Mr. Wainwright would not have kept a record of such sales. The early success of finding the candle had made me cocky, I suppose. Now my lack of progress was a bit unsettling.
Dick’s strange attentions were another sore point. I’d tried to talk to Jane about the renovations to my house and whether Dick’s intentions were honorable. But she only assured me that I was perfectly safe, but she’d promised Dick that she’d let him talk to me himself. I found this to be cryptic and unhelpful.
If I were home, I would have taken a walk down to the cliffs to clear my head with cold sea air and blessed quiet. In the Hollow, I had only the somewhat decrepit area surrounding the shop. So I wandered the streets in the late-afternoon sun, worrying over my problems like a surreal jigsaw puzzle.
What was I doing wrong? Did the magical world smell the stink of desperation on me? Generations before me had found the Elements. But they’d searched as pilgrims, with open, curious hearts. Was I so slow to progress because I was too businesslike in the approach? Or should I be even less sentimental? Approach the issue like one of those crime procedural programs with spreadsheets and forensics and such?
Early one evening, after I cleared the block, I turned right and slowed my pace. The light was warm and pleasant. And the fresh, book-dust-free outdoors was a definite plus. I couldn’t say I was comfortable with the neighborhood, all darkened storefronts and abandoned streets, but I was wearing sturdy shoes and jeans. I could outrun a bloody cheetah if startled properly.
It was interesting to see how the dividing line of commercial success ended at Paxton Avenue. On the opposite side of the intersection, I could see a prosperous town square, with restaurants and quaint little shops. But in this area, there was little bustling besides Jane’s shop. The consignment shop on Prescott was flanked by a defunct comic-book store and an empty barber shop. The one business with lights blazing was a corner store that looked as if it had once been an eyewear shop. It now displayed a sign advertising “Half-Moon Hollow Community Walk-In Clinic. Services Free.”
I walked closer to the door, where a small yellowed sign read, “Help Wanted,” in bold red letters. I pushed the door open to find . . . complete feckin’ chaos. I was bombarded by the sensations of nausea and chills rolling off of the crowded waiting room. There were women lined up five deep at the registration desk, with no nurse to check them in. Children sat slumped against chairs lining the walls, listless and pale, scratching halfheartedly at reddish spots on their arms and legs. One boy had stuffed his head into the wastebasket and was puking for all he was worth. It took me a minute of deep breathing to keep myself from rushing to the wastebasket and tossing my own breakfast.
It was after eight P.M. Every single child in this room had chicken pox. Everybody was talking at once, demanding answers, demanding that someone come out and help them. And no one seemed to be in charge.
Finally, a situation I was prepared for.
“Right.” I rolled up my sleeves and slipped in past the door marked “Staff Only.”
Down the hall, I could hear an older man’s voice as he told a Mrs. Loomis to keep Tyler hydrated and covered in calamine lotion and to give him a cool bath if his fever spiked. I assumed this was the doctor, so at least we had that going for us. I rummaged through the mess of papers until I found a sign-in sheet. At the sight of someone who seemed to know what was happening, the would-be patients and their mothers surged forward, surrounding me like something out of an itchy zombie movie.
“Excuse me,” I called over the din of questions and complaints. “Excuse me, if everybody would please just—” No one was listening to me. They were too busy attempting to storm the registration desk. Finally, I yelled, “Oy!” over the noise. “Oy! If everybody would just shut it for a moment and line up like good boys and girls, we will be able to get everybody signed up to see the doctor as quickly as possible. Now, if you haven’t filled out an intake form, I suggest you do so right now.”
For a moment, everybody just stared at me as if I were speaking Greek.
And then one mother handed her