Fearsome (2 page)

Two

Hera is truly a small town and, although it’s not far from Woodstock, it’s definitely not as famous. Well, not famous at all. In fact, most people drive through the main street in less than sixty seconds and don’t realize they have passed through an actual town. I realize this when the bus stops without an announcement and the bus driver walks back to my seat to tell me we have arrived in Hera. I grab my two bags, as well as my portfolio case and exit the bus alone.

I scan the town, which is nothing more than a short stretch of low-scale buildings on either side of the main drag, just like in an old Western movie. However, there is no three-legged dog, only a thin man in a striped suit wearing a bow tie, who looks like what I would imagine of someone named Archibald Bixby. I smile because he looks more out of place than me; standing at a bus stop in his dapper outfit on a Saturday morning.

“Jessica,” he says, reaching for my bags. “I’m Archie.”

I let him take the two suitcases while I hold onto my portfolio and art supplies.

“Hello.” I deliberate over adding Archie to my greeting, but it seems too soon to speak to him on such familiar terms. “Thank you for picking me up at the station… bus.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t let a young woman wander around trying to find her own way.” I want to laugh, considering I’ve just arrived from one of the biggest cities and Hera is nothing more than a patch of grass, hardly a dangerous place for young women. However, Archie looks to be about seventy-five or older, so he probably doesn’t realize how much freedom young women—especially me—have been given to roam and wander wherever they please.

“My office is only two minutes or so that way. Let’s go sit and have a chat. We will have some tea and biscuits. I bet you could use some refreshment,” he says in that old-timey way of his.

“Mr. Bixby—I mean—Archie, you know New York is only a couple of hours from here.” I laugh. “You make it sound like I travelled across the country. Really, it was an easy trip, shorter than taking the Jitney to the Hamptons.”

“I know. I forget that people travel everywhere at any time nowadays,” he says while walking quickly with a tight grip on my bags. “You see, in the last fifty years, I have rarely left this town. Trips into the city are an ordeal for me.”

“Why?” I ask, trying to keep up my pace with the spry old man.

“Fear. I suppose it’s agoraphobia or something. I’m not afraid to leave my house mind you, but somehow I can’t bring myself to leave the borders of Hera unless absolutely necessary. We have arrived,” he announces as we approach a small, two story, wood-framed building.

It’s painted a light blue and has black shutters. It’s quaint, like a step back in time. A brass plaque by the door is engraved with
Offices of Archibald Bixby, Esq.
I find myself smiling again because there is simply something about the town; with its slowness and old-fashioned buildings stuck in a different time.

Before entering the office, I study the main street again. There are a handful of people and a few cars, but it’s pretty quiet and sparse.

“Hey, Bixby,” a deep voice says from behind us. Archie and I both turn to where a man has jumped out of a truck. He looks like he’s in his mid-twenties or older; muscular build, very tall, dark brown, tussled, shoulder length hair and broad shoulders on a trim frame. He is definitely too handsome, too gorgeous and too intimidating for me. He’s the kind of guy any woman would notice. He looks like he walked right out of a truck commercial. He even has the faded jeans, well-worn T-shirt and dusty work boots to complete the picture. I can’t help staring.

“Carson,” Archie greets, turning towards the man. “I’ll bet you are anxious for that check.”

“I am.” As Carson approaches us, I see that his eyes are a steel blue. “I want to start building the new addition soon and I need the investor contracts.” He is speaking to Archie, though his intense gaze is locked on me. His demeanor is neither openly friendly nor hostile, but he makes me avert my eyes nonetheless. Queasiness assaults me down to the pit of my stomach and I feel as if I’ve been revealed; that this guy can see past anyone’s veneer.

“Jessica, this is Carson Blackard,” Archie says with a smile and an extra-long look at both Carson and me.

Mr. Handsome tilts his chin up at me and then looks away. I don’t even warrant a proper hello from him, so I only utter a quiet “hi” to the disinterested man.
Seventy-million! Seventy-million!
My brain’s first protective reaction is to chant one of my favorite numbers.
Oh, to be cursed with obsessive, compulsive behaviors
. Left unguarded, I would probably sound like a rambling, lunatic parrot.

