Z-Town

by Eden Darry

  She walked down a short hall with shops lining either side. The building was open at the back with a view of the sea. Lane hesitated for a moment, still unsure about whether to go through with the tarot reading. She stepped outside and leaned against the railings.

  Lane felt strange, discombobulated and slightly hopeless. She sighed. The sea was rough and grey and reflected her mood. Lane glanced to the left and squinted. In the distance she could see a sand dune, which should be underwater at this time of day. There was a man on it. Or at least she thought it was a man. He was tall and blueish in tone. Weird. On second thoughts, it couldn’t be a person. Not out there. Not in this weather. It was probably a buoy or a rock. Sometimes your mind played tricks on you and made things look like something else. Lane turned and walked back inside.

  Alice didn’t look like a tarot reader. She was in her late thirties and had short brown ringlets. With her bright red floral print dress, chunky jewellery, and carefully manicured red nails she looked more like a sexy fifties housewife. She also wore a key around her neck, which intrigued Lane.

  “Come in and sit down.”

  Lane did as she was told. Alice’s shop was really just a small room, one flight up, by the balcony. Inside were two chairs and a low table. There was a door at the back which Lane guessed went to a bathroom and maybe an office.

  “You’re lucky you caught me. I’m heading out of town for a couple weeks today. I nearly didn’t open the store,” Alice said.

  Lane wasn’t sure how to respond. “I suppose it’s fate?”

  Alice laughed and it lit her face. “Or I had way too much red wine last night and decided not to drive until this afternoon.”

  Lane smiled. “Yeah, or that. So, what’s the key around your neck? Some kind of tarot talisman?”

  Alice laughed. “Not at all. It’s a key to the bathrooms on the first floor. All the store owners have them. They used to be open to the public, but they aren’t in great shape. Instead of fixing them, they shut them off. Now only store owners can use them.”

  Lane felt a bit silly. Key to a toilet. “I see. Sorry, I just thought…never mind.”

  “Don’t worry about it. So, do you have a question in mind? For the cards?” Alice sat opposite Lane and picked up a deck of cards from the table.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t done this before.”

  “That’s okay. May I ask what brought you here today?” Alice asked.

  Lane sighed deeply. “Well, there’s this woman.”

  “Oh, honey, there always is,” Alice said.

  Something about Alice’s tone made Lane laugh. “Fuck, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” Lane buried her head in her hands.

  “Not at all.” Alice tapped Lane’s hands, and she took them away from her face. “If it’s not a woman, then it’s careers, kids, finances. We like to think we’re unique, but really, we’re all basically the same. Same hopes, same fears, same dreams.”

  “Yeah?” Lane asked. Alice’s words made her feel a little less alone.

  “Truly. So tell me about this woman.” Alice sat back in her chair.

  “Don’t I need to shuffle the cards or something first?” Lane asked.

  “We’ll get to that. First, tell me about the woman.”

  * * *

  Meg used her ass to close the front door. She had two heavy bags of shopping in each hand, and she was dead on her feet. Lane had texted earlier to say she was on her way over to Meg’s place. She’d promised to cook and tidy up, but Meg wasn’t counting on it. Lane had offered before, and when Meg got home, Lane had been sitting on the sofa with cans of soda and open bags of chips scattered around her.

  Meg didn’t smell dinner this time either and guessed it would be the same situation—Lane camped out on the couch with an apologetic smile on her face. Meg braced herself.

  “Hey, babe. Is that you?” Lane called out.

  “Yep.” Meg walked into the living room. Just as she thought.

  “Sorry, I didn’t get round to dinner. I thought we could go out. My treat. We can grab some food and maybe a few drinks in town. What do you think?” Lane said without looking away from the TV.

  Meg could feel the frustration bubbling up inside her. The place was a mess. She’d just worked a twelve-hour shift. She’d given Lane a key to her place, and now she bitterly regretted it. Who gave someone they were casually dating a key, anyway? Someone who was getting into a relationship, that’s who. Something she had been avoiding for years. And now she knew why.

