Page 34 of Miserable Marionette

“You're from a big city then?” he asks, barely registering it when I walk out of her home, closing the door behind me, herding him toward the porch steps.

“Piedmont, up in Washington State.”

“Oof, big, big city then.” He laughs, spitting as he does. “Bet the nightlife there is wild.”

I wouldn’t know.

“Care for a drink?” I ask, heading off the porch. It’s barely nine in the morning.

He lets loose an ever more boisterous laugh, swiveling to follow me. “Maybe you aren’t so bad, doc.”

I don’t respond, the buzzing in my head drowning out his drunken rambling as I lead him across the road into my home.

16

Wilting Branches

Audrey, Present Day, 1994

My paintbrush glides over the glass doors, a little pumpkin patch with each tiny pumpkin holding some form of movie theater concessions. This one is holding a soda almost as big as he is; the lip popped off, making the sugary drink splash over the rim.

Every season and major holiday I can count on at least a few hundred dollars as call after call from local businesses flood in asking me to decorate their windows. Summer, Fourth of July, St. Patrick’s Day, Christmas, Valentine's, but currently, Halloween. Fall, my absolute favorite season, and not just because my birthday is soon, almost always falling on the same weekend as the Fall Festival here in town.

That thought sobers me a bit, knowing this year I’ll stay home. Nobody to attend with now that Jess and Bryan are most definitely out of the picture. It’s not that I don’t have other friends; I do. More acquaintances than I can count, I just never moved past the stigma the Bells left behind. I catch sight of the scars on my forearm, smeared with autumnal hues. They pretend not to see them, so I do too. It’s easier this way. It’s certainly worse when someone asks. After Gideon, Jess and Bryan were the only ones who… stuck around during the ugly parts. Who visited me in the hospital the night it went too far. The night a moment of despair and self-pity nearly ended my life. I remember the numb disappointment I felt when I opened my eyes in the hospital. How I stared at the doctor blankly, a friend of Dad's. He told me Sheriff Fisher would be disappointed in me if he were still around.

How could he have thought that was the right thing to say?

Jess cursed him out.

I’d even begun to smile, a weak, sad smile but a smile all the less before Mom rushed in, her replacement kids waiting in the car outside.

They couldn’t see me like this.

What would her husband think?

She stayed for ten minutes.

I tried to kill myself and she stayed for ten fucking minutes.

I can’t help but wallow at the loss of Jess and Bryan. Even as terrible as they were in their own right, they hung around. Other people didn’t know how to… handle me, I suppose. Most of our lives they were getting ran off by Gideon, then my own seclusion, Mom’s rampant cheating and binges at the local bar, then I was the Sheriff’s grieving daughter, then the girl they grew up with that slit her wrists and almost died. I hadn’t found my place back in this town until the Johnsons had asked me to paint their windows while I was out making a bank withdrawal one day. When Mr. Johnson asked if I still painted, I’d almost lied.

Almost said no.

But everything changed that day.

I was Audrey again.

I hadn’t felt like her since Gideon left, maybe even before that.

“Here, Auds.”

I jolt, squinting up at Trent, who took over the local movie theater fresh out of high school. He shifts, better blocking out the sun before handing me two twenties and a ten-dollar bill, turning his attention toward the pumpkins. “Dude, you always nail it. Thanks again for coming out on short notice.”

I smile, taking the money even though my hands are covered in paint. “No problem, the alteration shop isn’t open on Sunday anyhow.”

“You’ll be at the Kessler wedding, right?”

I groan as I stand, my knees stiff from hours of kneeling on the concrete walkway in front of the theater beside the poster for a movie called Judgment Night. I thought it was ironic considering my plans for later.