by H. L. Logan
“Just a second,” Reynold said, opening up a tall metal cabinet. “I still use the kitty litter to soak up oil spots.” He pulled out a bag of litter and a rectangular box, and filled it up halfway with the stuff. “Kibble’s inside. It might be a little stale, but it should still be fine. I’ll be right back.”
I opened the door, and Henry finally poked his head up over the side to look around. His nose twitched as he sniffed, and when he seemed certain that everything was A-Okay, he hopped out onto the concrete floor of the garage. I slid the litterbox over to him with my foot and then crouched down next to it and tapped it on the corner to draw his attention. His yellow-green eyes were still wide and curious, and he slowly trotted over to the box, sniffed at it, and then hopped inside. I smiled with some relief as he immediately began to chuff at the sand to do his business.
“Things are okay,” I said to him, though really I was talking to myself. I walked around my car to inspect the garage. It had enough room to work on two vehicles, the other spot unoccupied except for a dark patch of grease in the middle of the gray concrete floor. A few long fluorescent tube lights hung overhead, and one of them flickered occasionally, a moth flitting around it. Tools lined the walls, along with shelves of spare parts, tires, jugs of oil and other fluids, and other mechanic things that were foreign to me. There was a small desk with a chair and one of those office water dispensers next to it. It was definitely a garage. Not glamorous at all, and the rain pounded noisily on the roof, but to me the place felt like a five-star hotel. I could even lay my sleeping bag on the floor if I wanted—it’d be nice to stretch out completely instead of sleeping in the front seat.
The door that connected the minimart opened, and Reynold came in lugging a big bag of kibble on his shoulder. I hurried over to help him with it. Henry, who was cautiously exploring the area around the litterbox, looked up at the sound of the food bag and meowed.
“Oh, he’s hungry, isn’t he?” Reynold said. “Do you have a bowl for him?”
“Yeah,” I said, and pulled out two small metal dishes from the back of the car. Reynolds opened the kibble and scooped out some food into the bowl, and then filled the other with water from the dispenser. Henry immediately went for the food.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, stroking his back. He raised his butt up into the air and allowed his tail to slide through my hand. I normally would’ve fed him much earlier, but the storm had made it difficult.
“Well, I’m gonna lock up here,” Reynold said. “Restroom is back there. I’ll leave the door to the store open, just in case you do get hungry. Just leave a couple bucks on the counter. Another fella named Lee will be opening up shop tomorrow. I’ll give him a call to let him know you’ll be in here. I just live right down the road here, if you go east off Armstrong and then take your first left. Only house on the street.” He walked over to the desk and jotted something down onto a post-it. “Number’s here, in case of emergency.” He smiled. “Well, good night, Chrissy. I’ll see you when I come in tomorrow, if you haven’t left yet.”
I nodded and shook his hand. “Thank you, sir,” I said. I was in a slight daze from his kindness and willingness to help me. “I really appreciate this. Really.”
“It’s nothing,” he said. He left through the minimart, and a moment later I heard the roar of the pickup’s engine outside, just barely noticeable over the drumming of the rain on the metal roof of the garage. Headlights crossed over the small window slits of the garage door, and then it was just me, Henry, and the sound of the storm. Henry was still chowing down on the food when thunder boomed overhead like a bomb going off, rattling the metal garage door and vibrating all the parts sitting on the shelves. I winced and fought the instinct to drop to a crouch, but Henry must’ve leapt ten feet in the air. He hit the ground running and darted off to hide beneath one of the shelves, his eyes the only thing visible.
I pulled out the little towel that he had adopted as a bed, and laid it down by the front of the shelf where he was hiding. Then I changed out of my wet pants, pulled my sleeping bag out along with my half sandwich, and spread my bag out by the front of my car. I ate the sandwich as thunder continued to rumble and the rain kept up its relentless downpour. It was nine thirty, and I was exhausted. I stretched out in my sleeping bag, and thought about what the gas station owner had done for me. Reynold had let a complete stranger stay in his place of business, without even a second thought. A product of a time gone by, maybe. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to the way people treated each other when living in a big city. Whatever the reason, it was a nice change from what I was used to.
I looked over towards the shelves where Henry was still hiding. “You sure are lucky you’re a cat,” I whispered. Then I closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of the garage door rolling open. At first, I thought it was thunder. It had rocked the building so many times during the night that I had started to dream about it, but when gray daylight poured over my eyelids, I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. A robust silhouette filled the garage entrance by my car, and when the figure walked forward, I saw a man around Reynold’s age, with a full white beard and big belly. The first thing I thought was that he looked awfully like Santa Clause.
“’Morning there,” he said. “You must be Chrissy. I’m Lee.”
“Morning,” I said, sleepily.
“Care for some coffee? Gonna get the machine started up.”
“Sure.” I rubbed my eyes again and got out from my sleeping bag. I was surprised to see that the rain had stopped.
