1.

I was waiting in the lobby from the motel, in order to get the time and check in at it, when I realized that there would be no end to the conversation going on at the counter between the receptionist and the person coming over to bring up a fresh supply of necessities for the place. They seemed to know each other so well, I found it almost impossible to interfere, especially since they changed the subject from personal to business and there was no telling when one coming over as guest could interrupt, so as not to sound too rude about it.

So I rolled my eyes, feeling that I would lose my patience soon enough and I walked up through the small main hall, heading for the exit, leaving my luggage behind and uncaring whether I would be observed or not.

The weather was fine here and although it was not entirely sunny, it was warm and welcoming enough. The area was small and the town looked like the kind of place where everyone knew each other and everyone seemed to feel safe for that matter. It looked like the kind of place in which I'd feel safely hidden and locked away from the outside world.

There would be no one knowing me for a time being, before I'd become one of them.

I stepped outside into the warm cloudy weather and I could smell the scent of the ocean nearby, but I could not tell which side it would be situated against the town. There were people wandering about the streets, but none seemed bothered by my new presence and I suspected that was because no one had noticed me lurking around long enough. Perhaps they assumed that I would be just another one of those tourists coming to bathe under the sunlight and enjoy some swimming exercises before the cold winter settled in.

I walked away from the front garden of the model, a classy kind of building, with three floors and the restaurant localized underground. There were several cars parked by, the fancy kind, owned undoubtedly by one of the richest folks in town and I doubted they would even bother to ask about my whereabouts, had they spotted me around.

The church was situated directly across the street, one of the only ones larger enough to fit the town and split it in two. There was the train station and a school nearby, but the quietest was, of course, the church building, with its imposing bell tower and its large front garden. Behind it, undoubted, lied the town cemetery, but there were also a few foyers located nearby, for those who wished to rest after a morning sermon or have a quick private chat with the priest before entering the church.

The church doors were open and there was a local priest dressed in holy cloak speaking to one of the townsmen, but none of them looked at me. There was a group of middle-aged women walking up a golden retriever and chatting to each other. When they saw the priest and the other townsman, they greeted them joyfully and both men looked at them frowning, before the nodded.

Both of them were followed by a young woman dressed in black, with her hair caught up behind I a dark reddish dyed colour. She did not speak or look at the two persons, but she did look at the motel and I assumed she had noticed me as well.

As soon as she looked away, she walked on, but the townsman speaking to the priest suddenly seemed to call the three women up and only the young one stopped and turned around. The man waved at her with one arm towards the motel and then he eyed the dog being held by the older women. I could hear him speak to her, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. She seemed to listen carefully, before she nodded and then the man saluted the priest and walked up to her. As soon as he reached her, he pushed her around with his arm gently, and now they faced the motel.

'… Thanks a bunch, my sweet, I always knew you wouldn't let me down. I suppose there's a reason why old Benson likes you anyway. Now, I know you don't like 'im much, Rita, but he's a sweetheart when he knows you're around. Sure it's not a bother if you walk him by a couple o' hours?'

As he said this, they both reached me and now walked up the small paved trace to the entrance towards the motel.

He glanced at me once, before he frowned and then he stopped in his tracks and stared at me rather curiously. I nodded at him greeting, with my lips pressed together.

'Oh! Well, hello there!' he said.

'Hello to you too', I said.

'Fine weather this is for touring, is it, Mr. uh…'

'Turner. Ross Turner.'

'Oh. Uh, well, nice to meet you, Mr. turner, the name's Merryweather. Everyone calls me Forrester, though and you're welcome too, if you'll say we're neighbours.'

'Come again?' I frowned confused.

'Well, I suspect you're here for the night, ain't you?'

'Oh, uh, yes, I think so.'

He nodded and then she frowned. 'Keeping you up, are they, huh? For how long have you been waiting, Mr. Turner?'

'W-well not for long, really.'

But he waved me off before I could say another word. 'It's fine, I'll handle this! Uh, Rita, how about you say hello to the lad here? Ahem, Mr. Turner, this here is Rita Owens. She's got a tongue f her own, but I suppose she's old-fashioned, waiting for someone's introduction around. If you get my point. alright, my dear, I'll send Benson in.'

