Nothing Town

by Cherie Mitchell

  “Of course. There are a few of them but most families in the region, even before the girl drought hit, consist of mostly of males. I have plenty of uncles but most of them are single. I guess we just accept that’s how it is out of here.” He politely asks if I’d like another coffee and I pass him my empty cup. “Sure. Thanks Bud.”

  When he returns to the table, he’s sheepishly carrying a plate containing two sugar buns. He tells me that if I don’t one he’ll gladly eat them both.

  “Go right ahead and eat them. I’m almost full to the brim with coffee as it is.”

  “I thought girls liked sweet things.” His confidence falters a little and he leans in close to confide, “I don’t know much about girls. This is my first date.”

  I laugh lightly, thinking he’s kidding me, but his expression is deadly serious. “But your profile says you’re 31 years old! How can this be your first date?”

  “Not enough girls to go around.” He gives me an adorable smile. “I’m glad I’ve met someone as nice as you for my first date, even if you are just doing it for a TV story.”

  I feel as if I have to do something to help him celebrate this momentous occasion. “Would it make you happy if I ate one of the sugar buns?”

  You’d think I’d just told him he’d been nominated for the Noble Peace Prize. He pushes the plate toward me and grins happily when I take a bite of the sugary confection. I prompt him to keep talking by asking about his interests and hobbies, amazed that this apparent catch of a man has never dated before today. I know for sure that he’d never last in the big bad city – he’d be eaten alive as soon as he made his single status known.

  He starts telling me about his lot on the edge of town where he’s growing pine trees ‘for the future’. Apparently, it’s a big money-making opportunity, as long as a person is prepared to put in the time waiting for them to grow. He wistfully says it’s an investment for his children and I get the feeling that he doesn’t think he’ll ever have the chance to be a father. However, he doesn’t linger on the subject for long and goes straight back to waxing lyrical about his wondrous pine trees.

  An idea starts to form when I realize Bud has an affinity with trees. At the risk of being laughed out the door, I begin to tell him the story of the mysterious disappearing silver birches. I’ve got to the part where I think the trees have moved back away from the house when I notice him frowning. “What?” I’ve already decided the story will end here. It’s clear that Bud isn’t going to be onboard with my tale of disappearing trees.

  “Did you say you’re staying at Windfell?”

  “Yes. Do you know it?”

  His expression shuts down then, as if he’s pulled a mask over his features, and he pastes a banal smile on his face. Roll up, roll up, and pay only a penny to see the laughing clown. “Never been there,” he says shortly.

  The conversation falters a bit after that. I try coaxing some more answers out of him and attempt to get him to pad out his previous replies but he remains tightlipped. Our previous camaraderie seems to have vanished as if it never was.

  “I should get going,” I say, deciding that now isn’t a good to ask if he’d mind if I film a short video clip. “If you’re free later in the week, perhaps we can get together again? I’d love to have you make a statement on film.”

  “Maybe.” He’s distracted now and barely looks at me as he replies. He throws some notes on the table for pay for our coffee and stands up to leave. “I have to get back to the store.”

  “Thanks for your time, Bud.” I’m still attempting to regain lost ground and I’m not sure how I lost it in the first place.

  He nods and leaves the coffee shop without another word, leaving me wondering what it is about the men of Euthanasia and what is they’re hiding.

  Chapter Nine

  The trees are back. Those goddamn fucking trees are back. I’m about to walk up the path to my front door when I see them and for a split second I think I’ve walked into the middle of a dream. We are deja voodoo, we know more than you doo.

  I have to physically walk up and touch the branches before I allow myself to believe it. They really are there. The tree roots lay buried deep in the ground and the skeleton finger branches are close enough to tap against the window. The wind is back too, rustling the leaves and shaking the twigs so they brush across the glass.

  Obidiah crosses my mind then, slips right across it like a slimy eel in a muddy ditch. I’d be silly not to think of him. This is exactly the type of mind fuck that cretin would enjoy. I tilt my head back and peer up into the branches, half-expecting to see his red eyes staring back at me, but there’s nothing there. I decide to go with the idea that I’d somehow fleetingly stepped into an alternate universe when I thought the trees were missing earlier, and I leave it at that. We all gotta do what we gotta do to stay sane, right?

