Donn's Hill

by Caryn Larrinaga

  Let’s face it, I’m not exactly swimming in companionship here.

  And if I’d imagined the weight, I could’ve easily imagined the footprints, or mistakenly identified a stain on the carpet from who-knows-what.

  The warmth of the sun on my back bolstered my courage and gave strength to that theory. There was nobody in my room. That carpet splotch was nothing more than further evidence that this motel needed a drastic makeover. So I walked back across the parking lot to my room and went inside.

  The first thing I did was throw open the curtains, letting in the sunlight. At once, the room seemed a little more cheerful—even the little sailboat looked as though it was faring better on the sea.

  I’d been hoping to check out of my room no later than 8:00 so I’d get into Donn’s Hill around the time businesses started to open. Since I was already getting a late start, I decided I might as well take my time getting ready. I pulled up Interpol’s Turn on the Bright Lights album on my phone and stood in the shower, letting the hot water seep into my bones before I got down to the business of bathing.

  Using the thin motel towel, I dried off as best as I could and then cleared the steam from the bathroom mirror. I examined myself with a critical eye, looking for any sign that I’d lost my mind. Aside from the bags under my eyes, which I’d been trying to get rid of for weeks, the face that stared back at me seemed sane enough.

  You’re fine. In fact, you’re great. You’re just stressed about being somewhere new. Who wouldn’t be? Today’s going to be amazing. You’re amazing.

  I high-fived the mirror, feeling better after the little pep talk. I brushed my teeth and pulled on a pair of gray jeans and my lucky Smashing Pumpkins shirt, then grabbed all my things from the bathroom and stuffed them into my pack.

  I left the room without checking the space between the bed and the bathroom. If the footprints, stain, or whatever, was still there, I didn’t want to see it.

  Chapter Three

  When my life had fallen apart a few weeks before, I’d decided I needed to hit the reset button on everything. Losing my father was like jumping into a frigid lake; I felt paralyzed, but I knew I had to move. I needed a simpler life, somewhere I could start to rebuild. The idea of picking up and starting over in a place I’d never been before—like New York or Los Angeles—was exciting, but ultimately far too scary. Coming back to Donn’s Hill was the baby-bear option, which felt just right: familiar, yet new at the same time.

  Once I’d made the decision, I found it easy to move forward with my plan. Step one was the easiest; I just had to quit my job. After I’d emptied out my desk in the reception area of the marketing firm, it had been hard to keep a grin off my face and even harder to resist shouting, “So long, suckers!” as I’d left the building.

  Step two was the purge. I’d gotten rid of almost everything I owned. I sold my sedan, which had been a rolling testament to my pack-rat nature. It’d been stuffed full of random things: spare clothes, hiking boots, CDs, unopened mail, and used Tupperware with old leftovers rotting away inside. I thought about selling my furniture, but it was stuff my boyfriend and I had bought together. Josh was keeping the apartment, so I left everything there. He could keep it.

  May it bring him more happiness than our seven years together did.

  I donated most of my clothes to a thrift store, especially the pairs upon pairs of black and tan slacks, the uncomfortable heels, and the dull blouses I’d always hated wearing to work. I was giddy while I threw all my “business casual” crap into black garbage bags. The only dress code I have to follow now is one based on comfort.

  The hard part had been saying goodbye to my enormous CD collection and my huge library of books. I’d imported all the discs onto my laptop so I could bring my music with me, but I would miss choosing what to listen to by running my finger down a row of CDs. Sometimes a color would jump out at me, sometimes a font. Scrolling through a list on my computer or phone just didn’t feel the same. Plus, I hated downloading music; it didn’t feel real. Instead, I loved to buy a CD, break the seal, and put it in my stereo. I’d thumb through the booklet, poring over the artwork and liner notes while I listened to the first couple of tracks. Then I’d close my eyes and let the whole album wash over me.