The man walked up in the entrance hallway from the motel, while I was left to stare at him frowning and then turned around to the woman. She had a pair of fine emerald eyes and a gush of died dark red hair, but her skin was pale and she had freckles around her nose and at the top of her cheeks. She was not particularly good looking from my angle of view, because she had a constant frown, but she looked considerably younger than myself and I guess she could break a heart or two if she wanted to. When she looked at me frowning, I nodded.

'Uhm, you can call me Ross.'

And then I startled visibly, while a large black dog appeared from the entrance and began barking at me madly. It had a white snout, suggesting that it was old-aged, but his muscular constitution and its lack of tail or the scar against its right eye also presumed that it used to be a fight dog before the end of its glorious days. The man holding firmly from its leash although not too firmly – because the animal seemed strong enough – was the Merryweather fellow and he seemed to shout at the dog – called Benson – as if the beast would listen to him under the howling of its strong barking.

I had to step away from it, fearing that it might break the leash, while its owner stared at me and smiled. 'Not to worry, Mr. Turner, not to worry, he's a loud-mouth, but a sweet-talker all the same. Here you go, Rita, thanks a bunch, lassie.'

He passed the leash onto the woman's hands, while she nodded and then the dog turned its attention to her. As soon as it bumped its growling snout against her slap, it growled slower, but smelled her scent and calmed down instantly.

'Just bring him up at about tea-time, my dear.'

He handed her the muzzle and she bent down to put it on the dog's head. For a few seconds, I assumed it would make a jump for her neck. As soon as she was done, she nodded and frowning, she grabbed the dog by the collar, pulling it aside. It seemed liked she knew her rough way around the animal, for she did not seem in the least bit afraid of it.

'Alright, Mr. Forrester. Come on, Benson.'

And then she looked up at me frowning and nodded. 'Mr. Turner…'

'Oh, you heard the man, Rita, you can call him by his given name. Don't you worry, Turner, she's a classy, you can call her Rita, she's sometimes rude like that.'

'I suppose so', I said, without having anything to say, but I could see the woman turning around, not in the least bothered by the man's odd and intimate remark about her good behavior. It almost felt as if she could not care less whether she would be considered rude or not.

The man smiled to me. 'Alright, Turner, I spoke up at the reception, they're ready to have you in. Need any help with the luggage? I couldn't help noticing they were standing by the side of the table by the counter.'

'I would, if you could, sir, yes.'

'Alrightey, lad, let's head on.'

I had settled in in less than fifteen minutes. It seemed that Merryweather had been an old client of the motel, for even the receptionist took his advice into consideration, while he spoke to her and had her help me with the check-in. the receptionist was a young woman of twenty-something with a pair of the prettiest dark brown eyes I had ever seen. Even when she smiled guiltily to me, I could not contain myself from smiling back easily, although my interest in her was completely inexistent for the time being.

The badge attached to the breast from her white blouse wrote down the name of Gail and I thought that was a name which suited her finely. She looked at least ten years my junior, but I could expect that she already was betrothed to someone, for she had a pleasant face and a slim figure.

Merryweather would have wanted that I had my luggage brought in my room and then I come down and enjoy a drink or two with him by the small bar beside the reception, in the small hallway, but I considered wasting some time upstairs, in hope that perhaps the man would figure out on his own that I was not interested in such an invitation.

The room was small, containing one single bed and a small one-person wardrobe, with yet a smaller table and a few armchairs. It suited a person such as myself, who would care less about the decorations of the room I stayed in, lest it presented a fitting bed for a fine sleep. The motel was located close to the seaside, and the view from my small one-person balcony aimed at the vast ocean stretching up against a blazing white cloudy sky, while the small waves looked like moving pearls, some few good feet away from the entrance to the motel.

The beachside here was pebbly and rough, but there were a few people roaming about, walking in small groups, and there was also the woman I had seen before, waking Merryweather's dog.

There was a young man beside her, and yet another older one, both of them speaking animatedly, while she kept to herself and the dog she was appointed to take care of.

