by Molly Harper
Eyes watering with exhaustion and unshed tears, Margot buried her face into her pillow and inhaled the spring-fresh smell of linens dried in the sun.
Until her head popped up from the pillow. “Duffy! What do you mean ‘mostly harmless’? . . . Duffy!”
MARGOT RECOGNIZED THE telltale sign of cramps before she even woke up.
Face still buried in the pillow, she knew she was starting her period, way off cycle, on the first day she was supposed to work in a funeral home. Because this was her life.
She was completely without supplies, beyond the emergency tampons in her purse. Duffy had left his spare truck key with her and told her to use his vehicle anytime. But could she even find a store if she wanted to? Her phone had GPS, but her signal was at about half a bar. She remembered the small group of lakeshore buildings she’d spotted on the drive in. Surely she could reach that if she just kept turning left. That was a sound navigation plan, right?
She sighed, hauling her ass out of bed and wincing at the soreness in her legs and back. Too much time on an airplane, not enough Pilates over the last few weeks.
She glanced at the mirror on the wall, surrounded by beaten tin, and blanched at the scarecrow hair sticking up around her head. She spent a few minutes rifling through her suitcase for some yoga pants and a hair elastic. She didn’t bother with makeup. It was six in the morning in the backwoods; there was no one to impress.
Margot paused at the door, suddenly remembering Duffy’s warning not to leave her cabin on her own. Was that an all-encompassing warning, like “Don’t leave your cabin until one of us comes to get you to protect you from the mountain mole people,” or more of a predawn warning, like “Don’t leave your cabin until after sunrise, because they can’t survive in sunlight”? Were there bears here in Lake Sackett? Would they attack her because of her lady issues?
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she huffed, throwing the cabin door open. She was greeted by the glorious sight of fog rolling across the surface of the lake, the misty blue skies opening up to make way for the sun. Margot paused for a second. She’d thought she would be immune to the views of Lake Sackett. How could it compare to the oceanic majesty of Lake Michigan, after all? But there was a certain appeal to being able to see across the lake to the trees. A cozy, protected feeling she didn’t get staring out at the vastness of a great lake.
Duffy had thoughtfully parked his truck halfway between her little dollhouse and his more rugged man-cabin, which seemed to have a giant fishing lure–shaped birdfeeder and a set of wind chimes made of beer cans. Margot was glad she’d met Duffy the day before, because she probably would have judged him pretty hard based on the wind chime thing.
The truck did not roar to life so much as purr, something she was sure her family/neighbors—scary combination—probably appreciated. She slowly crept over the lumpy driveway and eased the truck onto the highway.
“Please, God, don’t let me mess up my cousin’s truck,” she muttered, letting the pickup trundle down the road. “I don’t know what the punishment is for truck injury in Georgia, but I’m sure I wouldn’t like it.”
Her plan to “just keep turning left” was unnecessary because there was nowhere to turn—the road was one long loop around the lake, leading right into the center of town. There wasn’t even much town to navigate, really. Tiny houses sprawled away from the empty main street with its two gas stations, a bakery, a golf cart dealership, a diner, and a shop called the Jerky Jamboree devoted entirely to exotic animal jerky. The darkened buildings seemed to stick with a log cabinish, rustic theme, stacked up next to one another like cracker boxes. But the buildings had clearly seen better days. The roofs were peeling and the signs needed some refreshing. Also, none of these businesses were open, save the Rise and Shine Diner, and she was pretty sure they didn’t sell feminine supplies.
And then she spotted the squat plank building flanking a two-story wooden bear holding a LAKE SACKETT GENERAL STORE sign. Miracle of miracles, the lights were on and Margot thought she spotted a red OPEN sign in the bear’s mouth. The bear theme was really not making her feel better about her current state.
Margot aimed the truck at the ursine mascot and walked across the gravel lot. (Was everything gravel here?) The general store lived up to her every expectation. It was a sort of aisle-less mishmash of essentials and pretty, useless trinkets. It looked like the old “cracker barrel” type stores you’d see on shows like Little House on the Prairie, but with dishwasher pods and K-cups mixed in with the kitschy lake decor. This was probably the sort of place most of the tourists used to stock up before heading to their cabins, for the charm factor alone. The locals used the more modern Food Carnival grocery, but Margot wasn’t in the mood to drive an extra ten miles just for tampons.
