Mort and Marah drove for a few minutes in silence. Finally Marah spoke.
"So why do you shop all the way in the city? There's a pretty good grocer just a few blocks down from your house, I thought."
He didn't want to tell her it was because the townspeople thought he was a murderer. He simply shrugged. "Um...I'm not going grocery shopping," he lied. "I have to, uh, pick up some printer cartridges!" He was speaking unnecessarily loudly. He worked his jaw almost savagely.
"Oh," was all she said, a little uncertain.
He reverted to a normal volume. "Why are you heading over to 9121 Chestnut?"
She rolled her eyes and rubbed her temple. "I'm a new teacher for the first grade at the elementary school. I'm supposed to be meeting all my new students. You have a real close-knit community in this town."
He didn't know what to say. He was most definitely not in that community. She mistook his silence for being offended and hurried to appease him.
"I'm sure it's important for the children to feel as if they know their teachers, it's only," she laughed, "I've gotten lost so often, I'm getting a little impatient with the whole business." She glanced over to see if he was still offended.
He was looking back at her, a little amused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to seem disapproving. I wasn't thinking of that at all." She looked questioning and genuinely interested, so he went on. "You'll find it out within the day, probably," his eyes were narrowed in sarcasm at some imaginary gossip, "so I might as well tell you. And we're here," he added, pulling over and putting the car in park in front of her destination, "so you can get out whenever you want to during my explanation."
She was surprised and beginning to be a little afraid, despite herself. Probably horror writers have a tendency to be overdramatic, that's all, she thought. But she kept one hand on the door handle anyway.
"People think..." he trailed off. Looking at her sitting in his car, he felt like he was coming alive and seeing things for the first time in months, maybe even longer. His confidence was ebbing away, but instead of the fear and shooting memories that usually came with that sensation, he only felt nervous. He didn't want this...beautiful...young woman to think he was a murderer and walk away like the others. He didn't want to go back to writing horror stories every waking hour, never speaking to another human being.
He cocked his head and looked at her sideways. "They believe that I'm a murderer. That I killed my ex-wife and her boyfriend. Three or four months ago."
Finally, she was reacting as expected; her eyes widened with shock and, he thought, fear and loathing. She took in her breath sharply, then turned away and opened the door. The car began beeping rhythmically to indicate the door wasn't closed. Mort stared at her back, listening only to each beep, reminding her that she hadn't gone yet, hadn't stepped out of his car and out of his life forever yet...
Then the car door slammed and the beeping stopped abruptly. It took him a moment to realize that she was still in the car, staring at him.
"But, that's... not true," she said slowly. "Correct?"
He whipped his head around to look at her. Of course not, was on the tip of his tongue. They just picked up and left. It had nothing to do with me. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't say anything, and that scared him to the core.
"I... I don't think it's true, no," he said at last. He managed a faint smile.
She looked at him a long time, simply because she was unable to tear her eyes away from his. His gaze held hers, captivated her. There was so much dancing there beneath the surface. But a hidden murder? She didn't see it. Even though she'd only met this man, she trusted him. Warmth emanated from him, from his skin, from his gaze, from his smile, even now.
"I don't think so, either," she whispered.
They heard a door open and shut behind them, and a little boy ran out with his mother, smiling.
"Ms. Caraway?" said the mother, coming to the side of his car. Marah immediately turned a sunny, if a little forced, smile on the pair of them and opened her door, but already the woman's smile had crashed to the ground. She was staring at Mort like he was a ghost, ushering the little boy back behind her with one hand. She looked at Marah suspiciously, apparently trying to decide whether she was in cahoots with the murderer, or whether she should be pitied for having been forced into his car.
"Oh, Mr. Rainey was kind enough to give me a ride here, Mrs. Butters, I'd gotten completely turned around and was on completely the wrong side of town," Marah began to explain.
Mrs. Butters nodded sharply at Mort, who gave her his patented "little people" smile, then began to usher Marah and the boy quickly back along her front walk and into the house, leaving Mort alone in his car.
He watched the three of them walk up the garden pathway, Mrs. Butters casting occasional glances over her shoulder as if to ward him off, Marah looking back too, with a far softer expression. The boy seemed a little frightened, but was quickly forgetting the affair as he turned wondering eyes on his future teacher. All three of them disappeared through the sun- faded green door and into the house.
Mort should have felt the way he always did when he got this reaction from the townspeople: a sinister, detached, condescending amusement. But he saw Marah look back at him one last time before she disappeared from view, and he didn't feel that way at all. It was like he'd had a wall built up between him and the rest of the town, that allowed him to cope with the solitude, the suspicion, the fear—and she'd come and she'd torn that wall down. He cared, cared very much, what she thought of him. He wanted her to trust him...but how could she?