I tried the small bathtub from inside the small bathroom. The water took a while to warm up, but it was enough for me to enjoy a brief shower and then take up the fresh pair of towels to dry up. There was also a very small TV screen, nothing fancy, everything old, but functional. There was nothing special on TV, however, so I changed in a new set of clothes and aimed for downstairs.

There were several other people gathered up in the hallway, the same two men from the beachside, that I had seen from the window to my room, and of course, Merryweather accompanied by a pair of young women. They looked in their late thirties, and one of them wore a pair of large glasses.

They each sat by the tables at the entrance to the motel and since no one came around for check-in, the receptionist was with them, serving them a few drinks.

I tried avoiding them, as I came down the stairs, but just as I made my way through the entrance hall, I bumped into Rita and by accident, I touched her shoulders, avoiding that I trip and fall back. She seemed burned off by the touch and glanced at me piercingly.

'Oh, uh, sorry!'

I quickly released her shoulders and I felt a growling at my feet. I stepped back, for Benson was not the sort of dog to anger. The woman squinted at me, but said nothing, yet my cover had been blown off.

'Oh! Turner! You came down! Finally! Come on over, sit with us for a while! And Rita's with you, how nice!'

'Uhm, Mr. Merryweather, would you be kind enough to leave your dog outside we cannot have a pet in the motel.'

'Oh, yes, of course, Gail, you're very right uhm… Rita, dear, would you be so kind…?'

Without commenting anything, the woman beside me, turned around and pulled the dog away from the entrance hall, while I was ushered to come inside.

'Now, there's a good lad! Come sit by my table, I'll introduce you to everyone.'

He took me in as a father would to his son and he first pushed me in front of a table where the women and one of the men sat down. They each smiled and stood up.

'Now, this here is Mr. Turner. Ross, wasn't it, lad? This here is Reverent Bonneville, and these young ladies are Jennifer and Jolene Collins. They are sisters and they are both aspiring painters.'

We nodded one to the other and greeted each other.

'It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Turner!' the reverent said, while we sat down on the chairs and Gail brought me a glass of water. 'May I say, you don't seem familiar to the area. Is this the first time you've travelled these parts?'

'Yes, something like that. I figured a small change would do me good.'

'Where have you come from?'

'From London.'

'Well, that's a very long way!'

'How is London? I've heard it's gotten more crowded than ever, but I haven't seen it in years.'

They bombarded me with questions, until I was unable to answer all at the same time, so Merryweather figured that it would have been time I had been introduced to yet another table of guests. This time, the other man was a doctor Morrison, and he seemed of the same age as Merryweather. They looked like they knew each other and their way of speaking was imposing and under control. It looked like the pair ruled above the others because they gave the air that they would be richer than anyone else.

Gail barely kept up to their order and it also took a while before Rita came in without the black dog she was supposed to take care of. She was brushing away the possible dust from her dress as she came in, and everyone was aiming questions at me, when Merryweather asked her to stay for a few minutes, before she headed home.

She came by without saying much and she took a seat at the table with the doctor and Merryweather. 'How's your father, Rita? I heard he's had a nasty seizure this week. Morrison here tells me we should prepare for the worst in any case.'

'Now, I didn't exactly say it like this, the man's fit as a fiddle, but he refuses to eat and that would not do any good to his health. Have you managed to get him to eat anything, my dear?'

'He refuses to do that each time I serve him anything.'

'That's a shame on the man! why, if I were any more allowed in his house, I would give him a few kicks of my own, bring him to his senses.'

'That isn't a way to talk, Forrester, especially since there's a lady in question, particularly the subject's daughter.'

'Look, I'm not ashamed to say it, but I think there would be someone to talk to him, snap in some sense into his head. This girl's got nothing to be blamed of.'

'This would be no place to discuss this kind of matter. Rita, my dear, are you staying long? I could drive you home.'

'I'd prefer walking.'

'Alright! I'm off then. Mr. Turner, it was very nice to meet you, and I hope that we meet in no other circumstances than the best ones.'

I smiled to him and nodded. 'Yes, I hope so, Mr. Morrison.'

I hadn't had the chance to drink a single sip from my glass of water, so when Gail came by the table, she tried picking up my glass, imagining I'd emptied it, but she smiled when she convinced herself that she had been wrong. She glanced at me quickly and I smiled to her in return.

