My curiosity is certainly piqued, but mostly I feel sorry for the guy everyone’s talking about, even though I don’t know anything about him.
The sound of a gavel on a wooden desk makes the room go silent.
Mr. Sallow, the committee president, stands up and clears his throat.
“Welcome everyone to this month’s meeting. I see we have a few more people attending. I’ll take that as a sign that our townsfolk are eager to get involved in the pride and joy that is our monthly craft fair.”
There’s some applause and a few whispers around the room. Once again, I get the feeling the reason for the higher-than-normal attendance has nothing to do with the fair and everything to do with the mysterious stranger.
Mr. Sallow sits down and looks to his right. “We have the full committee present today, which should make for a swifter and more efficient meeting. Last month’s fair was a success despite the snowfall, and I am happy to announce that our charitable efforts have raised enough money to fund the crafts stall at the summer music festival. We shall be putting our brains to good use to find a fair way to select the best artists to sell their crafts at the festival.”
There’s a round of applause before he raises his hand, asking for silence.
“Thank you, thank you. Okay, now, before we move on to other matters, I’d like to announce the results of the applications we’ve received in the last month. As you know, there are a few empty stalls that we are eager to fill.” Mr. Sallow looks to Mrs. Martin and then Mrs. Jenkins before clearing his throat. “Unfortunately, not all candidates are…suitable, so we must decline those applications.”
I’m not sure why I continue sitting in my chair holding the still lava-hot coffee because I know what the outcome is going to be.
“Mindy’s lovely cross-stitch wall hangings are going to be available for sale from next month’s fair.” There’s a round of applause and a gasp from a petite girl who’s hanging on to a tall skinny guy. They’re wearing matching shirts with a logo I can’t read.
“Heavenly Scents by Ronald Day will also join us in next month’s fair.”
Another round of applause.
“Sadly, all other applications are declined at this stage. There are still two stalls we’d like to fill before the summer to make sure we give our seasonal customers the best experience of Stillwater. If you know of anyone local who’d like to apply, please pick up an application form when you exit.”
I stand up without caring that my chair scrapes against the floor. It’s either that or throw my hot coffee toward the stage.
“Mr. Remington.”
I stop when the grating voice of Mrs. Martin calls out to me. I turn around slowly, trying my best to keep my expression neutral even though I’m struggling to understand what I did to the woman that’s caused her to make it her mission to keep me from selling my art at the fair.
“Yes, Mrs. Martin?”
“Please close the door on your way out.”
If I had the power to invoke spontaneous combustion on someone, she’d be ash by now.
As soon as I leave the room, I throw my coffee into a nearby trash can and go out into the chilly evening air. Thankfully, I walked to the town hall straight after work, so the walk home will helps me decompress.
The evil cow may still be out for me, but I’ll be fucked if I’m ever going to take her bad energy home with me.
3
LEVI
Only in Stillwateris a bar quiet on a Thursday night.
Only in Stillwater do people still whisper.
Only in Stillwater can a local feel like a stranger.
Thankfully, the bar provides me with a relative separation from the dining area of the bar and restaurant, but I’m not deaf.
If they knew how the high ceilings of The Academy—a building that was once a school and is now a bar and restaurant—carry sound, they might not say the things they’re saying.
Then again, this is Stillwater, and people here have never been known for being discreet or caring about what others think about them. The good thing is that I am as practiced at not giving two shits about what they say as I am at making cocktails.
“Two French martinis, an Amaretto sour, and a rum and coke, light on the rum,” Penny, my old friend and current lifesaver, says as she places a tray full of empty glasses by the dishwasher.