I glanced back behind me toward the shelves. Henry’s towel was still empty. Crouching on my knees, I peered beneath the shelf. “Henry,” I called. Nothing. He must’ve found another spot somewhere and was sleeping soundly.
Lee came back with a paper cup of coffee and a donut, and held them out to me. “Thank you,” I said, taking them gratefully.
“That storm must’ve kept you awake,” Lee said.
“No, actually. I was exhausted. I’d been on the road for seven or eight hours when I hit it, and driving through that thing absolutely wore me out.”
“You’re lucky you’re in once piece,” Lee said, sipping his coffee. “So you’re just passing through, huh?”
“Since it seems like the rain has finally let up, yeah, I think I’ll be moving on. I’m heading to California.”
Lee nodded. “Not much for a young person like yourself to do here. What do you have going on in California?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Nothing,” I admitted. “Guess I just picked it because it seemed like the furthest from home.”
“Where you from?”
“Georgia,” I said, and Lee laughed, his cheeks going pink.
“Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Lucky the flooding didn’t hit Armstrong—sometimes we get mudslides and such, but we were lucky this year. You should see what happened to Phoenix.” He whistled. “Be careful on the road, I’m sure you’ll encounter some hairy shit out there. And you’re bound to encounter more rain. It’s not over yet.”
“Oh, great.”
“No rush. Stick around for a while. Reynold wouldn’t mind having you stick around for a few days, I’m sure.”
“Thanks,” I smiled, “But I probably should get going. Sooner I get to California, the sooner I can figure out what the hell I’m doing.”
“Right.” He jutted a thumb towards the minimart. “I’ve gotta get the shop all set up and the pumps turned on.”
Lee went off to do his thing, and I stood in the garage doorway and surveyed the town of Armstrong in the daylight. Dark gray clouds hung overhead, and with the forest of pine trees surrounding the station and Armstrong road, the little sunlight barely made it to the ground. It almost felt like it was reaching evening rather than the morning. The pavement was scattered with debris and trails of muddy water flowed down the road carrying branches and pinecones and other things ripped loose from the storm. I heard thun
der rumbling off from somewhere in the distance.
Further up the road, I saw a crossroads with a bent stop sign, and past that I could just make out what looked like a few shops or other businesses lining either side of the street. That was probably the entire town right there, if it could even be called a town. A community, more like it. A stop for people on the way in to the national forests to refuel and maybe get something to eat, and for people to retire to.
I went back inside and found the big bag of cat food that Reynold had left out. “Henry,” I called, shaking the bag up and down. He always seemed to meow when he was about to be given food, and I listened out for his call—but heard nothing. “Henry?” I filled up the bowl and then shook it, but he still didn’t show. I frowned, and crouched down to peer beneath all the shelves and cabinets. I looked under the car, then popped the hood to see if he was hiding up in the engine. Nothing.
“Henry!” I called. Now I was getting nervous. I walked around the garage, searching for places he could hide. Surely, he wouldn’t have gone outside. He’d never wandered away from me before—I mean, I’d only had him for a few days, but every time I’d let him out of the car he’d always stick close by. I ran to the garage door and took a quick peek outside. Again, nothing.
“Hey, Lee,” I said, peeking into the minimart. He was watching the TV.
“They’re talking about the CEO of that company BluTech who resigned,” Lee said, gesturing to the TV. “Can you believe she just up and left? Must be nice to be a multi-millionaire if you can just quit your job.”
“Oh, really?” I wasn’t distracted, and not really interested in the news at that moment. “Hey, you didn’t happen to see a cat when you opened the garage, did you? Small, black.”
“A cat?” He shook his head. “No. You have a cat with you? I was wondering why Pinky’s old litterbox was out. No, I didn’t see any cat coming in. But I wasn’t exactly paying attention…”
“Okay,” I said. “There are no ways a cat could escape, are there?”
Lee frowned, slowly getting to his feet. “No… Not other than the garage door. You can’t find him?”
“No,” I said, the panic starting to show in my voice. I hurried back to the garage with Lee following behind me. I dropped back down to my hand and knees and did another look under the shelf and the car. “Henry? Henry where the hell are you?”
Grabbing the bowl of food, I went out front, shaking it and calling his name. Lee was rifling around the garage in all the same spots that I had checked before, but Henry wasn’t there. He must’ve gotten out somehow. This whole time I’d thought that he just wasn’t the kind of cat to wander off on his own, but I’d assumed way too much.