'Uhm, would you mind if I set off for a walk through the street? I need some fresh air', I added, while I stood up suddenly, as if in fear that I would be retained longer if I waited for an answer from their side.

'That's a fine idea, Turner, here's a good example of a spirited mind!'

I smiled and then I wished them all a fine night while I walked up to the entrance hall and passed by Gail. I nodded to her and she smiled in return, before she reached the reception and sat on her chair.

I continued by way and walked out from the motel, facing now the main road, heading towards down town. There was a small paved pathway leading towards the beach and towards the small avenue along the coast, so I followed that path instead. By this time, there was still light outside, but the weather got chillier, so I shivered a little, before I rubbed my hands against my arms to warm up.

The place looked lonely and grim, but there were a few people walking by. I could see there was a female figure walking up against the side of the avenue, passing people by ignorantly, and I could recognize her from the dress.

There was a man passing by with a bicycle, speeding up considerably along the pathway and he shouted a few times for people to move away from his road, including myself. Watching him from behind, he reminded me of the man id hit a few years back, when I was foolish and disconsiderate of the outer world, when I believed that I would live forever, while others would grow old and wither off long before my time.

I looked back and I could see that the motel looked now very small and insignificant, compared to other buildings I'd seen throughout my lifetime. This northern part of the island was new to me and I daresay I hope di would have reached the border with Scotland, but the Scots were the chatty sort, chattier than Irish, in my opinion. I was born and raised in Dublin until I was five and my parents decided to divorce one another. By that time, I had already considered myself unique, special and that the world should fall at anyone's feet who considered themselves exceptional.

The truth was that I had been afraid to admit to myself that my life would be as meaningless as anyone else's for I had no special talent, nor any will of my own to become better. The feeling of inner despair culminated once I drove off drunk and inebriated with the desire to do foolish, impulsive things. After the incident, the world I lived in changed, for everyone considered that I had been a fool before, yet this time, a fooler fool than I had ever been.

I could see the man's face in my mind, as I stared at the sea and breathed in the cold breeze.

I rubbed my hands against my shoulders and my arms, before I realized that the number of people passing me by was decreasing considerably. I looked around and considered that perhaps I'd gotten lost, for the motel was no longer in my sight and the place I'd reached aimlessly was unknown to me. There was no one to ask where I was or how I could return to my place, and the clouds had darkened considerably before I realized that there would be heavy rain.

I turned and backed away, but the path seemed senseless to me now. There was no doubt about it, I had gotten lost on the first day of my coming here. So instead of panicking, I began growling at myself, and a lump formed at my neck, as if I were struggling not to look embarrassed, ashamed or ridiculous.

I walked a few feet ahead and then when the road reached the dead-end, so did the avenue I walked on and I found myself turning around to walk back to where I came from. So I walked on and on until the small buildings form the stores and the small houses appeared in sight. I turned my head several times to realize that the motel was no longer in my vision of sight, and so were the few people around. Most were heading for shelter, for when I reached the few buildings and closed-in stores, the rain had begun shortly. Now, I was running down aiming for shelter myself, but none of the stores had a large roof enough to offer any. I got soaked up in a few minutes, for the rain began to fall heavily, as if angered on myself. This time, I began swearing and cursing myself for my wretched desire to dissociate with people, in my attempt at keeping them away from hurting me.

And as soon as I reached a dead end and was forced to rethink the strategy, I heard someone close the door from an alley nearby and I ran off towards the place, in hopes that the person would have shelter to offer. There was a woman hiding under the worn-out umbrella of a man's and she seemed to lock the place down, a small dry goods store, before I came by and stopped her.

'Excuse me! I'm sorry to bother but… - !'

She was holding up the umbrella, but I could see form under the dim light from the entrance door to the store that this woman was the very same person from the first I'd met as I arrived here. 'Oh, uh, it's you…'

Rita raised one eyebrow to me, holding up the umbrella above her head. She seemed to refuse the common sense of sharing it with me.

'I'd like to think I am not all that bad looking, Mr. Turner.'

'N-no, I didn't mean…! Uh, would it be possible if I came inside until the storm's stopped?'

