as she brushed against her. Lane was still hot.

  “Let me see her.”

  Meg almost gagged at the smell in Joanne’s bedroom. It was sweet and rotten—like fruit gone off. “Joanne?”

  Joanne lay beneath the covers unmoving. “Joanne? It’s Meg.” Meg took a few steps further inside the room and tried not to throw up. The only explanation Meg could think of for that smell was a festering wound or something equally gross. “Joanne, honey, I’m going to call an ambulance. I think that cut you got is infected.”

  Joanne rolled over and blinked up at Meg. “I told that other woman I’m okay. Just sick. I have a really bad cold.”

  “I think it’s more than that. I wish you’d let us call you a doctor,” Lane said. She moved up right behind Meg, and Meg could feel her warmth. “You smell awful.”

  “Lane!” Meg said.

  “What? It smells like something went off in here. I’m sorry, Joanne, but it does. And Lois was wandering about by herself outside. I really think you need a doctor. Probably a hospital.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll call a doctor. I think you’re right. I’m sorry about Lois. I’ll get my sister to take her.” Joanne struggled into a sitting position. She really did look terrible.

  “You want us to do it?” Meg asked.

  “No, no, you’ve both done enough. I should get up and air this place out anyway. I think I left something out in the kitchen. I think that’s the smell. I promise—I’ll call a doctor.”

  Meg wasn’t convinced the smell was coming from the kitchen, but she didn’t know Joanne that well, and she didn’t want to push. “Okay, listen, we’ll go. I’m going to drop by later to see how you are, though. Call if you need anything.”

  “I will. I promise. Thank you,” Joanne said. “And I’ll call my sister right now.”

  * * *

  Meg dragged in deep lungfuls of air once they were back outside. Lane was doing the same beside her. She felt uneasy about leaving Joanne, but what could she do? Joanne wouldn’t let her call a doctor or an ambulance. She’d check back later, and if Joanne was the same, she would call regardless of what Joanne wanted.

  Right now, she had to deal with the other issue in front of her. Lane.

  “So, you’re in Provincetown,” Meg said, pathetically stating the obvious.

  “Yeah.” Lane kicked at a loose stone.

  “Why?” Meg watched as Lane looked off somewhere past her shoulder and took a deep breath.

  “For you. I came for you.”

  “Why?” Meg blurted out and then regretted it when she saw Lane wince.

  “Look, can we go for a walk? Talk?” Lane asked.

  “I can’t. I have to be at work soon.”

  “Later, then? When you’ve finished?” Lane said.

  “I don’t finish until after one a.m. We’re short-staffed,” Meg said, painfully aware of how weak that sounded. Lane had come all the way from London for her, so the least she could do was hear her out. In all honesty, she was floored. She didn’t think Lane had been that bothered about their break-up—if you could even call it that. They’d never really been together in the first place.

  “Fine.” Lane nodded and sighed. “Is there any day this week when you might be free?”

  “What for, Lane? What is this about? Are you seriously telling me you came all the way from London to get me back? We weren’t even together, not really. It was a holiday romance. Fun. Nothing more.”

  Lane looked at her then, dead in the eyes, and Meg could see she’d hurt her. “It was more than that for me. I…I mean I think I’m—”

&
nbsp; “No. Don’t say it, Lane. Jesus. Look, I have to go to work. You still have the same cell number?”

  Lane nodded.

  “I’ll call you. I will. Just…I need to get to work.”

  Before Lane could answer, Meg pushed past her and almost ran out of the alley. This was beyond crazy. Never in a million years would she have thought Lane would come all the way from London for her. It was the last thing Meg wanted. Even though part of her thrilled at the idea. She was just flattered, though, right? It wasn’t anything more than that. It couldn’t be. She didn’t have time for sleep, let alone a relationship. And certainly not one with Lane.

  Lane was childish and aimless and selfish. But she was sweet and funny and generous too. And hot. Meg had forgotten how hot she was. Damn it, it was just hormones and flattery and she had to get to work, and she most definitely didn’t have time to think about Lane and how she’d almost told Meg she loved her.

  * * *

  Well, that went just about as badly as Lane could have imagined. Meg wouldn’t even meet with her to talk—don’t call me, I’ll call you. Add to that the fact Lane tried to tell Meg she loved her, and Meg wouldn’t even let her say it. She didn’t need to when the look of horror on Meg’s face said it all. Lane was humiliated. Utterly humiliated.

  What would she do now? She’d only come here for Meg, and it was quite clear Meg didn’t want her. The waitress was right. Lane looked desperate. Pathetic. And it was too early for a drink. Fucking hell.

  Lane walked aimlessly down Commercial. Shops were just starting to open, though the streets were still quiet. She felt empty and crushed and so, so foolish. She wanted to go home, but a bigger part of her wanted to stay. To convince Meg to give her a chance. And that was even more pathetic. Meg had been very clear. She did not want Lane, so why did a small part of Lane still hold out hope?

  Lane found herself standing outside a place called Whalers Wharf. It seemed to be a small shopping arcade. There were boards out the front advertising shops inside. One was for tarot, or psychic mumbo jumbo, to use its proper title. But Lane had nothing else to do, and who knew? Maybe the tarot reader would have some answers for her.