I follow Archie into his little two-room office with Carson looming behind me. I sense his urgency to get what he wants from Archie so he can leave and I happen to be slowing things down. Archie gets me seated with a plate of cookies and a can of seltzer. Thank God, he didn’t give me a glass of milk in front of this Carson dude.

I nibble on a homemade oatmeal cookie and look around the front room, admiring the beautiful wood desk and built-in bookcases. I expected the room to be Victorian like the outside of the building; instead the furniture is craftsman style that looks too nice to have been mass-produced in a factory.

As I study the grain of the wood and the details in the table posts, I catch a snippet of Carson’s voice in the other room. Then, he comes into view in the doorway and my attention is drawn to his butt, specifically how his butt fills out his jeans perfectly. He has a sexy, casual stance and I can’t help ogling his exquisite form. Even though no one notices me, I feel a blush come to my face as I turn away.

Archie escorts Carson past me and out the front door before turning back to me.

“I’m sorry about that, Jessica. Carson can be a little rough around the edges. He should have extended his condolences, but I’m sure it merely slipped his mind,” Archie says as he seats himself at the desk facing me.

“It’s all right. He doesn’t know me and it’s not like I was close to Aunt Virginia.”

“Well, in Hera it’s not all right. We are a small, close-knit town and we know each other well enough. Children here are taught to use good manners all the time. Carson Blackard is a good young man and very talented, but sometimes he’s so driven with work that he forgets the simple niceties.”

I nod as if I understand the precarious nature of Carson Blackard when the only thing I know about this guy is that he sure knows how to put sexy into a pair of grubby work jeans.

“You really are a pretty young woman. You resemble your aunt. She had the same lovely red hair and brown eyes.”

“Thank you. I’d like to see a photo of her.”

“Oh, you will. Now, let’s get down to the unfortunate task of business, shall we?” Archie pulls some papers out of a leather binder. “This is Ginnie’s will. I want to review the details with you until you are satisfied.” Archie pauses and looks at me with a solemn expression, exhaling a breath as if pushing out his sadness. “Before we start, I also want to tell you that Ginnie was my dear friend for many years, the last thirty years of my life, actually. They were the best years, knowing Ginnie. She kept our circle of friends together and helped so many. There was no one else like this special woman, and I know you don’t remember her, but she remembered you and kept track of you over the years.”

“Why didn’t she contact me? I mean, it wasn’t until you called that I remembered her. I think the last time I was here was when I was around five or six and then my parents never brought me back, so it was definitely a shock when you found me. I know I have to call my parents to find out why they kept this from me, but why didn’t Aunt Virginia call me? Email me? Anything?”

“I’m sorry you are finding out this way.” He truly looks regretful with his furrowed brow. “All I can tell you is that Ginnie and your parents—well, your mother—had a falling out when you were a child. That’s why Ginnie was cut-off from you. It’s not my place to share the details. As per her instructions, she was cremated last week and her friends—the town—held a memorial service. She didn’t think you should be there. Why start out on a sad note, right?”

Archie pulls a sealed envelope out of a packet and hands it to me. I reach for the ivory linen envelope that has my name elegantly scrawled across it in what must be my aunt’s shaky hand.

“She explains everything in the letter. She wrote it this past winter while she was quite sick. After the paperwork here, I’ll take you to her home—your home—and you can have some time to read the letter there.”

I nod as a small wave of grief for a woman I barely remember washes over me. The loneliness of finding out about someone who cares about you, only to discover they have died before you can be with them, is another one of life’s cruel ironies. It’s the sense of losing that has been riding piggyback with me for the last twenty years. The anger I feel towards my parents prevents me from crying for my aunt; the family I could have had.

“My aunt’s friends must think I’m a terrible person for not being here last week,” I say, hearing my voice tremble a little.

“Not at all. They know Ginnie didn’t want you to come to a funeral and remember her as a stranger. She wants you to be a part of her life now. It’s all in her home and the friends she left behind. Everything about Ginnie is in Hera and she left it for you to enjoy. You’ll see what I mean when we go to her house. I mean, your house.” Archie gives me a reassuring smile. “Let’s have you sign off on these papers and have a quick lunch before we head over to the house.”