She framed me from head to toe disconcentrated, before she pressed her lips. 'Very well.'

And then she pulled up a bunch of keys and unlocked the door to the store. When she pushed the door open, a smell of old and dust came out, attracted by the freshness from the rain outside.

We came in and she turned on the lights, while I shut the door behind me and shivered away the drench from my clothes. 'Oh, God! Thanks.'

She said nothing, but settled the umbrella aside and moved about towards the counter. I looked around me and noticed the store finally. There were several shelves surrounding the counter, filled with colourful zippers, buttons and ribbons, laces, pieces of leather and of cotton, fabrics clustered in plastic or in carton boxes, wrapped up in plastic or in metal containers, there were several mannequins dressed fully in clothes, men's costumes and shirts, ties and trousers, women's dresses, skirts, blouses, and stockings. There were so many colourful things, materials and decorations exclusively for clothing, I could hardly believe anyone would know exactly where to find anything.

As I looked around attentively, I felt the smell of old aged-clothing, coming from the fairly veteran mannequins and also the smell of dust from the window sill and the counter. It looked like one of those old stores passed on from one generation to another, as the business rolled on changing through time, adapting to the demands of time and of ages.

Rita sat by the counter, pulling up a large leather-bound register book, which she then began to search with the tip from an old pencil. I walked about, wandering through the mannequins and the materials, the cloths and the decorations, as if this had bene one of the few stores I'd ever seen so colourful since now.

I startled visibly, just before I bumped into one of those cracked-face mannequins and I almost pushed it aside, just before I caught its bashed up face in my hands and settled it firmly on its position. There was a large clock ticking in the chamber and the place looked large enough to fit a considerable amount of clients at the same time. Behind the counter, there were large velvety curtains hiding away some secret compartments or chambers I undoubted believed were there.

'Is this place yours?'

'My father's.'

'It looks very old-fashioned, if I say so.'

I pressed my eyes shut, unbelieving at the stupidity I'd just spoken. 'What I meant to say was that the place looks old.'

She said nothing, but kept on staring at the register, so I came closer and found a small chair by the other side of the counter. I sat on it, trying to concentrate on drying up, but the place with its colours stole my sight each time. It looked very pretty and bohemian, even if it were not my style.

'Would you mind giving me a towel or something?'

'I'm not in the habit of keeping up towels in the store, Mr. Turner.'

I smiled. 'You can call me Ross, you know. And I'm sure you could find something I could dry my face with.'

I saw that she paid no attention to me, so I placed one of my fingers against the register. Wet as it was, the finger touched a written line from the register, while I asked "What is this?", but before I could continue, the woman shut the register book in a loud slap, snapping my finger in.

'Auch!'

She stared at me frowning as if a mother did to a misbehaving child.

'You caught my finger up, Rita!'

'You nearly wiped out a person's name from the register with your wet hand.'

'It was my finger and I doubt it would make a difference.'

'It would. The person's been dead for the past seventy years.'

I opened my mouth to speak, but the number of years she'd spoken of dwindled against my memory. 'Did you say seventy years?'

'I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Mr. Turner.'

'Ross. So your place is this old?'

She held the register book in her hands carefully, not replying. Instead, she bent down against the counter and hid the book somewhere over there. When she straightened up, I was given a piece of old towel, which looked suitable enough for drying my face over.

'Thanks.'

There was a pause, during which she turned around and walked away from the counter. She was standing by the door staring at the rain when I finished with the towel and placed it on the counter. 'Thank you for this.'

She said nothing, but kept staring at the rain, so I began feeling awkward. 'I, uh… I apologize for the disruption. But I really needed sheltering. I was having a walk on my own and I got lost, so…'

I puffed amused. 'It's funny, I'm usually careful where I wander off to, but I suppose this time, I did not feel like it.'

She turned around and walked up to the counter. 'I'm really sorry for disturbing you.'

'I'll walk you to the motel.'

'No, really, it's fine.'

She frowned hard at me. 'It's not. I need to be home right now and you are keeping me here. The rain's settled down, I can take you to the motel. That way, next time you will know your way and you won't bother anyone else.'

