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Thank you, God, if you do, in fact, exist up there.
Praying with just one sip. That’s how good it is. The Roasted Chestnut has a booth here somewhere, complete with maple espresso hot chocolate shots, and I was able to pay a teenager $10 to go grab me one. The shots themselves are free, of course.
I want to go observe this failure in action, but I’m being herded like a sheep toward a dirt path some might call a road. Someone shoves an empty paint bucket into my hands? I hang back, Renaldo in tow, following the crowd from a distance to see where they’re headed.
Around the trees, in the path, I see it. There’s a huge open bed type of truck? Wagon? Some kind of farm vehicle from years gone by. The paint on the cab is rusted, the wood on the sides is splintering badly, and the sound coming from the engine is concerning. I stop once I realize everyone is climbing up into the death trap to go for a ride.
“Oh. No,” I say, about to turn back.
“Woo hoo! Vandy’s coming! This’ll be fun!” The excited realtor, Steven, I’m fairly sure is his name, calls down to me.
I get closer, looking at the truck’s tired tailgate and blinking break light. “Have you nothing new in this town?”
“We will after you help us out, right?” He says cheerfully. I snort. He pleads, “It’s the last ride, you’ve gotta come.”
“We don’t have tickets,” I am grasping at straws, looking to Renaldo. Surely he doesn’t want to climb up into this thing either.
“No tickets, just vibes. Come on!”
“Just vibes? Are you joking?” I’m about to finally refuse once and for all but the sight of a bandanna in my periphery gives me pause. Harper walks past and hoists herself up, then climbs ahead to one of the front seats near the woman who owns…the pharmacy, I think.
She’s in the same uniform I’ve seen every time; bakery shirt, dusty jeans, flour-coated work shoes and her hair tucked away under fabric. I note that this bandanna has palm trees all over it and the last was sailboats. Odd. Odder still that I’d notice such a thing.
Her counterparts seem to be giving her kudos as she sits. She says nothing, face going pink. I keep forgetting she’s the ringleader. She shakes her head at the praise about this maple whatever event. She smiles though. It’s tentative, like her faux persona, but I’m pleased to know she does have teeth.
Without realizing it I’ve climbed up into the glorified cart and Renaldo behind me.
“You’ll love this,” Steven says. He starts explaining the bucket and the hose and sap and on and on. I’m about to experience a little tour, it seems. First the hands-on tree tapping, then something called a sugar house, then axe throwing before finally getting back to the vendor tents where, hopefully, maple pastries and more coffee waits for me.
Eventually the realtor pauses his informational speech, looks away, then back at me. Damn, I’ve been staring.
“Leave her be, Aid,” Steven says. I frown, about what he means and about him shortening my name as if we’re friends. We are not. He goes on, his eyes mischievous, “She was already busy enough with her shop and her dad and Stu, now she’s planned all this too.”
He gestures wide.
It is…nice. I’m not eager to hammer into a tree and watch sap leak out, but the sun has set over the ridge, leaving the road in deep shadow from the tall trees. It could almost be night time. And there are tiny lights in the trees and little lanterns along the path, and it smells heavenly. The beverages in tiny cups and the samples people are eating, it’s all maple everything. My mouth is about to begin watering.
“So, just...give her a break,” he adds.
“Give her a break? She won’t let me in her store for coffee!” I explain. He frowns and his mouth falls open in surprise. I go on, “I’ve been forced to get breakfast supplies for the crew at the diner.”
He shudders, “Ugh, Althea’s coffee will put hair on your chest.”
“Precisely.”
“What’s your poison? Latte? Cappuccino?”
I shake my head, “Just whatever she sneaks into her house blends. Black.”
He winks at me, “I’ll see what I can do.” My eyebrows rise. He shoves his shoulder into me, “We’re alright, this town. You’ll see. And so is she. She’s the best, really. But had a really rough go of it, so if she doesn’t want you in there, maybe just, don’t go in there. I got you.”
I nod and blink a few times. Surprised and grateful for some help behind enemy lines. But I’m also bothered.
What rough go has she had? Is that why she barely says a word to anyone? And why the hell doesn’t this Stu bastard help her? Why isn’t he hanging lights and opening her store at ungodly hours.
Not that it’s any of my business.
