I unzip the bag and wade through the mountain of unnecessary shit I brought. A swimsuit, for God’s sake. Finally, I yank out a pair of flip-flops. There’s a tiny fridge, and the owner said I could use the barbecue in his backyard. I’m all for a tall glass of wine and a good steak right now, with some charred potatoes and asparagus.
The fresh smell of the trees hits my nose the moment I step back outside. It’s so damn quiet. I can hear my chest pulsing with air. The reeeez reeeez sound of grasshoppers echo like a chorus as I walk down the porch and onto the crunch of gravel. The silence wraps around me like a blanket, and the air is warm and humid as I head toward the grocery store. It’s peaceful.
There’s a man sitting in a plastic lawn chair, a cigar hanging precariously from his mouth. He wears a stained white tank top and khaki shorts. His tanned skin hangs from his arms like parchment paper, and he looks at me as though I’m an alien. I try smiling, but he stares at me blankly. Then he rises from his seat and bangs on his screen door, shouting inside.
“They’re letting hookers in Fair Oaks!”
A voice inside yells back as my cheeks burn. “What?”
“A hooker just walked by our house. Come—look!”
What the hell? I do not look like a prostitute. Not even close. Okay, the zipper on the tank top might be a little much, but I’m wearing a jacket. My shoulders are covered, for God’s sake.
As I hear his wife’s bewildered response, I quicken my pace toward the grocery. Their shouts ring behind me as I walk across the street, looking down at my clothes again.
The strip mall is bigger than I thought, wrapping around another block to the side. It’s all very quaint. Some of the signs for the shops look hand painted. I pass by a boutique with one that reads: Chocolate Covered Gifts and Things. Peering inside, I see a narrow shoebox of a store. The walls and shelves are covered with chocolate bars, and there are vintage lunch boxes sitting at the top. I head toward the grocery store and sigh as the air-conditioning chills my hands.
Damn. I’ve never seen a grocery store so empty. There are only a few people milling around with shopping basket. I throw a box of strawberries in my basket and grab the most expensive bottle of Pinot. It doesn’t take me long to get the rest of my supplies: steak, coffee, potatoes, and carrots. Then I walk toward the front of the store, where there’s a small commotion.
A man wearing boat shoes, a white polo, and khakis holds a stack of newspapers. He hands a copy to every person in line for the cash register.
“Thank you so much, George!” An older woman clutches the paper to her chest.
Everyone seems to know him—and even weirder—they all seem like they’re best friends. I walk in line behind them, and the be-speckled man in khakis turns his attention to me, eyes widening. He has a beak-like mouth and milky skin that almost looks translucent. Black, curly hair sits on his head in a fluffy column. Two watery dark eyes blink at me, obscured by his glasses.
“You must be Gage’s new customer! The one who’s in town for the wedding?”
“Yeah—wow. How did you know?”
His thin face widens with a warm smile. “Word travels fast. Are you staying in town for long?”
“Um—just for the wedding, but I might stay longer.”
“I heard your car will take a few weeks to be repaired.”
Sighing, I adjust my basket to my side. “Yeah. There's a chance I'll be here for a while.”
“Perfect! Well, I’m George. It’s wonderful to meet you. Always nice to see someone new in town.”
“I’m Olivia,” I say after clearing my throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Hopefully your car won’t take too long to fix. I know dealing with Gage can be—ah—challenging.”
“Well, he’s not the warmest person in the world.”
“Just don’t take his attitude personally. He doesn’t have a lot of friends because he treats everyone the same way.”
“Why is he such a jerk?”
A sad smile curves into his cheeks. “I can’t speak for him, but he’s had a rough go at life.”
So the rugged mechanic has an angsty past? I’m almost curious enough to ask, but it feels wrong to pry.
I’m saved the indecision of asking more about him when George slides a newspaper off his stack and hands it to