I frowned at her words, at the manner of harshness they had been spoken, but I quickly resumed my thinking that Merryweather had warned me of this woman being rude. But I could not read any spitefulness against her gaze, which confused me into believing that perhaps this simply was the kind of person she was.

She picked up her umbrella and waited for me by the entrance, giving me an expectant glance.

I breathed hard to let her know of her disturbing rush, but we finally managed to walk on the streets within a few minutes, after she had locked the place back on. She was now taking me back onto the places I had walked passed by before and she did not seem to speak or want to converse of anything. Rita looked like the quiet type, unprovoked except when she wished for provocation.

'So, the store belongs to your father… and, uhm, there are people there who've signed in a long time ago. Uhm, had it passed down from generation to generation?'

'Something of it.'

'Then, I suppose it would be yours once uhm…'

'It would be my brother's.'

I nodded surprised. 'Oh, brother… so you have an older brother then?'

She looked up at me frowning. 'Yes.'

I nodded and felt the need to speak in return: 'I think that's fine. I am single and I think I would have wanted to have a brother. Could I ask your brother's name?'

'Jules.'

'Jules… has your family lived here long enough?'

'Long enough.'

I opened my mouth to speak, but the comment unsettled me, so I looked away. 'Quite the chatty type, aren't we…'

'Quite the opposite, Mr. Turner. And here is where I leave you.'

'You can call me Ross.'

'I can, but I wish not to. Just walk on straight ahead, you will see the motel within a few feet away. A good evening to you, Mr. Turner.'

And without waiting for my reply, she turned around and walked away without looking back, holding the umbrella in one hand, although now all the rain had ceased. I turned around to thank her, but I saw her walking away quickly, and soon I breathed in and followed her instructions, reaching the motel.

2.

On the following day, to my surprise, I woke up earlier than I expected, at about seven or so and as I came down for breakfast, the dining chamber was almost empty, but the few guests inside were dressed suits-and-ties, quite clean, shaved and ready for church.

Merryweather was not around, but there were the two young women from last night I had been introduced to as Jennifer and Jolene Collins, the two painters. I wasn't sure just how good they were, since I'd never heard of them before, but perhaps they were local artists. They nodded in my direction when they noticed me and when I smile din return, Jolene seemed to gesture from her head that I join them. I smiled confused and preferred to return to the reception area where I found Gail wearing a lively dress which suited her finely. She was very pretty and wore light make-up, undoubtedly she seemed to be prepared to step outside from a while.

'Uhm, hello!'

'Oh, Hello, Mr. Turner!'

'It's fine, you can call me Ross. Uhm, can you tell me if I'm late for breakfast or something?'

Gail stared at me confused and then she turned her head to face the clock against the entrance wall. 'Uhm, n-no, not exactly. Oh! Do you mean to ask why you and the Collins sisters are the only ones around? Well, everyone's getting ready for church, I suppose.'

She looked around and leaned her head forward to whisper. 'If you ask me, these two are very odd, but I guess that is simply because they are, uhm, artistic. Otherwise, out here in this place, we make a habit of meeting up every Sunday morning for Rev Bonneville's sermon. Uhm, would you like to join… Ross?'

It took her a while to say my name, but I suspected it was because she found it rather hard to address one of her clients by their first name. I smiled encouragingly and made a small face. 'Uhm, I uh… well actually, why not? is that why you are not wearing the motel uniform today?'

She smiled and there was red in her cheeks for a few seconds. 'Well, y-yes. Would you like to come now? I was just leaving. Someone will take my place at the reception, though, if you ever chose to return to the motel.'

'It's fine, I'm not going to turn back', I answered nodding and then I brushed my clothes and smoothed them up. We walked up to the entrance door, before I asked smiling whether I was dressed properly for church. I was never in the habit of listening to sermons or visit the church once a week, but I was curious to see the townsmen's habits, especially during weekends. Having a nice female company like Gail's added all the more to the charm.

She was very shy and considerably younger than I, but she had a fresh mind and she seemed to know a lot about today's music and movies. We chatted about London and about this small town, and while we walked up to the church, she even took me on a small guided tour of it, pointing out the biggest attractions and the most well-known among townsmen.

