I bristle automatically at the name. Like blueberry muffins, the name Jane sends up a flare in mybrain.
“Of course,” the girls says, pulling their order from the case. “She’s finishing up the final batch of muffins in theback.”
They finish their transaction, and I step up to thecounter.
“Hi. What can I get for you?” The girl asks, her voicechipper.
“Hello.” I smile. She has bad acne but a very warm smile. “I’d like four blueberry and two spice. Muffins, Imean.”
“Sure.” She grabs a white paper bag and moves to the case on the left. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you visiting?” She ducks down, pulls the muffins from the case, and places them in thebag.
“We’re renting a little cabin for the weekend.” I pull cash from my wallet and hand it toher.
“The Lost Place?” She asks, at the same time the swinging door leading to the back opens. Her eyes are on her hands as she pulls my change from herdrawer.
I shouldn’t be surprised she knows it. I’m opening my mouth to respond when a woman comes through the doors, back-end first. She pivots, a tray at her chest. Her eyes meet mine for the briefest second, then she bends at the waist, sliding the tray into thecase.
“The Lost Place is great.” Her voice comes up over the case. “I stayed there for a while when I first came to town. That was a long time ago,though.”
She’s adjusting the tray, so she doesn’t look at me when shespeaks.
But I don’t need her to look atme.
Her face, her voice, it’s forever burned into my soul. She’s fire, and I’m her charredremains.
Mymom.
What do Ido?
What do Isay?
The thoughts in my head, they smack against one another, but nothing comes together. I’m tangled, jumbled, and the woman is arranging the fucking muffins like her life depends onit.
My shaky fingers snatch the bag from the counter. I turn around and run. Behind me the girl yells out something about mychange.
I don’t slow down until I’m at the truck. I climb in quickly, afraid she might be right behind me. My eyes squeeze tight until the strain hurts my nostrils. Any moment she’s going to tap on the window. In my head Icount.
One…
Two…
Three…
All the way tothirty.
And then ten more because I’m sure she’s going to come afterme.
Nothing happens, and I’m not counting anymore. Maybe she’s just standing there, right outside my window, waiting for me to open myeyes.
I dare apeek.
Nothing.Nobody.
My head tips back. Now my eyes are open wide, looking at but not seeing the car’sceiling.
I push the start button, and the truck roars to life. In my left hand is the bag of muffins. I relax my grip and drop it onto mylap.
As I back out of the space, I give myselfinstructions.
