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“I wouldn’t Mrs. Murphy, what if she is really sick and you bring it back home to Mr. Murphy?” I counter. I watch a shiver shake her little body.
She cringes. “You’re right dear, when Mr. Murphy is under the weather, it is almost impossible to get him to see reason,” she admits. I bite my tongue. In my experience, Mr. Murphy is rarely reasonable. We part ways with a polite ‘well guess I’ll be going’ type comment.
I alter my path to Ms. Maria’s living quarters. Gabriella must be really shaken up if she didn’t even open the cafe today. Gabriella’s red Impala is still sitting in the driveway in the back. Well, at least she didn’t abandon the ship last night. Hopefully, I can give her some perspective here.
Ms. Maria was such a kind soul. Irreverent and feisty, but it served her well here. Gabriella obviously doesn’t have the same chutzpah, but she can find her own way here. If I’m honest with myself I would very much like to help her do that. I never get tired of seeing beautiful women.
Ms. Maria’s home is a lovely Victorian. It peaks in fascinating directions up top. It displays rod iron embellishments under the peaks. A few grateful birds have made nests between the spokes. The back porch is huge and looks freshly swept. Gabriella takes pride in her space. That’s a good sign.
The porch stairs creak a little as I make my way to the back door. I open the screen door to knock on the white metal interior door. “Who is it?” a nervous voice calls.
“It’s Chet!” I answer.
“Oh, umm I’m sorry, Chet but I’m not really up for company right now,” Gabriella explains. I prop myself against the door jam.
“Look I know this place can be really shocking at first, but the people here really are good and decent people,” I pitch.
“I would love to have this conversation with you, but right now I’m not sure I feel safe with someone… like you,” she apologizes.
Her tone is an apology, she obviously doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. Little does she know I’ve been called everything in the book and sometimes in several languages. It’s very hard to hurt my feelings anymore. Still, I was looking forward to at least a friendship.
“I probably should have told you about me at least. After all, I can’t out everyone else that wouldn’t be fair. But be honest—” I lean into the door so she gets my question clearer. “Would you have believed me?”
There is a long pause. I begin to wonder if she has wandered away from the door. “No,” she answers. I relax again knowing I’ve made my point.
“I really would like to chat, Chet, but I’m packing right now,” she explains.
Packing? Was seeing my other form really that upsetting? Most of the others tell me I’m the calmest werewolf they’ve seen in shift form. I know I didn't do anything inappropriate last night. I couldn't show my face around here if I did.
“Why would you be packing? You just got here.” I manage not to raise my voice. I’ve had enough experience with timid creatures to know when my growl is too much. Gabriella might as well be a rabbit right now.
“I just, I just don’t think I can stay here, knowing there are those —things— those monsters are out there,” she moans.
Things.
I suppose there are worse words she could choose. I place my hand on the door. If she was within reach I would try to hold her hand.
“Gabriella, this town is the safest place you could be. Your Aunt was a staple in this community. Everyone loved her. Her cafe was the best place in town to grab a bite to eat and catch up on local gossip. We aren’t the scary murderers you read about in fairytales. Heck, my buddy Fred is a vegan!”
“What kind of monster is he?” Gabriella asks gently.
“You’ll figure it out if you ever meet him. My point is you should try to get to know us before you run off screaming,” I answer.
Another long pause. This time I hear breathing on the other side. “You know, I may start to take it personally if we keep having conversations like this. I like looking at pretty girls when I talk to them. This talking through a deadbolt is going to give me a complex,” I tease.
She laughs. An honest comfortable laugh. It’s beautiful, like bells ringing. I hope I can hear it again sometime. “I know you are right,” she admits.
A small pang of victory strikes my chest. “Damn right I’m right. You care enough to want to make the cafe nice for people. You’ve got to realize what's ‘nice’ to us may not be something you are used to.”
“I just wanted to put my best foot forward,” she sighs.
“Let me help you. I promise everybody wants you to do well here. Well, maybe not Mr. Murphy, but he’s a special kind of special,” I assure her. I am rewarded with another giggle. I wish I could bottle it.
“I gathered that,” she agrees.
I feel like the door isn’t as thick as it used to be. I’m getting through to her. Which is great because I don’t know if I can stand a cup of coffee I brew. And I’m sure I couldn't handle a mug full of the sludge Chris calls coffee.
Vampires have no understanding of flavor or subtleties. I push my need for a coffee away. My main concern is the young woman on the other side. “So will you give us a chance, Gabriella? I promise if you meet us halfway we’ll go the rest of the way for you,” I insist.