She was light-brown haired and dark brown-eyed, with a pair of plumb fresh lips and a piece of her own mind. She spoke little, but she was excessively polite, so I became very familiar with her within minutes. In fact, if anything, as soon as I appeared interested in something local about the town, she seemed to speak more vividly, a sign that she might like the way she lived up to now in this small, secluded place.

I was wearing a light grey buttoned shirt and a dark brown suit, and the morning felt chillier than usual, so I offered to give her the coat when she gave way to a small shiver running down her spine. She accepted shyly, although at first she seemed hesitant to do so. After this, we changed the subject, so she would not end up speaking about the town and soon enough, we reached the church, which was a large dark grey building, made entirely out of wood, large enough to fit in a few 50 people since, with a large green space and the cemetery spreading ahead, just behind it.

Obviously, we could have reached it within minutes, but I suspected Gail had taken up a small detour, just so she would show me around and give me a clue or two about the town itself.

There was a small crowd gathered up at the entrance, and the Rev was found on the entrance stairs, speaking to a few locals, before he welcomed us inside. When I saw him and he saw me back, he nodded greeting me surprised, as if he hadn't expected to see me there.

As soon as we came in, Gail naturally went for the nearest seats to the altar and the spot where the Rev would hold up his sermon, but I was a rather quiet person and I wasn't all that religious, which is why I preferred staying behind. By this time, both sisters Collins had arrived, although they sat in different places.

When Jennifer noticed me looking around, she smiled and said: 'Ross, come sit by my side. Unless you're looking for a seat more to the front…'

'Oh, uh, no, I'm fine here. Thanks, Jennifer.'

She sat three rows away from the exit door and the seat closest to the edge was vacant, therefore I took it without remorse.

'I must confess you don't really look like the church person', she added after I sat by her side. My coat was still on Gail's possession, so I stared at the room in search for her, but I admitted to myself that it would have been foolish to stand up, go to her and ask her to return the clothing to me.

'Excuse me?'

'I said that I am surprised to see you a church person. You certain do not look like one.'

'Oh, uh, I'm not actually. But I came in with Gail and she was heading for the church so I said to myself "Why not?"', I smiled comfortable, but I could see now Jennifer was eyeing me strangely, although smiling.

'Oh, I see. It too both of you a while however. I've arrived here with Jolene within ten minutes.'

'Yes, well, uhm, I'm afraid that's my fault. I asked Gail to show me around.'

'I'm sure you did, Ross', she smiled undermining, after which she stared at the altar and the Rev moving about, until everyone took their seats and were ready for the beginning of the sermon.

I ignored her reaction and preferred also concentrating on the priest ahead of me. This person was tall and imposing, the kind of person who would have no difficulty in convincing anyone to turn onto God's way, once he considered this person astray.

Today's sermon was about Liars and the sin of lying. It was nothing special which I had heard of before, but Rev Bonneville's opinion on liars was that if ever we had returned to the Medieval Times, then he would restore the Inquisition and burn sinners to the ground. At least, in my opinion, he looked like the kind of person who poured in kind sweet words, onto leading towards goodness, but at the same time embracing the evil punishment against evil.

'God taught us of truth. Certainly, there is no absolute truth except within His own words. But our mission on this world is to discover these words, to discover His Truth and to protect it, share it, spread it across the four corners of this world.'

'Liars are of any kind and they are beside you. They come in close with our enemies, yet, just as the Lord had given ith each His love and embrace, we should in return do the very same thing. He had taught us that we should love thy enemies and liars all the same, hat we should turn the other cheek, for we will become His most beloved lambs.'

The sermon went on for another forty-five minutes until I felt overwhelmed over the fact that this man preached about the evil of lying, but not of its necessities sometimes. He kept the good coming out of lying to himself, while he shared the punishment coming onto someone who could ever dare to lie about something, about anything, and while I looked around the room, I could see mostly older folks looking at him eagerly, as if they had been brought up to catch these wrongdoers and bring them to justice. Most of those present there, young and in fear of God, felt a little embarrassed and rubbed their hands one against the other. And while I trace their faces slowly, pretending to listen to the sermon, I met with Rita's.

