Title: Many Roads
Contact::saywardluckett2000@yahoo.com
Author: Lily Ann
Title: Many Roads
by Lily Ann
Chapter 4: The Wild Girl
the day that she came
I'm freezing that frame–Tori Amos
Buffy felt a little bereft when Whistler pulled away, though he'd been very nice. Brought her farther than she ever thought she'd actually get.
But, the town was still buttoned up tight, the storefronts dark and uninviting. Buffy was the only living presence on Main Street, experiencing , for the first time, the hush of a small town at daybreak, deep silence broken only by the tingle of wind chimes and that manic hum that seemed to constantly emanate from the great forest.
Where do I go from here?
Directions were what she needed. A flicker of movement inside the general store caught her eye, and Buffy tried the door. It opened easily. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
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There was a spot, at the end of the canned vegetable aisle, safely removed from any smoke detectors, where no one could see you, if the rack of Melba Toast was pulled just so. It was the perfect hideaway. Who the hell ate Melba Toast anyway? It was like chewing on the floor mat of your car.
No, when they opened at Six A.M., anyone who was human headed for the coffee and donuts.
Nutley was a fucking berg, yeah, but they got a fair crowd in the store, unfortunately. Commuters heading out to London with the sun. Mothers just back from dumping off their ankle-biters at the town's only daycare. It was amazing how much caffeine those women could mainline. It was sad, really. Faith wanted to offer them a swig of the scotch she had stashed under the sales receipts. Well, she wouldn't be squeezing a brat out anytime soon, that was for sure. Unless it was for big money or something. Huge.
She had a good view of the front door through a gap in the tinned beets, and the floorboards were very old. They ached and groaned if a goddamn mouse walked across them. If anyone did manage to slip in early, she'd give her usual excuse for why she was crouched in a dusty corner: "Asbestos inspection. I'm certified." They believed it, too. Gullible saps.
A handy vent in the floor received the swirling evidence of her morning indulgence. But, with her face pressed practically into it– she had to be careful cause her Aunt Lydia was a human smoke detector–she neglected to listen for either footsteps or the jangling bell that heralded a customer
Thus, the girl was almost standing on top of her before she even became aware of her presence. Might not have noticed her at all if a blond head hadn't come around the edge of the rack and chirped "Hi!" while Faith still had her nose buried in the grate.
"Fuck!"
She shot to her feet, the cigarette dropping away from her fingers, half-smoked. "Double Fuck!" She tried to stomp it out, but the slim cylinder disappeared down the vent. Great. She'd burn the place down and go to jail for five to ten. Become Big Bertha's prison bitch.
The newcomer stepped back. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"
"No, I always scream and jump up when a customer comes in. It makes them feel special."
"The door was open..."
"Yeah, but the sign says 'CLOSED' which, in the service sector, translates as 'Stay the fuck outside'. Who the hell are you, anyway?"
The girl looked like she was going to blubber. "I'm...I'm Buffy."
Faith snorted. Probably a cheerleader. "Figures."
She looked the visitor up and down, noted that she was thoroughly American from the top of her shiny head to the toes of her embossed leather sandals. Daisies. The girl had daisies on her shoes. Wore brand name denims and an expensive blouse with the ease of long association. Good Jewelry, too. A nice watch. The hair and clothes showed slight evidence of travel, but Faith was willing to bet money this was a California girl, born and bred.
The little chin lifted a little. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that you took a wrong turn somewhere and missed Milan by a continent or so. So, hit the road, Barbie."
"Buffy."
"Whatever."
"I only came in to ask directions."
"Then buy a map. I've got things to do."
Buffy snorted. "Yeah, you were working so hard there behind the Melba Toast. How will you ever catch up?"
She had to admire the cattiness of the girl.
It'd been a while since she bickered with someone worthy. And, hell, maybe if she made nice her Aunt Lydia wouldn't have her ass wrapped up and sent home via overnight mail. She hated Nutley, true enough. But going back to Boston and her drunken mother was even less appealing than church suppers and stocking boxes of Maxi Pads.
"Listen, sorry about the hollering and insults. I think I have Tourettes. We're looking into treatment."
Buffy visibly softened. "Forgiven," she said simply. "So, you, um, work here? When you're not behind the snacks?"
Melba Toast wasn't a snack. It was hard and dry enough to float Elian Gonzalez and his whole family safely back to Cuba, but Faith let it slide. "Yeah. My Aunt owns the place. "
Buffy looked around. "It's nice. Very...English."
"Yup. If you need wellies, we've got 'em. Marmalade? You're covered. But, ask for Ben or Jerry and they'll think you're talking about cartoons."
Buffy laughed. "No, marmalade, thanks. But I do need to find a man."
"Don't we all, honey. Wouldn't get my hopes up. Around here, they're all smelly old grandpas or young, fresh and kinda gay."
"No, I mean a specific man. An author. W.J. Hunt. The book said he lives here."
Who? was Faith's first thought, quickly followed by the dawn of realization. Oh. W.J. Hunt. Of course. He has another name, doofus. Wasn't born...the way he is. And with realization came suspicion.
"What do you want with him?"
"I'm his, uh, long lost cousin. Yeah. His long lost American cousin. Twice removed."
Faith's eyebrow climbed.
"Okay, I'm really not. But I still need to talk to him. It's about his book."
She seems harmless enough. "Promise you're not violent?"
"Yes! Cross my heart with a Melba Toast. Cracked Pepper flavored."
Faith shuddered, but conceded "Okay. First off...it's a long walk, but do-able. I'd lend you my car except it's, um, in the river. You take the main highway out past the old post mill and follow it all the way to the bridge...."
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Buffy slipped out of the store just as the first customers hurried in. Outside, she leaned against the clapboards for a moment, her head pounding. The sly laughter of the dark girl–Faith–floated out on a cloud of coffee steam, and Buffy closed her eyes, She'd done a good job of acting casual throughout the whole encounter, but her stomach was on a tilt-o-whirl. When she first saw Faith, Buffy had two thoughts,
She's beautiful.
And,
I drew her.
Indeed, she had. But, in that mad, artistic frenzy her pen hadn't scratched out the portrait of a shop girl. No, it was a Madonna of the streets that emerged. Two drawings. In the first, she was ebony regret with upturned eyes and a mouth like crushed plums. The second portrayed her dancing, lush body melded into a serpentine curve.
Buffy began to walk, her thoughts racing. She wasn't crazy. People from her otherworld existed in this one, though fate might have swept them far afield, down different roads. What it all meant, she didn't know. Maybe she wasn't meant to have all the answers yet. That was alright, She had time. And freedom and youth and history.
Most importantly, she had hope.
Three miles lay between she and her destination, according to Faith. Three miles through Beatrix Potter country.
A long walk, to be sure, but Buffy finally had no doubts.
She was on the right road.
TBC
Author's Notes: Dudes, she's almost there! Don't quit on me. The fun's about to start.