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That’s when I remember the most important thing. “Yes, we do!” I say, pulling the trusty Magic 8-Ball out of my bag and shaking it in the air between us. Maybe it said I needed to come earlier today, but that was before the shooting. Being shot at changes everything, even if it was a silly BB gun.
“I thought you said you already used it.” Finn sighs, and for the first time, I’m left questioning why I’m helping someone with such blatant unbelief. “It literally gives the same answer every time.”
I’m indignant. “It literally does not.” I hold the ball up in the air as though to prove my point, aware I’m acting slightly deranged. “Magic 8-Ball, should we knock on Dirty Sally’s door?” I ask, hoping against hope for an answer I like. Within seconds, we have one, but I’m scared to look and pass the ball to Finn. “What does it say?”
“It says ‘Without a doubt.’”
I force one eye open. “Do it again.”
He shakes the ball. “Okay, this time it says, ‘Without a doubt.’ What was that about it not giving the same answer every time?”
I yank it from his hands and give it a better shake to no avail. “Dang it, what’s wrong with this ball?”
“Get out of the car, Billi.”
“I’m not going to. Without a doubt.”
Finn either doesn’t hear my clever pun or does not care about my apprehension. “Well, that’s too bad because I’m not going in alone.” I’m indignant until he slips a clipboard under his arm, walks around the car to open my door, and reaches for my trembling hand to tuck it safely inside his own. I look at our entwined fingers and climb out of the car, dragging my feet like a dead man walking. Humor. Humor always helps.
“What, are we boyfriend and girlfriend now?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, will you wear my class ring?”
I’m betrayed by the little thrill that shoots through me, the 8-Ball all but forgotten on the floorboard. “Fine, but just so you know, I don’t put out on the first handhold.”
Finn falters on a step. “Yes, but do you put out on the second?”
I look up at the sky. “The second gets you dinner. But you have to pay for it.”
“Wow, the perks of fake dating you are overwhelming. Can’t wait to see what happens on hand hold number twelve.”
“Oh, that’s when we break up because by then, it’s almost Valentine’s Day, and I don’t need the pressure of having to buy you a box of candy hearts. I mean, do you like caramel or vanilla? Molasses or nougat? Toffee or worse, those gross chalky pastel ones with messages stamped on the front. ‘Be mine, I’m yours, Gag me…’I’m practically having a meltdown right now just thinking about it.”
“For the record, it’s maple cream for me. And I’m already devastated about our impending breakup.” He holds our hands up between us and gives me a small smile. “You looked frightened. I won’t let go unless you want me to.”
I don’t. “I’m terrified. Thank you for trying to distract my mind. But also…what kind of person likes maple cream?”
“The kind with taste.” Finn grins and leads the way up the front steps, and I hold my breath. The smell of mildew and ash is almost overwhelming like someone burned rain-soaked towels and left them in a smoldering fire pit. Floorboards creak on the front porch, a gaping hole off to one side just asking for an ankle to fall and break inside it. A black widow spider crawls out from the depths, scurries across the broken railing, and disappears into the grass. An old clay flowerpot lay on its side, dried potting soil spilling from the opening and streaking the porch with dirt. Inside lay brittle, dead ivy that gave up the fight to survive years ago. Who could blame it?
A front door made of old barn wood looms in front of us. An ancient rusty knocker attached to the center of the door is so out of place, that, for a moment, I forget where we are. A shack in Silver Bell, not a castle in a child’s fairy tale. Finn reaches up to grasp the ring and gives three firm raps on the door. When no one comes to answer, he tries again. I grab his wrist to stop him when he reaches for the knocker again, more than ready to take it as a sign.No one’s home. We should leave. And all the angels sang Glory Hallelujah.
But then we hear a faint shuffle step of feet as someone approaches the door. A female voice grumbling in a faint sound that grows louder with each step, so loud that I wish to be struck deaf.
“Godforsaken intruders ought to be shot, that’s what.”
I swallow, ready to meet my Maker. Anything to get me out of this wholly unwelcome moment of reckoning. Meeting Satan himself might be less terrifying. An irrational thought, but here we are.
The door slowly opens, and two angry black eyes ringed in deep, suspicious wrinkles stare unblinking at me. “What do you want?” Her voice is sharp. Accusing. Angry. Filled with hate and condemnation.
My hand squeezes Finn’s so forcefully I worry I might break his bones.
Save yourself.
I’m not proud of the first two words that leap into my mind. Or the feet that itch to start running. Or the cowardly way I glance toward Finn to get his approval—both of us? Start running on one…two…three?Or the disappointment I feel that we aren’t, in fact, running anywhere but are instead about to push our way inside this woman’s poor excuse for a home, and I say ‘home’ in the broadest sense of the word. Can a house be a home when it smells like rotting fish and is knocked about with holes?
I don’t think it can be, but then this is where Dirty Sally lays her head at night. Where she hasalwayslaid her head at night, for as long as I’ve been alive and beyond. Rumor has it that her father built this place with his own hands and it once looked nice. A cute cottage on the edge of town flanked by a flower shop and an apple grove. Now the flower shop sits vacant, and there’s no sign of an orchard save for one mostly dead tree that last bore fruit over a decade ago. If you squint, you can almost picture the days gone by; smell them even, if you will your mind to comply.
As it stands in the real world, the scary old woman is still glaring at me. My mouth slowly unhinges, and I hear myself try to speak.