  “Not tonight. I’m tired. I went shopping, so I’ll cook,” Meg said and tried to keep her temper. She reminded herself that this was Lane.

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.” Lane tilted her head back and pursed her lips for a kiss.

  “No, Lane. I’m tired. I’ve done a long shift, and I want to sit on the couch for half an hour then go to bed.”

  Lane turned fully on the couch. “Okay. I’ll get takeaway. What do you fancy?”

  “I don’t want takeaway. It’s expensive, and there’s food in the house.” Meg kicked off her shoes, rounded the couch, and started picking up the crap Lane had left scattered about.

  “Leave it—I’ll tidy up.”

  “You will? You were supposed to tidy up before, but I can see a pile of dirty washing from here that’s mostly yours anyway. You were supposed to cook, but instead you’ve set up camp on the couch and made even more mess.” Meg picked up a T-shirt. “Why do you have so much stuff here anyway?”

  When had Lane pretty much moved in? And why hadn’t Meg noticed before? Well, she was noticing now. It was her mom and dad all over again before he walked out on them.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I know I said I would, but I got sidetracked.” Lane laughed.

  Meg lost it. “From what? You don’t work. Don’t do much of anything, from what I can tell. You certainly don’t clean up after yourself. Jesus, Lane. This was supposed to be fun, but it’s not fun any more. It’s hard work. You’re hard work.”

  “Because you’re always at work. You’re always too tired to do anything.” Lane jumped up off the couch. “Let’s go out. Call in sick tomorrow or something.”

  Meg’s anger died. This was how it would be, she realized. Lane was a child. It wasn’t her fault exactly. She was offering Meg the same kind of life—Lane could easily afford to support them both on her allowance. But this was how it would always be between them. Meg being the sensible one. Meg cleaning up. Meg making sure there was food in the house. Lane was immature and didn’t want to change. Meg didn’t blame her. She wasn’t a bad person at all—she was wonderful, in fact—if you wanted that life too. And Meg didn’t. She wanted something she’d built with her own hard work. Something she could be proud of.

  Meg realized it was over. Whatever it was she and Lane were doing wasn’t working, and it had to stop. It had already gone much further than she intended.

  Meg sighed. Lane was looking at her like a puppy that knew it had done something wrong but wasn’t sure what. And that summed up their relationship. This thing needed to end.

  * * *

  Meg let herself into the Squealing Pig and was surprised to find it empty. Usually Callie, their cook, was already at work and getting ready for the day. But the place was dark, made darker still by the strange weather, and the normal sounds of clanging and cursing from the kitchen were absent.

  Meg had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She checked the machine and saw a dreaded red blinking light. She hit play, and sure enough, there was a message from Callie telling Meg she wouldn’t be in today. In fairness, she sounded pretty terrible on her voicemail. But that didn’t help Meg. She’d have to call Fran, the owner. There was no way Meg could run the bar and the kitchen by herself. It also meant another late finish. Callie was going away to college in the fall, and she sometimes worked extra shifts behind the bar after the night cook came on.

  Meg had been hoping Callie would cover for her tonight. She’d handled the whole Lane thing terribly. On the way ov
er, she’d decided to meet up with Lane and talk things over. She’d flown all the way over here and Meg owed her something. She couldn’t give Lane what she came for, but that didn’t mean she had to be obnoxious about it.

  It didn’t look like that was going to happen, though. Meg sighed and rubbed her eyes. There weren’t enough hours in the damn day. She still wanted to go over to Joanne’s to check on her. And she remembered she’d promised Wendy she’d go see the exhibition in the library too. On her day off. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but Wendy was so excited about it, and she was a good customer. Actually, that could work out well. Maybe she could invite Lane to the exhibition, and they could go for a coffee and talk after.

  Meg decided to text Lane. She was pretty sure she’d kept her number after they broke up. But if not, it wouldn’t be too hard to find out where she was staying and get a message to her there.

  Meg picked up her cell phone and started making calls.