  However, whether I imagined the disappearing trees or not, I’m even more determined now to find out what I can about the history of this place. I’m fairly certain that a serial child killer and bodies in a cornfield won’t raise their ugly heads again but what if there’s something else? The world is full of oddities. I start myself laughing then, somewhat hysterically, with the thought that I’ve dated most of those worldly oddities over the past few years. I hitch up my shoulder bag and head back into the house. I still have an hour or so until the first of my family descends, which is plenty enough time to go galloping around the inter-web in search of who knows what.

  Just as I thought, every article I find about the town of Euthanasia focuses on the lack of females in the area. It makes for interesting reading but it’s also frustrating. No one has found the reason for the predominately male births, despite endless studies, and I’m unable to find any history of the town prior to the early 1900’s. The thing is, I know the town existed before then because of the tale Bud told me about the Normous family arriving from France and settling here. So why can’t I find anything about it?

  I make up my mind to arrange another meeting with Bud sometime to ask him if he can tell me anything more. I’m about to shut down my computer when a brainwave hits. I rest my fingers back on the keyboard and do another search to check if Euthanasia has a public library. Half a second later and there it is: Euthanasia Community Library, Where Our Community Learns Together. Cute. I check the address and consider taking a quick jog down there before my relatives arrive but I know from experience that once I’m inside a library I’ll find it hard to leave. I make a note for myself instead and I stick it on the refrigerator door with a piece of the roll of tape I find in the kitchen drawer. This house has everything. Once again, I’m impressed that Elmer shelled out enough to pay for something decent.

  I shut down my laptop and reach for my phone to check the dating app. As I’m waiting for it to load, I sneak across to the window where the trees like to tap. I’m not sure who or what it is that I think I’m sneaking up on, but never mind. As it is, the sneaking proves pointless – the trees are just hanging around quietly out there, doing what trees do.

  After grabbing a cup of coffee from the fancy coffee machine on the counter, I take my phone and go sit on the sofa to browse through my dating inbox. The number of messages has doubled since yesterday. There’s no way I can meet all of these men, even if I do keep up my current dating pace. Made curious by Bud’s confession that I was his first ever date, I scan through the first few pages of suitors to see if any of the men who’ve messaged me are widowed or divorced. I guess I can’t say I’m surprised to find that none of them have ticked those particular boxes on their profiles. Was I Stewart and Luke’s first date too, but they were just too shy to confess it? These are all fit, pleasant-mannered, and good-looking men. It seems bizarre to me that they haven’t interacted with any females except for their mothers or other female family members. What’s keeping them here? Surely, the biological pull to go forth and procreate has effected at least some of them? I can imagine just how much my old therapist would enjoy getting her tee
th into the underlying issues of this town. She loves that type of crazy.

  Dr. Lucy McIntyre once tried to tell me that I had ‘daddy abandonment issues’. She wasn’t too good at listening when I told her that my Dad never abandoned me. It’s not like he sat there, looked at his options, gave it some thought, and freely chose to be eaten alive by zombies rather than walk through that garage door to rejoin his family. I mean, that’s not a choice. That’s like saying falling in love is a choice, or not liking fish is a choice, or hating flies is a choice. I have a lot of respect for my therapist but in this instance, she definitely got it wrong.

  Oh, she also got it wrong when we spoke about Liam. She said the reason I broke up with him after we fled Pannier Street was all down to how he wasn’t there for me when I needed him most. Just like my Dad wasn’t. Then she started to hint about my possible attraction to older men – Father Lucerne, for example. And Mr. Devall. Even, creepily enough, Obidiah. I shut that one down before she got too far, I’m telling you now. It’s not like she was there. She can use her learning and her experience to make assumptions all she likes but unless she was there, unless she had a microscope trained on the inner workings of my brain during those moments of terror, she doesn’t have the right to judge or draw any psychological patterns on her ever-present whiteboard. I thought she was overstepping the mark with those comments and I told her so. She finally let it go but not without whispering “daddy abandonment issues” under her breath one last time.

  Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge now. It’s been years since I last attended a session with the good doctor, years since I let her have the last word for the sake of keeping the peace. For now, I shove all that junk into the back of my mind where it belongs and go back to the intriguing task of lining up my next few dates from Euthanasia’s range of delectable, unattached men.

  I’m so absorbed in what I’m doing that when Reece flings open the front door and yells “Surprise!” I quite literally nearly pee my pants.

  Chapter Ten

  Okay, we all know my Mom’s a major pain in the proverbial but hey it’s good to have my family around me again. I can’t stop hugging Reece even though we both hate hugs. He looks so handsome and grown up! I’ve missed him so much. My little brother is about to turn 21, the age I was when I thought I was old enough to buy a house with Liam and move in together. Oh, how little we know.

  I’m not sure how I feel about seeing how much Mom has aged. I’m now close to the age she was when we lost Dad, just a few years shy of it, although at the time I thought she was ancient. It’s a weird feeling. She’s in her late forties now and I don’t know, maybe some people would probably say she still looks youthful and glowing, especially now she’s grown her hair out, but I think it’s harder to judge appearances when it’s your own mother in the spotlight. Or is that just me?

  We share a stilted hug – she knows I don’t like them – then she starts with her grand tour of Windfell. My Mom loves grand tours. I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened to her if she hadn’t met Dad so young and immediately started having babies as soon as the bridal bouquet was caught. Well, I guess I wouldn’t be here if that was the case but other than that… perhaps she would’ve gone off traveling to Europe or Asia and grand toured to her heart’s content. Perhaps she would’ve been a happier person for it but then again, perhaps not.

  “Was all this stuff here when you walked in?” She waves her arms around expansively to encompass the fine furnishings and classy decorations. “It looks like a hotel.”

  “Yeah, it was all here. And yes, it does feel like a hotel. Elmer Tweek really dug deep this time. I’m impressed.”

  “How is Elmer?” She says it as if she’s old friends with my boss but in reality I think she only met him once or twice. Mom did a round of interviews for the TV station during that high-pressure, media-frenzied time after we first escaped from Cemetery Hill. Elmer put on an afternoon spread at one point and invited her along. I guess it was his chance to rub his hands together and gloat over how much attention her exclusive interviews were garnering for the station. Anyway, she said she grabbed his business card before she left, which in a roundabout way led to me getting a job at the station several years later. I think there might be a few intimate details there that she hasn’t shared with me but I’m going to leave that particular carton of cockroaches right where it is, thanks very much.

  “He’s just the same.” I don’t want to talk about creepy Elmer. Instead, I help Reece carry his suitcase through to his room and explain to Mom that I’ll need to share with Organza due to the lack of space. This is my mother’s chance to say no, she’ll share with Organza given that this is my house and I’m trying to get some work done, but of course that doesn’t happen.

  Soon we’re all sitting back in the living room, sharing stories and catching up on our lives like a normal family. That doesn’t happen too often with the Friedlanders and I know I should be making the most of it, but I can’t help noticing that Reece is very quiet. Even quieter than he usually is.

  “Reece, are you okay?” I know I’ve interrupted Mom in the middle of her spiel about her book club but I’m sure she can handle it.

  Reece nods at me from the depths of the armchair. He looks little and pale curled up against that cavernous piece of furniture. Reece is small for his age, always has been, and a casual observer could easily mistake him for a kid of fifteen.

  “Reece is fine,” Mom says bossily. “I even let him have my snack bag of peanuts on the plane. He can’t be hungry already.”

  “I didn’t ask if he was hungry.” I get up and go over to sit on the arm of his chair. “How are you doing, little brother? Looking forward to turning 21?”

  He grins up at me and my heart gives a tender twang. I’d do anything for this boy. I know families aren’t supposed to play favorites but look what Dad left me with. Of course Reece was always going to be top of my hit parade when held up against Mom and Organza.