  As for my books, I sold most of them to a secondhand bookstore and used the proceeds to buy digital copies of my favorites. Josh had given me an e-reader two Christmases earlier, which sat unopened and unused at the back of my closet until now. After downloading the books, I gave the device a sniff and frowned. The stupid thing didn’t smell like old paper. There was no mustiness at all. I’d packed it away doubtfully.

  The only book I’d kept had been the one my father had given me for my sixteenth birthday. I was sure he would’ve approved of what I was doing. He’d never liked Josh, especially since I had a habit of calling him in tears when Josh and I were fighting. Dad’s mantra had always been, “Find what makes you happy,” which I think was his way of telling me, “Hey kiddo, being with this jerk makes you miserable. You deserve happiness, so for God’s sake, go get it.”

  Now I was finally taking his advice.

  I trudged along the side of the road, resolving to leave the motel and my weird morning behind me. It was a perfect spring day, just cool enough that walking along the asphalt didn’t feel like a stroll in an oven. Grass and wildflowers grew right up to the highway; I recognized some violets, which had been my mother’s favorites. The abundance of flora added to the fragrant morning air breezing out of the woods around the road.

  After walking for a little less than an hour, I reached a wide wooden sign that read welcome to donn’s hill, pop. 4,000, set in bold green letters. It featured an illustration of a winding road coming down a hill, and it looked freshly painted.

  A small cat sat on top of the sign and stared down at me with vibrant green eyes. At first it looked black, but as I drew closer, I saw it had random light-brown and cream splotches all over its body. Each color blended into the next like swirled paint, with no defined patches. It was striking, like a brightly colored piece of pop art.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” I said automatically. Normally, strange cats I encounter aren’t very responsive to my invitation to come over. This one, however, jumped down off the sign and walked right up to me.

  “Brrrlllll,” it trilled, winding around my ankles. A flash of white caught my eye, and I saw that it had a single creamy hind foot; the other three paws were black.

  “‘Brrrlllll’?” I imitated the sound. “Not ‘meow,’ huh?”

  I bent down and stroked the cat’s back. It was thin, and I could feel the knobs of its spine beneath my fingers. Its face was nearly all black, except for its cheeks. It looked as if a painter had gotten a bunch of colors on a brush then swept it across the cat’s face from its eyes down.

  “Hey, beautiful.” I reached my other hand down, intending to pick up the cat and check for a collar, but it bounded away into the grass before I could grab it.

  I watched it move off toward town through the field beside the road. Maybe it had sensed a mouse nearby and was on the hunt. Or maybe it didn’t want to be picked up. Either way, I smiled. Running into a cat when I was about to cross the threshold into town had to be a good omen. I continued down the road and passed into the city’s limits.

  Donn’s Hill sat at the foot of a tall, knobby mound in an otherwise flat landscape. The solitary hill, for which I assumed the place was named, was visible for miles and seemed to keep watch over the surrounding area. The town’s main street sloped upward in a gentle climb, lined on both sides with shops and small businesses—some in newer, squat buildings and others in converted old houses with paved backyards. Every few dozen feet, tall green lampposts were hung with alternating flower baskets and colorful banners that read afterlife festival. I didn’t see a single stoplight. Instead, each intersection to a small residential street was handled with a roundabout bursting with flowers.

  Tall maples with wide trunks lined the r
oad, shading the sidewalk. At one point, I passed an old-fashioned rail-car-style diner with a flashing neon “Open” sign in the window and a gas station that still used narrow, red pumps. A sign above the canopy proclaimed that the station had been built in 1945.

  The streets were empty for a Friday morning. There was little traffic, and I felt conspicuous with my giant pack on my back. I followed the road, nodding at the few other pedestrians I passed and taking the time to peer into several shop windows as I went by. I was excited to see a used bookstore in a narrow Victorian house with gingerbread-style trim.

  Maybe I can rebuild my book collection, I thought.