“Oh, Mr. Bixby—Archie, you don’t have to take me to lunch—”

“Yes, I do. Ginnie wrote it in her instructions. ‘Take Jessica to lunch at Bonnie’s’.”

I laugh, grateful that he is lightening the mood for my benefit.

Three

We leave my bags in his office and walk the fifty paces across the street to the diner with the sign,
Bonnie’s
. I can’t help thinking of this place as something out of an old cowboy movie, even though it’s green instead of dusty with Toyotas and Hondas instead of horses and, of course, a diner instead of a saloon. Something about Hera is very calming and welcoming.

Inside the diner, there are quite a few patrons eating lunch at the tables and booths who all nod to Archie as we enter; even the curvaceous, sultry-looking waitress who is running around with a water pitcher gives Archie a smile and wave as we sit at the old-fashioned counter with its chrome, swivel bucket stools.

“Hi Archie!” says a pretty, blond waitress on the other side of the counter.

“Lauren. This is Jessica Channing. Ginnie’s niece.” Archie’s slow enunciation of my name makes me feel special, as if people have been waiting for my arrival.

“Wow,” Lauren says and puts her hand across the counter for a handshake.

I take her firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

“So this must be an awful shock for you,” Lauren says as she hands us very large, laminated menus.

“Just two Bonnie Burgers, dear,” Archie says to Lauren handing back the menus. “Oh, unless you’re a vegetarian,” he says to me.

“No, a burger would be great.”

Archie winks at Lauren as if it’s her signal to scamper off before I can respond to her comment about my sad news. I suppose Archie wants to protect me and I find that touching.

We eat our delicious burgers with gusto. For a slight man, even Archie seems enamored with the half pound of grilled meat that’s slathered with mushrooms, Brie, roasted peppers and leeks. The waffle fries come with guacamole and a spicy mayonnaise. I am in a glutinous heaven, stuffing my mouth in a very un-lady-like manner as Archie slows down and begins telling me about Hera.

The population is nine hundred eighty-four and town picnics happen frequently at the end of the main street by the historic water fountain whenever the weather is nice and the mood strikes the town folk. He actually uses the term
town folk
and I giggle in between bites of food.

At that moment a stout, sixty-something-year-old woman comes out of the kitchen dressed in a blouse with a large flower print and an up-do I think originated in the 60’s when aerosol hair spray was a necessity. She rounds the corner of the counter and waddles towards us to pat Archie’s back with her chubby hand. Archie introduces her as
the
Bonnie of Bonnie’s Diner and the other waitress, the curvy brunette, as her granddaughter, Imogene.

“Now you almost know everyone in town,” Lauren jokes. “I hope you stay. I grew up here and I came back every summer during school break. Imogene and I work in the diner full-time and just hang out now. It’s so relaxing here compared to city life and college.”

I find out that Lauren and Imogene both graduated from Syracuse College last year and they are back in Hera trying to figure out what to do next. That puts them at least a couple years older than me and new to the workforce. I don’t envy them trying to find entry-level jobs with degrees in English and History.

“Oh boy, here’s trouble,” Lauren says, looking over my shoulder. I turn around to see a very cute guy walk into the diner. He’s what I’d call a summer boy, the Ralph Lauren ad; a tall, tan, athletic guy who sports sun-bleached light brown curls and a casually confident air.
Sure, I can surf. Sure, I play polo, who doesn’t? Sure, I scuba dive, sky dive and ski off cliffs.

Everyone is saying hello to the cute guy whose name I find out is Dylan. He makes a beeline right for us as he stares at me with a big grin and perfect white teeth. He’s a stunning picture of good health and attractiveness. The Hera Chamber of Commerce should consider erecting a “
Welcome
” billboard at the entrance of town with Dylan’s smiling face on it.

“I heard Archie has a visitor.” He beams at me. I force the last bit of food down my throat, silently wishing I could rush off to the restroom to brush my teeth.