  Chapter Four

  Alice turned over the first tarot card. It showed a blindfolded and bound woman surrounded by swords.

  “Well, that can’t be good,” Lane said.

  “It’s the eight of swords. It represents frustration and obstacles—constraint. Something’s been holding you back. You’ve been going down dead ends for a long time.”

  Lane stayed silent. The truth of Alice’s words hit her straight in the gut.

  “But this placement means that’s coming to an end,” Alice continued. “Recently you’ve taken control of your own destiny. Your luck is changing, Lane.”

  Lane cleared her throat. “The decision it’s talking about. Is that coming here? To Provincetown?”

  “I can’t tell you that. But if you think it’s that, then it probably is,” Alice said before turning over another card. “Okay, now this one’s interesting.”

  Lane leaned forward and looked at the card. A skeleton in armour holding a black flag and riding a horse. Great. “How’s that interesting? Obviously, it’s saying it’s curtains for me.”

  “What?” Alice looked confused.

  “I’m going to die.” Lane tapped the card with one finger. “It’s death, right?”

  “No, honey, you aren’t going to die. None of these cards should be taken literally. The death card can mean a lot of things. Rarely the death of a person. More like an ending is coming. That kind of thing.”

  “What’s ending for me?” Lane asked.

  Alice frowned. “Something is coming. Something big. It’ll come on you suddenly, and it’ll mean the end of things as they are.”

  “I’m not convinced that’s good, Alice.”

  “Lane, moving forward means other things have to fall away—or die. You can’t move on otherwise. This event could be anything, maybe something good.” Except Alice’s frown wasn’t reassuring Lane it was good.

  “Okay, fine. Look, thanks for the reading. How much do I owe you?”

  “I haven’t finished yet,” Alice said. She turned over another card, and Lane saw her blanch. That was not good at all. Lane refused to look at the card. If she didn’t look, then it wasn’t there.

  “I think I’ve heard enough.” Lane stood up, and her chair toppled over. She hastily handed Alice some bills and headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Alice called after her. Lane stopped, turned.

  “Take this. It may help you. I don’t know why, but you have to take it.” Alice held out a card face down. When Lane made no move to take it, Alice shoved it in her hand. Lane stuffed it in her jeans pocket without looking at it and hurried out with the card burning hot against her.

  Lane could feel her chest tighten and her breathing shorten. She had the overwhelming urge to run, to get outside. So she did.

  She took the stairs two at a time and threw open the doors on the ground floor. Bent over double, she tried to catch her breath. Panic attack. That’s what it was. She hadn’t had one of those in a while. Shakily, Lane wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. She was sweating, and her hair was damp.

  Fucking hell. Lane stood upright, feeling better now, and took in deep breaths of fresh sea air. Her head cleared, and she felt more herself. What was all that about? Why had she had a total meltdown over a tarot reading? She didn’t even believe in that shit. It was the skeleton on the horse. Death. Lane’s gut quivered as she remembered the picture on the card. It had creeped her out, that was all. Stupid. She’d had a shitty day, and that stupid tarot reading had compounded it.

  Except Alice was lovely. And the reading was fine—good, even. Up until that death card. But even that hadn’t exactly been bad. So what was wrong with her then?

  Lane’s mobile phone buzzed in her pocket.

  She took it out. The battery was flashing red. She never remembered to charge the bloody thing. A message from Meg.

  Full of hope and swooping feelings, Lane opened the message.

  Hi. It’s Meg. I behaved badly today. Can we meet tomorrow and talk?

  The message was brief—very Meg—but Lane was filled with unreasonable hope anyway. She cautioned herself not to get excited. Meg wanted to talk, not get back together. But if she wanted to talk, then there was hope she could be convinced to listen to Lane, to hear her out. Lane started to tap out her reply, then stopped.

  She shouldn’t reply straight away, should she? It would look desperate. Maybe like she’d been sitting staring at her phone. She should wait. Give it a few minutes. Maybe a few hours? But not too long, or it would look contrived. Like she was trying not to reply too soon.