  Across from the bookstore, the buildings gave way to a large, open square dominated by a pair of blocky sandstone buildings: Donn’s Hill City Hall and the Driscoll County Administration Building. A line of children, paired off and holding hands, followed their teachers across the square toward an elementary school. Several of them tossed coins into a fountain at the center of the square as they passed. I crossed the street to get a closer look at it. Water cascaded out of a large, bronze sunflower into another flower below before splashing into the wide pool at the base.

  “I remember you,” I told the fountain in a soft voice.

  I dipped my hand into the cool water, recalling a warm spring day I’d spent in this square as a child. My mother had bought me an ice cream cone, and we’d sat on the edge of the fountain, enjoying our treats in the sun. “Throw it in and make a wish,” she’d said, placing a penny in my hand. I had tossed it into the fountain, trying to get it to land in one of the upturned flowers, but missed.

  The memory was so vivid that I was surprised to see my adult face reflected in the water as I stared down at the hundreds of shimmering coins. Was my penny still in there? I couldn’t remember what I’d wished for. Probably another ice cream.

  “Can I help you?” a haughty voice asked from behind me.

  I jumped, startled out of the past. I turned around and saw a slim woman in a pleated A-line dress, standing with her arms folded across her chest. Her light brown hair, streaked with honey blonde highlights, curled around her face. It was a fashionable style that seemed a little young for someone who looked old enough to be my mother. She scanned my face, and her gray eyes narrowed. Her scowl deepened. It was an expression which made it clear that she would not, in fact, care to help me with anything.

  I stood up, dried my hand on my pant leg, and offered her a smile. “Yes, actually. I’m new in town. Do you know where I can find a room for rent?”

  She looked me up and down, and her nose wrinkled. “Rent? As in, you’ll be paying?”

  Her tone took me aback, and I heard myself say, “I beg your pardon?” I’d never used that phrase before in my life, but something about her snooty manner brought out the highbrow in me.

  “The coins in the fountain are for charity,” she said loudly. Several people in the square turned and looked our way. “It’s not a giant ‘Take a Penny, Leave a Penny.’”

  She thinks I’m a vagrant, I realized. And she’s trying to drum up an audience before giving me the bum’s rush out of town.

  “I wasn’t fishing for change,” I told her, keeping my voice low. “I was just dipping my hand in the water.”

  Looking unconvinced, she unfolded her arms and put her hands on her hips, apparently thinking a Superman posture would be more imposing.

  “Look, can we start over?” I held out my hand to her. “I’m Mac. Like I said, I’m new here.”

  She sniffed but didn’t take my hand. “Penelope Bishop. I’m the Deputy Mayor of Donn’s Hill.”

  I lowered my hand and widened my smile, baring my teeth a bit. “Deputy mayor, huh? This is perfect. I bet you know where I can find a place to stay.”

  “Do you have a job?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t think the question could be any more clear, young lady. What is your occupation? Do you even have one?”

  “Uh…” I cast around for an answer. Her questions knocked me off balance; I wasn’t expecting to be interrogated five minutes after walking into town. “Well, not yet but I—”

  “This is a small town.” She re-crossed her arms. “Everyone here pulls their weight. Everyone here has something to offer. We don’t have any room for freeloaders.”

  My mouth dropped open and I stared around me, looking for hidden cameras or other evidence that this was all some elaborate practical joke. I caught the eye of a passing man; he simply raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and moved on.

  “I—”

  She didn’t give me a chance to respond, turning on her black leather booties and striding away toward City Hall. I gaped after her in shock. The Donn’s Hill I’d visited as a child had been warm and welcoming. We’d come here every year, and it’d felt like a second home. This place looked the same, but it felt completely different. What the hell happened in the last twenty years?

  For the first time since I’d left Salt Lake City, I felt the cold grip of panic in my belly. Had I made a huge mistake? What if Donn’s Hill had never been a great place, and I’d been hyping it up in my memories?

  One thing was certain: I needed caffeine to make sense of anything. I left the square and continued up the hill in search of a coffee shop, taking notice of more buildings as I passed them—a small hardware store, a place that sold fabric, and a feed store. A large sheriff’s station sat back from the road, its parking lot full of black SUVs and pickup trucks.

