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Chapter 13* * *HazelWhile Atlanta was supposed to be our next stop, the flashing lights of a carnival off the highway caught our attention somewhere in Alabama. And since our mantra was that we go wherever the wind takes us, it seemed the wind had a craving for funnel cakes.
And I did also.
Turns out the event was called the Applewood Fair. We’d already spent a few hours here, eating greasy food, playing games, and even enjoying a few of the rides. Milo and I acted like a couple of kids. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun. Well, yes, I could. Every moment spent with Milo was the last time I’d had fun.
I stuffed a piece of pink cotton candy into my mouth. “I think it’s funny that we don’t even know the name of the town we’re in. Is Applewood the town or just the name of the fair?”
“Maybe we should ask someone.” Milo tapped the shoulder of a woman in front of us. “Excuse me?”
She turned. “Yes?”
“What town is this?”
“You’re in Bumford, son.”
“Not Applewood?”
“No. Applewood is Rusty Applewood, the man who started this fair some fifty years ago.”
He nodded. “Got it. Thank you.”
“Did she say we’re in Bumfuck?” I joked as the woman walked away.
“Basically. Bumford.”
A little while later, the sun had gone down, and we’d pretty much had our fill of the carnival. I yawned. “It’s getting late. Want to just find a place to crash here in Bumford tonight?”
“I don’t mind driving, if you want to keep going toward Atlanta.”
I shrugged. “Eh, I kind of just want to stay, if you don’t mind?”
I was starting to fear the looming end of our adventure. If there was an opportunity to stall, I’d take it. Staying overnight here would mean an extra day in the end. It wasn’t about Bumford. It was about getting to spend time with Milo.
I wasn’t about to admit any of that, though, so I tried to come up with an alternate explanation. “This place reminds me of something out of a Hallmark movie. You know, the small town where the heroine always gets sent to by her corporate job to fix some problem or raise money. Then she falls in love with a Christmas tree farmer who drives a red truck, and she somehow ends up settling in the town at the end. This is that kind of place.”
“Yeah. Of course I know exactly what you’re talking about because I sit around watching Hallmark movies on the weekends.” He snorted before stopping a man next to us. “Excuse me. Do you know of any nice place to stay in town?”
The man laughed. “Wyatt Manor.”
Why did he laugh?
“That’s a hotel?” Milo asked.
“A bed and breakfast.” He pointed. “You’ll see it about a mile down the road on the right.” He smiled. But the look on his face seemed like he might have been kidding us.
After the guy walked away, I asked, “Why did he give us that look with the recommendation? Was that my imagination?”
Milo shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Hmm…
He gestured with his head toward the parking lot. “Wanna check it out?”
“Yeah. Sure. Always up for an adventure.”
After only a few minutes, we arrived at our destination. We parked right in front of the property. There were no other cars in sight, so I wondered if we would be the only guests. It looked like a typical bed and breakfast from the outside—a yellow house surrounded by a series of large oak trees. A porch wrapped around the entire thing, and mounted to it was a sign that read Wyatt Manor.
We approached the front door, and Milo knocked.
An old man answered. “May I help you?” He looked to be in his nineties.
“Yes,” Milo said. “We were told this is the place to stay in town. We were wondering if you had two rooms for the night.”
The man’s mouth hung open. “Who told you that?”
Milo pointed over his shoulder. “A…man at the carnival down the road?”
“Wow.” The old guy’s mouth curved into a huge smile. “Wish I could thank him. I haven’t had a guest here in months. This is far from the most popular place in town.” He stepped aside to make room for us to enter. “But come in. Please. My home is your home.”
Milo and I exchanged suspicious looks before we stepped inside. I really wished we could have turned around and gone to a normal hotel, but I felt bad leaving now. The man seemed so happy to have us.
The interior of the house was dated, with dark wood paneling and furniture upholstered in mismatched floral patterns. There were clocks everywhere—cuckoo clocks, grandfather clocks—and also a plethora of figurines on shelves.
But perhaps most notable were the dead, stuffed animals hanging throughout the place. A deer, a fox…and one particularly scary-looking raccoon.