Chuck, who accentuated his name tag with both suspenders and a belt, oversaw the mostly empty store. He barely glanced over his copy of the Lake Sackett Ledger as she walked into the crowded space. The feminine supplies were crammed in next to a display of swimmer’s ear remedies and beer koozies.
Not wanting to repeat this experience anytime soon, Margot stocked up. Her little basket was overflowing when she rounded the corner toward the tiny pharmacy section and walked face-first into a man’s green utility jacket. Peeling her face off the material that smelled of April-fresh fabric softener, she dropped the basket to the floor.
“Ooof,” she grunted, taking a step back and rubbing her nose. “I’m so sorry.”
He was tall, and broader than she normally appreciated in a man, with a narrow waist and long, rangy arms. His sandy hair was windswept in that far-too-flattering-to-be-an-accident way, and he had a thick dark-blond beard covering his cheeks. And despite the fact that she’d hated full facial hair ever since beard mania took root in the city’s hipster population, she found that she liked it now. It suited his whole “lost soul” aesthetic.
He looked . . . haunted, like he was carrying an awful weight around on his shoulders. It was so different from the glib, polished princes she was used to dealing with in the city, so concentrated on projecting an image of unaffected success that they wouldn’t dare frown. Who was he? What had hurt him so much? How was it possible to be that attractive while basically looking like a homeless loner?
“Hi,” she breathed, sounding much huskier than she’d intended. His brow furrowed and he bent to pick up the basket. As he leaned closer, she caught the crisp, clean scent of shampoo from his hair. She grabbed a nearby rack of shelves to keep her knees unjellied.
He rose, and his eyes went wide at the array of tampons from her basket as he wordlessly handed them back to her. She grabbed items from another shelf—a few scented jar candles and a blue glass bird attached to a suction cup—to try to cover up the smorgasbord of feminine protection.
“It’s not all for one . . . week,” she said before pressing her lips together.
Maybe she could toss the basket down the aisle as a distraction and run away.
Green Jacket grimaced and said, “Good luck with that.”
And before she could come up with a clever answer—or any answer, really—he eased past her and headed for the coffee section. She hid behind a stack of beer cases, watching as he picked out grounds and filters and then checked out without a word to Chuck.
Margot tiptoed toward the checkout. The man crossed the street, coffee supplies in hand, to walk into the Rise and Shine. Could she follow him? Maybe she could get some fruit and granola. That was reasonable, right, making excuses so she could follow a handsome stranger in order to reassure him she wasn’t some menstruating monster?
“You gonna pay for them lady things?” Chuck asked. Margot realized she’d drifted toward the door and now appeared to be shoplifting sanitary supplies. Her head dropped and she slumped back to the register to pay. She really hoped this was not the sort of story that circulated on the local gossip circuit.
As she climbed into the truck, she spotted Green Jacket through the front window of the diner, hunched over a
cup of coffee. Who went out for coffee after buying their own coffee supplies? He looked so miserable, so alone, even in that dining room full of customers. Margot felt all her city-born “mind your own business” instincts evaporate and she had the urge to walk into the diner and hug him.
She forced her eyes away from the window and started the truck.
“There’s probably a dozen available men in this town and you zero in on the depressive lumberjack,” she muttered.
MARGOT STRAIGHTENED HER black Armani and smoothed her chignon in the tin mirror. The tailored pants combined with the low-heeled pumps made her legs look impossibly long and her waist slim. She was overdressed—she knew that—but the suit was her favorite and felt like slipping on armor. Nothing could hurt her when she knew that she looked this good.
She leaned over her sink to get the right angle in the tiny vanity mirror to apply her eyeliner. Just as she touched the tip under her lashes, a braying bark from what sounded like the hounds of hell made her hand jerk up. The liner left a wide black smear above her eye. The howls and barks were growing closer, but Margot was focused on the thick black smudge caked across the smoky eye she’d just spent five minutes perfecting.