“Henry!” I shouted desperately as I ran around the gas station, dropping down into the mud to peer under bushes and the big propane tank that was out back. He wasn’t there. I’d only had him for four days, but I loved the little guy like he’d been with me for years. That little black ball of fur had trusted me and looked to me for help when he was in trouble. I’d rescued him, but in a way he’d rescued me too, when I was at the lowest point in my life and thought that nobody would ever need me. I’d wrapped him up in his towel and fed him canned tuna, and silently promised him that he’d never be cold and wet again. And now…
I came back to the front of the garage, where Lee was still looking around for Henry. “Anything?” I asked. He shook his head. Suddenly, thunder boomed overhead, and I flinched as fat raindrops began to patter down noisily onto the roof of the garage.
2
Lucy
I stood in the old sunroom that I’d designated as my new pottery room and stared silently at the empty wheel, its surface completely spotless. Nothing had been made on the thing in over a year now. Even in New York, when I was still able to produce work, I’d barely touched it. My ex-husband, Charles, ran the company and it seemed like all the clients wanted clean, clean, clean—ornate but in a completely predictable, cookie-cutter way. It was all stuff that was simpler to design on the computer than to throw by hand on a wheel, and so that’s what I’d done.
The rain drummed down on the roof. It’d been going for about an hour now, and the forecasts said to expect another storm shower later in the day. It was a good thing I’d moved back in and done so much needed upkeep. With my parents long out of the place, and none of my siblings willing to take care of it, the old Duncan home had basically fallen to shambles. With this crazy storm, it probably would’ve washed away if I hadn’t come back.
I set up all my supplies by the wheel and pulled up a stool, exhaling as I sat down. I rubbed my face and stroked my chin, eyeing the clay and willing it show me its hidden form. It’d been a week since I’d had the courage to sit and try again, and a year since the block had firmly settled into my body, preventing me from doing anything meaningful with my work. Or maybe it’d been much longer than that—when Charles and I had formed Lucy Duncan Ceramics and I’d been churning out those shelf-stocker pieces. The thing was, despite my traditional education and background, despite all the awards I’d received for my pottery, I’d felt completely happy with what I was producing. It was paying the bills—no, far better than that, truthfully—and it was still somewhat creatively fulfilling even though I wasn’t pushing any boundaries. Challenging, though? Perhaps not.
After tying my hair into a bun, I started the wheel and wet my hands in the reservoir of water, and then, with a moment of hesitation, started to work the clay. It formed in my hands, slowly pulling upwards before I pushed it down into a more spherical shape. I worked at it, doing my best to create something interesting, something beautiful, and after twenty minutes, I realized I was breaking out in a cold sweat. I wiped my forehead with the back of my forearm and continued to work at the shape, willing it to become something better than what was sitting there in front of me, but at this point I knew it was like I was wrestling with a wild animal. I didn’t think I’d felt this kind of frustration even when I’d first started learning ceramics.
“God damnit!” My vision blurred with a flash of anger, and the side table went flying across the room, the plastic bowl of water tumbling over the floor. I stared down at the wheel and the horrible little mess that sat on it, and I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. “God…” I muttered, and looked around the room, embarrassed. I never got angry, not like this, but what good was an artist if she couldn’t make her art? What if I’d lost my ability entirely? How had this even happened?
I went inside the house, the old wood floor creaking beneath my shoes, and retrieved a mop from the closet. It was probably the gloom from the storm, but house seemed to be extra empty and lonely today. I mopped up the water on the sunroom floor and straightened up the side table, when a random urge struck me to go outside and stand in the rain. That was probably what I needed—a good soaking to cool my head. I tossed the mop aside and without any further thought, pushed open the sunroom door and stepped outside.
It was really coming down now. I was immediately drenched, but I had to admit that it did feel liberating. When was the last time I did something like this?
I walked out from the back, through the woods in the direction of the street that ran up to Armstrong Road where the gas station was. I didn’t know where I was going, I guess I was just aimlessly wandering. At thirty-four years old, strolling in the rain just for the sake of getting wet and enjoying it somehow felt rejuvenating. Was that what I was lacking? Youth? Had middle-age sucked up my talent and inspiration? Or was it because I’d married a man nearly twice my age?
Or was it because I hadn’t loved him?
No, that wasn’t true. I loved Charles—as a companion, a friend, a mentor… but just not as a lover. Not in a romantic way.
I made it through the short sprawl of pines that sat at the edge of the property and came out on the street. There was so much water flowing by the curb that a trash can had been carried down all the way from where Richardson’s house was. I chuckled and craned my neck back
to the sky to taste the rain. Right at that moment, thunder exploded from what seemed like just a short distance away, so loud and intense that it set off a car alarm. I nearly collapsed to the ground in shock, instantly knocked out of my little dream world.
“Shit,” I muttered, spinning around and hurrying back towards the house. “Shit, shit.” I really didn’t want to get struck by lightning—not unless it would somehow wake me up from my creative block and didn’t fry me to death.
A noise stopped me in my tracks.
At least I thought I’d heard a noise—I could’ve just been hearing things. The pines stretching above me dampened the rain some, but it was still loud enough to distort things. I looked around, saw nothing, and then started toward the house.