  Shit. Lane hated this. There was a time when she’d loved the chase. Not any more and not with Meg. Lane just wanted her back.

  She sighed and tucked the phone away. She’d go back to the B and B and reply then.

  Lane kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed. It was comfortable, and the bed linen not half bad. She reread Meg’s message. She wanted to meet tomorrow. Go for coffee. It was certainly something. It didn’t mean anything, exactly, but it was a start, something to hold on to, to build on.

  She was aware how desperate that made her, but she didn’t care. She’d already fucked up with Meg once—well, twice really. Lane berated herself every day for just taking Meg’s dumping her like it didn’t matter. Maybe if she’d shown some fight in the first place, things would have turned out differently.

  But she hadn’t fought. She’d sat there and accepted it. By the time she’d gotten the guts to fight for Meg, she’d left. Gone, back to the US. No forwarding address, no goodbye. Lane only found out where she’d gone by chance. Three weeks ago she’d run into Meg’s old boss at a club. She’d mentioned Meg was working in a bar in Provincetown because Meg’s new boss had requested a reference from her.

  Now, here Lane was. And she was waiting passively again. First, by running into Meg by chance and not going straight to find her. And now, by waiting for Meg to contact her about meeting. How would Meg know she’d changed if she just sat back like she’d always done and let others make the decisions for her. No. Lane would go to Meg’s bar and talk to her there. Tonight.

  * * *

  Meg looked up from where she was loading the dishwasher, and her stomach did that annoying swooping thing. Lane grinned at her and came up to the bar.

  “How’s it going?” she asked Meg.

  “Busy. You?” Meg lifted a tray of glasses onto the dishwasher.

  Lane shrugged. “I got your text. You wanted to talk?”

  “Yeah, but not right now. I’m kind of up to my eyes in it. I thought I said tomorrow.” Meg blew a strand of hair off her face. The night cook agreed to come in early, thank God, but her boss wasn’t answering her phone, so Meg was on her own behind the bar. She’d been rushed off her feet and her temper was fraying. She tried not to be mad at Lane for turning up unannounced. It was a bar after all, and Lane could go where she liked.

  “Can I give you a hand?” Lane asked, ignoring Meg’s comment.

  “No, that’s all right. You want a drink?”
/>   “I don’t mind helping. Helped you enough back in London. Remember?”

  Meg did remember. Lane made a habit of showing up near the end of her shift. A few times it had been busy, and Lane jumped behind the bar to help her out. Meg remembered being surprised that Lane actually knew what she was doing. And more than once she’d ended up helping Meg with a lot more than serving drinks.

  “There we go, last one out the door,” Lane said from behind her as she threw the bolts across the door.

  “Thank God, I’m beat,” Meg replied.

  “How beat? Too beat?”

  Meg turned and grinned. “Oh, never too beat for that.”

  “Excellent news,” Lane said, and Meg’s stomach contracted as Lane leaned her elbows on the bar and looked Meg up and down. Meg loved it when Lane did that.

  “You want to go home?” Meg asked and walked over to the bar.

  Lane shook her head. “No, too far.”

  “You want to do it right here in the bar?” Meg pretended to be shocked.

  “Why not?” Lane grinned.

  “Lane Boyd. Are you suggesting we have sex right here in my place of work where anyone could walk in?” Meg tried not to laugh. She’d had no idea she was playful until she met Lane.

  “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Besides, the doors are locked. Everyone has gone home.”

  “Someone could come back.”

  “They’ll get an eyeful then, won’t they?” Lane said and leaped over the bar, making Meg squeal.

  “No.” She backed away from Lane, who advanced on her. “I’m serious. Stay away.” She wasn’t serious at all, and she knew Lane knew it.

  “Or what?” Lane kept advancing.

  “I’ll call the cops.” Meg was laughing now. She couldn’t help it.

  “I’ll be finished by the time they get here,” Lane said and pulled Meg into her arms.