“Augh,” she groaned, keeping her raccooned eye shut while she fumbled for a tissue. “What in the bluest of hells?”
In the mirror, she saw a single small black-and-tan dachshund trotting through her bedroom. She whirled around and watched as the dog sniffed the borders of her room. How had it gotten in? Had she left the door unlocked when she’d stumbled back into her cabin that morning? Also, how did one dog make all of that—
Margot shrieked as a dozen dogs of all breeds and sizes gamboled through her door, crashing into her little cabin like a tidal wave of slobber and yapping. A Dalmatian with a spade-shaped ear made himself comfortable in her only chair. A bulldog wearing a lampshade collar ran at her armoire. Two dogs of a fluffy indiscriminate breed, with identical brown and white markings, beelined for her wastebasket. A sable pit bull wearing a pink tutu hopped up on her bed and circled until she plopped down in just the right spot. The rest were a furry blur, swarming around Margot’s legs, sniffing from all angles. Margot froze and kept her hands at crotch level. It was her only defense.
The dachshund ringleader sat in the middle of the room, observing this melee with no small amount of canine smugness.
“So many dogs,” she marveled.
Tootie shuffled into view, wearing a PETA T-shirt and bright purple Bermuda shorts.
“Oh, y’all calm down and act like you’ve been in company before!” she cackled.
Margot squeaked, still unable to process the doggy chaos. But when the bulldog nosed her armoire open and started sniffing, she yelped, “No! Not the wardrobe! That’s where my shoes live!”
Margot dashed past Tootie, shooed the dog out of the way, and snapped the door shut.
“Oh, don’t mind Dodger. He’s not a chewer. Now, Lulu,” Tootie said, nodding toward the tutued pit bull lounging on Margot’s bed. “She has real expensive taste in shoes. Watch her like a hawk.”
“Or, you know, they could just, I don’t know, stay outside, away from my shoes,” Margot said.
“Fair enough.” Tootie didn’t seem at all offended as she opened the door. “Come on, now, all of you. Git. Go have your breakfast.”
At her command, the pack leaped to their feet and scrambled out the door. Margot breathed a little easier and stretched a more friendly “professional” smile across her face. She crossed the tiny room and extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Margot.”
“Oh, honey, don’t try puttin’ on any of those airs; come here.” And just like that, Tootie dodged Margot’s hand and wrapped two surprisingly strong arms around her. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
“Thank you so much for your generous offer. I’m not sure what I would have done without it.”
“Stop with the interview talk, honey, you have the job,” Tootie retorted, pulling a small brass name tag out of her pocket. “Speakin’ of which, Bob had this made up special for ya.”
The tag read MARGOT—ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICE. Margot noticed that her last name had been omitted, but she wasn’t sure if that was because her father’s family didn’t want to explain to customers why she used Cary or because they didn’t include last names on McCready’s name tags.
Margot took the little tag from her great-aunt’s wrinkled grasp and pinned it to her chest. “Thank you.”
“Now, don’t be nervous,” Tootie said. “Most everybody knows this is new territory for you.”
“I’m not nervous,” Margot lied breezily, giving her a little smile.
“If you say so, honey. Now, I wanted to talk to you about your daddy. I know he wanted to come with Duffy yesterday to see to you at the airport, but there was a problem with the body he was drivin’ and he couldn’t get away.”
“I’m sure,” Margot said, running a cotton swab under her eye to remove the misplaced eyeliner.
“I know you have every reason to be pissed off as a sack full of wet cats at your daddy, and I know this is none of my business. But Stan, he’s a complicated man, Margot. He’s been through a lot. And he’s missed you something awful. Just give him a chance and I’m sure the two of you will find some common ground.”
“You’re right.” Margot nodded. “This is none of your business.”
“Oh, I’m gonna like you, I can tell,” Tootie said. “Be sure to use that frosty ‘eat wheat grass and die’ tone when Kay McComber calls to try to renegotiate the bill for her husband’s funeral again. Fool woman would use a coupon for his casket if we’d let her.”
