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No truck.
“Dammit, Bard.” He knows he’s supposed to let me know when he plans to take the truck to town.
I’m about to turn back when I hear the familiar rumble of the Bronco’s engine coming down the main road.
Bard pulls up and lowers the window. “Going to town?”
“You didn’t tell me you needed the truck.”
“I needed the truck.”
“Haha. Funny.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I forgot. But the truck’s all yours. The engine is warm, the tank is full, and I can even give you a ride in if you like.”
“No, thanks.” I’d prefer to escape my cabin fever alone.
“Suit yourself.” He puts the truck in park and hops out.
“Where’s your snowmobile?” I ask.
“Back at my place. I finished plowing the driveway this morning.”
I turn my head. Yes, indeed. A clean, freshly plowed driveway is right there. I should have checked before I left. “Why did you take Grandma’s truck and not your own?”
“Sold mine.”
“What? Why?”
“Had some supplies I needed to buy.”
I don’t understand. He knows he could just ask for the money. I’d reimburse him for any expenses related to his job. Also, I never liked how little Grandma paid him. Once, I did the math, and it came out to a few bucks an hour. When I asked him why he’d accept such low wages, he told me some things were more important than money.
That was when I realized he would never have enough to retire on. I knew I’d have to find a way to make sure he was taken care of.
“What are you heading in town for?” he asks.
I don’t want to admit I need company and am going for pancakes. “Well, after I buy you a new truck, I have some shopping to do.”
“I hope you’re kidding about the truck.” He frowns.
“Nope. And it’s going to be an automatic.”
“I won’t drive it.”
“You will when that Bronco dies and there’s no other choice.” I walk past him and get inside. The truck smells like her. Lavender. Sage. Bengay.
I inhale slowly, refusing to cry. I’ve mourned enough over these past few months. I need to be done with it.
I make a U-turn to head toward Tionesta, feeling Bard’s eyes on me the entire time. That’s when I realize the back of the truck is empty. He claims he went to get “supplies,” but those don’t usually fit inside your pocket.
See. Now I know he’s hiding something. What?
CHAPTER EIGHT
After breakfast, where I learned the shocking news that the florist was caught cheating with the owner of the hardware store, I decide to ditch my plan to check out the inventory at the used-car lot in town. I’m serious about getting Bard a truck, but I want to find him something he’ll actually drive, which means heading to Oil City. It’s about an hour’s drive, and I don’t have the energy after last night’s terrifying episode.
I feel drained, but in that special way when the fatigue is everywhere: bones, heart, head. A drama hangover. And despite my efforts to find a distraction this morning, I can’t stop the questions grinding away in my mind. I need to head home and rest.
I’m driving down Main Street, all two blocks of it, when my truck approaches the library, and I inexplicably find my hands pulling left on the steering wheel into the parking lot.
When I have a question or a problem, it’s not unusual for me to turn to a book, scientific papers, or articles online. I just never expected to have this problem: hearing voices. Also, discovering that insanity might run in the family.
I park next to one of three other cars in the lot and hop out. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find here besides books on how to build a shed, repair a tractor, or grow tulips.
I enter the small brick building, the door’s hinges creaking to announce my arrival. In the back, I see Miriam, our librarian. Her part-time helper, Michael, is sitting at a table in the middle of the room, reading some magazine about electric cars.
“Oh, hey there, Lake. Looking for anything special?” Miriam removes her thick reading glasses, leaving them to dangle around her neck. She’s only a few years older than me but dresses like she’s from the 1950s.
“Um.” I unzip my red coat. “I don’t know. You got any books about my family or Mayburg history from around the time my grandma’s house was built.” People say Mayburg was established in the early 1800s, but we locals know it was much earlier than that. The land here was first occupied by Native Americans, who called it “where the water separates from the land.” Early settlers mostly stayed away due to the long harsh winters, but there were a few families crazy enough to set up camp. The Norfolks were one of them. Then the industrial revolution happened, and one of the largest wood chemical plants was built not too far from our land. It shut down ages ago, but anyone who stayed behind did so because of their deep connection to the land, the forest, and the stream. Now Mayburg is nothing more than a sign on a winding forest road marking a bend in the stream.