She was looking down, for some reason, and there was nothing to suggest that she even believed the words of the reverent. She sat by the side of the rows of chairs, the more centrally-located line and she seemed to have come accompanied by an older man, in his late thirties, with a pair of hawk-like eyes and dressed in a clean cut, elegant suit. His face reminded me of someone very familiar, but I could not quiet put my finger into it.

'Uhm, who is that person sitting beside Rita Owens?' I whispered in Jennifer's ears and she looked at me secretively, before she turned her head in Rita's direction. Finally, she nodded.

'Well, that's her older brother, Jules. He's actually her step-brother. adopted. I mean her. She is adopted. Her parents sold her a long time ago to Old man Owens. He's a quite a funny character, if you ask me. I asked him once if I could do a portrait of him, but he refused. He seems to enjoy refusing many things.'

'Is he older than she is?'

'By a good ten years, I believe. Let me think, uhm… he's come back from the states two years ago and he is now uh… thirty-three… yes, he is a decade her senior.'

So, Rita was twenty-three and she was at least eight years my junior. By all means, she could have been Gail's age, who was twenty-one. Comparing them together, however, would have resulted in considering Rita too old for her age, while Gail too young of hers. One had been rude and mature-pretending, while the other seemed childish and overly-polite.

'Jules was due to inherit the clothing firm down town – I'm sure you've seen it by now, Ross – but there was a raw between father and son, so now the father refuses to eat, while the son refuses to talk about it. That place has been passed on from generation to generation. The old man would not leave it to Rita, because she's not his bloodline.'

I nodded and considered saying "Hello!" to them, after the sermon, but once it was done, everyone stood up and walked out, and soon enough, both Rita and her brother were to be unseen. For some reason, I kept looking for her in hopes that I would be able to meet her, but I was quickly acaparated by Re Bonneville and Dr. Morrison. They spoke little with me, but kept me busy for a while, until I met with Gail and she thanked me for the coat. She returned to the motel after this, while I was asked by Jennifer if I could join her and her sister to a ride through down town, while they bought necessities for painting.

I agreed smiling, but wondered why I had cared so much to see Rita after the sermon.

I met with her accidentally, while we were down town and the two sisters spoke to me about painting and about art in general. She was walking Merryweather's dog on a leash and with a muzzle against its snout.

'Oh, hello, Rita, how are you? Still walking My. Merryweather's dog, I see?' Jennifer said, while we stopped by the side of the road to chat.

Rita said nothing, but she nodded, while she pulled the dog's leash, once it tried reaching for my foot to smell my clothing. The women spoke little to her, until Jolene said: 'Say, Rita, I think I've seen your brother at the church. Has he come back from abroad?'

'His studies are over. For the time being.'

'Well, then you must feel very happy to have him home, I suppose.'

'He's been gone for a while.'

'And what about your father? How is he? Is his condition serious? There must be something we can do.'

Rita shrugged her shoulders. 'It's his decision entirely. I have nothing to say in the matter, he will not listen to me.'

'Perhaps if you convince Jules to speak to him…'

'There's an old tale about a mule and a monkey…'

'I understand that, Rita, but there must be something that could be done.'

'Time heals all wounds, I suppose.'

The women changed the subject after this, and they ended up criticizing Rev Bonneville's harsh sermon, but once more, both myself and Rita had nothing to say in the matter. After this, Jolene asked if she could come by Rita's store for some shopping and tailor matters, and they both agreed on a date and schedule, before we parted our ways. Rita barely seemed to acknowledge me for some reason, either she refused to look at me.

Just as she passed us by, she dropped a notebook on the ground, and before she bent down to pick it up, I was quicker to the hand and I fetched it. The notebook was small and covered in genuine leather, tied up with a leather strap. 'Here you are.'

She said nothing, but took it and shoved it in the side pocket from her coat. 'I believe it's polite to say "Thank you" in such cases.'

'I would have picked it up myself, Mr. Turner, but you gave me to time or choice.'

'Ross. And I was trying to be helpful.'

'There was no need. Good day!'

And then she turned around and left, while I frowned and the women behind me smiled. 'Is she always this rude?'

'Well, I believe that's because of her father. Step father, that is. But she's a good-willed person, Ross, it's how she is.'