“Is she struggling financially?”
“No. Asa hasn’t even died yet. He’s healthy as a horse. She’s just cheap. Frankly, I hope she goes first, just to give Asa a break from dollar-store toilet paper.”
Margot grimaced. A soft knock preceded a gracefully aging matinee idol lookalike sticking his head through her partially open door. “Hello?”
“Come on in, Bob!” Tootie exclaimed.
“Mornin’, Tootie.” The salt-and-pepper fox grinned at Margot. “Well, aren’t you pretty as a picture? I’m your uncle Bob, your daddy’s brother.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Again, she stretched her hand out for a shake, because she did not like the way Bob’s arms were starting to spread. What was with these people and hugging strangers? Had they not heard of personal space?
Bob looked a bit startled to have a hug preemptively thwarted but shook her hand with enthusiasm. “You, too, sweetheart. I’m gonna be drivin’ you to work this morning. Ready to go?”
Margot took a deep breath and picked up her shoulder bag. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Thanks, Tootie.”
Tootie patted Margot’s cheek. “You have a nice first day, hon. I’ll see you later on.”
Bob opened the passenger side of his green McCready Family Funeral Home and Bait Shop truck and helped Margot climb up. Margot lifted her ponytail off the back of her neck, where a ring of sweat was already making the hairs stick to her skin. She could feel the wet heat soaking through her clothes, like she was sliding into a bath while wearing her suit. “It’s only nine. How is it already this hot?”
Bob snorted. “Aw, heck, hon. This is nothin’. On the Fourth of July, you’d swear your face would melt right off. Now, don’t worry, I’m not going to just throw you in the deep end on your own,” he assured her. “We’ll start you off with paperwork, a few casket catalogues, how to pull a widow out of the grave she just swan-dived into.”
“Beg pardon?”
“It only happens every once in a while, but you need to know how to pull somebody out safely, because if you don’t lift with your legs, you can really hurt your back.”
Margot paused for the laugh she was sure would come. It did not.
“Is that for me?” She pointed to the oversize travel mug in the nearest cup holder.
“Yeah, I thought you might be a mornin’ grump like my daughte
r, Frankie,” he said as she took a sniff of the coffee. “She will spring up and poke you in the eye if you try to wake her before nine and she’s not on call.”
“What if you call her to wake her up?”
“She’ll wait until the next time she sees you, and when you least expect it, she will spring up and poke you in the eye. And she’ll yell, ‘Let that be a lesson to you!’ while doin’ it,” he said. “She’s small, sneaky, and has a profound sense of retaliation. Like God’s little angel of vengeance.”
She snorted as she raised the mug to her lips. It struck her that despite the fact that he was describing his child’s antisocial behavior, Uncle Bob sounded proud. Despite his conservative clothes and the JESUS IS MY COPILOT sticker on his dashboard, he didn’t seem to have any problems with the fact that his daughter occasionally assaulted people. It would be nice to know that sort of unconditional love.
“Poison!” Margot gasped, spitting the coffee back into the lid of the travel mug. It was so bitter and acidic, she ran her tongue over her teeth to make sure they hadn’t dissolved. “This is a mug full of poison.”
“Yeah, we take our coffee pretty strong.”
“It’s chewy,” Margot said, taking the handkerchief Bob offered and wiping her chin. And her teeth.
“Well, we work odd hours,” he said. “And my wife, your aunt Leslie, she’s at the Snack Shack making coffee for fishermen at five in the morning. So she makes it strong enough they could strip their outboard with it, if they wanted to.”
“Does she make the coffee for the funeral home, too?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Of course,” she said, nodding. “So Leslie is the opposite of cousin Frankie, in terms of the morning person thing.”
“Yeah, Les is a little ray of sunshine, no matter what time of day,” he said, tapping the small plastic-framed picture of his smiling wife mounted near his steering wheel. “She bounces up out of bed at four and runs down to the shack to find new things to deep-fry, happy as a pup with two tails.”
