“Well in that respect we’ll get along just fine. Anything you hate? Things I shouldn’t do that will get mesmacked?”
“I can’t remember the last time I actually smacked someone, so just don’t be a piece of shit and I think we’ll get along justfine.”
“Fairenough.”
He’s quiet again for a bit and then we hit the first real signs of civilization. A few cute houses pop up on the right side of the road. On the left are sprawling fields. Further down the road I see the first sign for Mom’s Apple Orchard. A cute white fence lines the road, closing in rows and rows of trees. The next sign I see is for Boot’s Farm, then a sign for Hoyt’s Farm and CountryTavern.
“It’s a bit of an appletown.”
“You own an apple farm?” Iask.
“Yes.”
“Huh. Interesting.” I look back out the window and watch as we pass three more farms and a sort of strip mall that features several different restaurants made up to look like a street in an Old West town. Finally I see it. The sign for McInroy’s farm. Below the giant cutout of an apple with white letters scrawled across it are smaller white signs. U-Pick. Cafe. Petting Zoo. Cannery. I realize a moment too late that I’ve made a little noise. It’s a noise I’m not sure I’ve made me before, a gasp of genuine excitement. I glance back over at Silas. I’m sure he heard me, but his expression is blank and his eyes are still on theroad.
Silas slows down and he keeps driving another three blocks or so to an unmarked road. He pulls in and we drive down a long, wide dirt road until we get to a for real white farmhouse with a wrap around porch with a porch swing. It has charming black shutters and everything. There’s even a large tree with a tire swing right out front. As we get closer, I can hear dogs barking and sure enough, two dogs jump off the porch and come running toward thetruck.
Silas comes to a stop. “Don’t be afraid of the dogs. They won’t jump on you. They just greet everyone who drivesup.”
“Good alarm system too, I guess,” I say instead of “they better not, ’cause I’m not above kicking a dog in selfdefense.”
“Comeon.”
I climb out of the truck and wait as Silas grabs my duffle out of the back. I reach for it, but he ignores me. Sure enough, a golden retriever and something that looks like a lab pitbull mix come sprinting up to us and are all over him, but aren’t so interested inme.
“This is Morty and Gala.” He pets them both for a moment, cooing at them like they are his most precious babies, before he snaps his fingers and tells them to go sit. On command, both dogs run over to the far end of the porch and go back to their guard duties. I watch them as he opens the screen door and the red door beyond that. It isn’t locked. He gestures for me to enter and I step into a large front room, with a long staircase. All the lights in the front of the house are off, but there’s some illumination coming from the end of the long hall. If I didn’t know he lived there for a fact, I’d think the place was abandoned. I can’t see much, but even a quick glance in the near dark tells me no one has been in the dining room off to the left in years, same for the sitting room off to our right. I can’t see it, but I can just feel the dust. The place feelshaunted.
“There are technically two bedrooms upstairs, but they don’t have any beds you’d want to sleep in,” he says. I almost jump at the sound of his voice. I don’t like ithere.
“You don’t have overnightguests.”
“No. Hey Joe Namath.” My heart almost stops as he says the words. We’re in this creepy ass house and now he’s hallucinating retired football players, but when I look down the hall again I see an old golden retriever ambling into the foyer. The dog stops, then looks at Silas and me before he turns around and heads back to whatever room he camefrom.
“Hmm.”
“I'm dealing with people all day. I don't need houseguests. Those running from the mobexcluded.”
“Appreciateit.”
“Come thisway.”
I close the front door behind me and lock it on instinct, then follow him down the hall to what turns out to be his bedroom. I don't want to call him a hoarder. I can see all his furniture. There's a king size bed with a nice Shaker style headboard. The bed is big enough to accommodate his height and the whole situation with his muscle mass, which is good. There’s no footboard. There’s a dresser, two big wooden chairs with leather cushions, and there is just shit everywhere. Clothes and sneakers and boots. Papers, antique crap like glass jars and old wooden crates. There are clothes spilling out of the closet. It won’tclose.
There's a little stack of receipts on top of the AC unit being weighed down by a toy tractor. It's not a big deal, but I know he's not joking when he says he doesn't have company. There’s a large, shaggy copper furred dog sleeping on top of the pile of clothes in the chair. It cracks an eye open, but otherwise ignores us. Silas ignores the dog too so I decide to ask about it while I keep lookingaround.
“The bathroom is right through there.” He points toward a half open door. There were three towels hanging over it. “It's not clean, but I’ll call someone to come scrub it downtomorrow.”
“You don't have to,” Isay.
“Go have a look foryourself.”
I set down my purse on the leather chair that doesn’t have a dog in it, then walk to the bathroom door. I find the light switch and also find that at the very least Silas is not one to exaggerate. The bathroom is nasty. It’ll do in a pinch, but I know I’ll die from long term exposure to whatever is growing in the corner of his shower. And I realize I have no idea what color the sink really is. I turn around and facehim.
“Like I said, I'll have someone come clean ittomorrow.”
“Thankyou.”
“There's a couch in the living room. I'm not gonna make you sleep there, but I'm not sleeping out there either. I need real rest. Hope you’re okay withthat.”