  I found a coffee shop a few blocks up from the square. It was in one of the newer buildings that had been built for commercial purposes from the get-go: a squat single-story brick unit with large windows in the front. The cat from the Donn’s Hill sign was outside the shop, lying on the sun-warmed sidewalk. Its eyes were closed, and it looked as though it was smiling. Cats, I thought. Comfortable even on concrete.

  “I bet that feels good on your black fur,” I told it.

  The cat looked up at me, blinking slowly. In the direct sunlight, its eyes looked more yellow than green.

  I crouched beside it and reached out a hand. The cat sniffed my fingers and seemed to approve of my scent because it rubbed the side of its face on my nails. Its fur was hot to the touch from baking in the sun.

  Moving slowly, I brought my other hand forward. This time I’ll be able to pick you up.

  In one motion, the cat transitioned from its relaxed posture to an all-out dash and darted away from me. I felt tempted to chase it but curbed the impulse, laughing instead at the stupidity of my decision to come here. Even the town’s stray cats don’t like me.

  “We can’t keep meeting like this,” I called after the cat. “People will talk!”

  I pulled open the door to the coffee shop. The place had a modern decor with lively murals of forest life painted on the walls. A dozen scrubbed wooden tables filled the space. The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans greeted me as I walked through the door, making my stomach growl. In all the excitement at the motel that morning, I’d skipped breakfast.

  The shop was empty except for a tall, heavyset man behind the counter. His beard reminded me of photographs I’d seen of Amish people, but his full-sleeve tattoos told a different story. A small nametag pinned to the front of his shirt read brian.

  “Welcome to The Astral Bean,” he said. “What can I get you?”

  I smiled at the name. It reminded me of my mother; she’d been into New Age practices, and I’d heard her mention the astral plane many times. I scanned the menu board, impressed with the extensive list of beverages.

  “How’s the chai latte?” I asked him. I crossed my fingers, hoping it didn’t come out of a box.

  “It’s homemade. And awesome,” he said.

  “Nice. I’ll take a large one.”

  “Want anything to go with that?” He pointed toward the display case next to the counter, which was filled with doughnuts, pastries, and muffins.

  My stomach roared to let me know that walking away from that counter wi
thout getting something to eat was not an option. I paid for my latte and a huge chocolate doughnut, devouring half of the latter before the barista was even done running my credit card.

  “Haven’t seen you around here before,” Brian said amiably as he got to work making the chai. “Visiting family?”

  His warm manner, coupled with the comforting smells and sounds of a brewing latte, helped chase away the doubt and apprehension that had been growing in my mind since my encounter with the deputy mayor. I was pleased to see that not everyone here was as frosty as Penelope Bishop.

  “This really is a small town, isn’t it?” I asked. “You must know everybody for miles.”

  Brian had a deep, booming laugh that echoed off the tiles behind him. “You know it. It can be a blessing and a curse. In a couple of weeks, this town will be crawling with tourists for the Afterlife Festival, and you’ll have an easier time blending in. But until then, you’re going to attract a lot of attention,” he said with a friendly wink.

  “I’m actually relocating here. Hopefully, I won’t be a stranger for long.”

  “Well, we can fix that right now.” He set a silver pitcher beneath a steamer and brandished his nametag. “I’m Brian.”

  I laughed. “So I see. I’m Mac. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Welcome to Donn’s Hill, Mac. Where are you from?”

  “You want the long answer, or the short one?”

  “Better give me the long one,” he said. “Keep me from having to do some real work for just a little bit longer.”

  I grinned. Brian seemed like my kind of person, and a good chat was exactly what I needed to really feel welcome in this town. He didn’t seem to care at all about my appearance, unlike a certain well-dressed porcupine in the town square.

  “Well, I’m originally from Albuquerque, but I grew up in Denver.”

  “Must be a pretty big change going from those Colorado Rockies to our little hill.”