  “What are we doing for dinner tonight?” asks Mom. “I had a look in your refrigerator and you don’t have much in there.”

  “I haven’t been grocery shopping yet. I haven’t needed to with just me here.”

  “Waffles,” Reece suggests. “Can we have waffles?”

  “I don’t remember seeing a waffle house when I was out before but that’s not to say there isn’t one.” I’m reaching for my phone, getting ready to Google, when Reece says it. Says that word.

  “I’d like that, Angel.”

  He called me Angel. I dart a glance at Mom to see if she’s heard but she’s busy going through the drawers on the sideboard now, checking out the quality of the table linens and placemats. I look back at Reece but he seems utterly unconcerned and doesn’t seem to have noticed that he just called me by a name I haven’t been known by since he was four.

  I get a weird feeling then, a feeling like a tribe of spiders running up my spine and doing backflips on my vertebrae. I check to see that Mom is still distracted then I lean in close to my brother so only he can hear me. “We gotta talk later, okay?”

  “Sure, Ellie.” He gives me a smile that would do a good job of replacing the sun in the dead of winter and nods at my phone. “Did you find any place that serves waffles? I have a hankering.”

  “Still looking, hun.” I duck my head so he can’t see my worried expression and I start looking for a restaurant that serves waffles in downtown Euthanasia. As I’m scanning through the results, a heart notification pings up on my screen. I thought I’d turned them off. I go to close it down but it opens the app instead so I take a look at the message while I’m there.

  Whoa. This guy is testosterone on roller skates. Ronnie Kay, the man who sent the message, is smoking hot. Seems he’s a smooth talker too, with a cleverly worded and witty profile. And he’s wondering if I’m free this afternoon. I hesitate, but not for long. “Mom, Reece, I have a quick errand to run but I’ll be back in time to collect you so we can walk down to Waffle Palooza for di
nner. Will you two be okay here for an hour or two without me?”

  Reece is already nodding. That kid is so easy to please. Mom wrinkles her nose, looking as if I’ve asked her to do something onerous and taxing, but then she too nods. “Sure. I might make use of that lovely bathroom and have a long soak in the tub. Were all those luxurious toiletries there when you arrived?”

  “Yeah, they were all there. Just let me quickly use the bathroom to check my face and hair and then the place is yours.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ronnie Kay lied. He tells me so within a few minutes of our meeting. His name isn’t Ronnie Kay at all. It’s Ronnie Kenworth. He’s one of Sid’s sons.

  “So why lie about your name on the dating app?” Ronnie’s picture doesn’t do him justice. Sure, he’s drop-dead, toe-curling, hair-raising, drool-producing gorgeous but there’s something… off. I can’t work out if it’s that his eyes are a smidgeon too close together, or that his nose is too broad on the bridge, or that his mouth is too droopy on the corners. Yeah, he’s a good-looking guy but there’s something not quite right about both his appearance and his demeanor.

  “I didn’t lie. Most people call me Ronnie Kay.” He’s doing this weird thing with his face but I don’t know if it’s because he’s trying not to laugh, trying not to sneeze, or trying to hold in a fart. Whatever it’s about, it annoys the hell out of me for some reason. “Are you okay? You look as if you’ve just inhaled a bee.” There was a young lady who swallowed a fly… perhaps she’ll die.

  “Allergies.” He blows his nose noisily into the napkin and, disgustingly, he drops the used napkin down on the tabletop while I’m trying to work out if that little chanting voice was in my head or if someone in the coffee shop whispered the nursery rhyme.

  I’m avoiding looking at the snotty napkin and trying not to squirm as I pull out my phone and start scrolling through my questions. “As I said, I’m here in Euthanasia to gather information for a TV show. Do you mind if I ask you about how it feels to you to live in a town with so few women? I also have a hand-held video camera in my bag. If you’re okay with speaking to the camera I can take a quick live shot. Some people prefer that as the interview tends to flow better.”