The walls of his world were in shambles. He didn't even trust himself anymore.
"So why do you shop all the way in the city? There's a pretty good grocer just a few blocks down from your house, I thought."
He didn't want to tell her it was because the townspeople thought he was a murderer. He simply shrugged. "Um...I'm not going grocery shopping," he lied. "I have to, uh, pick up some printer cartridges!" He was speaking unnecessarily loudly. He worked his jaw almost savagely.
"Oh," was all she said, a little uncertain.
He reverted to a normal volume. "Why are you heading over to 9121 Chestnut?"
She rolled her eyes and rubbed her temple. "I'm a new teacher for the first grade at the elementary school. I'm supposed to be meeting all my new students. You have a real close-knit community in this town."
He didn't know what to say. He was most definitely not in that community. She mistook his silence for being offended and hurried to appease him.
"I'm sure it's important for the children to feel as if they know their teachers, it's only," she laughed, "I've gotten lost so often, I'm getting a little impatient with the whole business." She glanced over to see if he was still offended.
He was looking back at her, a little amused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to seem disapproving. I wasn't thinking of that at all." She looked questioning and genuinely interested, so he went on. "You'll find it out within the day, probably," his eyes were narrowed in sarcasm at some imaginary gossip, "so I might as well tell you. And we're here," he added, pulling over and putting the car in park in front of her destination, "so you can get out whenever you want to during my explanation."
She was surprised and beginning to be a little afraid, despite herself. Probably horror writers have a tendency to be overdramatic, that's all, she thought. But she kept one hand on the door handle anyway.
"People think..." he trailed off. Looking at her sitting in his car, he felt like he was coming alive and seeing things for the first time in months, maybe even longer. His confidence was ebbing away, but instead of the fear and shooting memories that usually came with that sensation, he only felt nervous. He didn't want this...beautiful...young woman to think he was a murderer and walk away like the others. He didn't want to go back to writing horror stories every waking hour, never speaking to another human being.
He cocked his head and looked at her sideways. "They believe that I'm a murderer. That I killed my ex-wife and her boyfriend. Three or four months ago."
Finally, she was reacting as expected; her eyes widened with shock and, he thought, fear and loathing. She took in her breath sharply, then turned away and opened the door. The car began beeping rhythmically to indicate the door wasn't closed. Mort stared at her back, listening only to each beep, reminding her that she hadn't gone yet, hadn't stepped out of his car and out of his life forever yet...
Then the car door slammed and the beeping stopped abruptly. It took him a moment to realize that she was still in the car, staring at him.
"But, that's... not true," she said slowly. "Correct?"
He whipped his head around to look at her. Of course not, was on the tip of his tongue. They just picked up and left. It had nothing to do with me. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't say anything, and that scared him to the core.
"I... I don't think it's true, no," he said at last. He managed a faint smile.
She looked at him a long time, simply because she was unable to tear her eyes away from his. His gaze held hers, captivated her. There was so much dancing there beneath the surface. But a hidden murder? She didn't see it. Even though she'd only met this man, she trusted him. Warmth emanated from him, from his skin, from his gaze, from his smile, even now.
"I don't think so, either," she whispered.
They heard a door open and shut behind them, and a little boy ran out with his mother, smiling.
"Ms. Caraway?" said the mother, coming to the side of his car. Marah immediately turned a sunny, if a little forced, smile on the pair of them and opened her door, but already the woman's smile had crashed to the ground. She was staring at Mort like he was a ghost, ushering the little boy back behind her with one hand. She looked at Marah suspiciously, apparently trying to decide whether she was in cahoots with the murderer, or whether she should be pitied for having been forced into his car.
"Oh, Mr. Rainey was kind enough to give me a ride here, Mrs. Butters, I'd gotten completely turned around and was on completely the wrong side of town," Marah began to explain.
Mrs. Butters nodded sharply at Mort, who gave her his patented "little people" smile, then began to usher Marah and the boy quickly back along her front walk and into the house, leaving Mort alone in his car.
He watched the three of them walk up the garden pathway, Mrs. Butters casting occasional glances over her shoulder as if to ward him off, Marah looking back too, with a far softer expression. The boy seemed a little frightened, but was quickly forgetting the affair as he turned wondering eyes on his future teacher. All three of them disappeared through the sun- faded green door and into the house.
Mort should have felt the way he always did when he got this reaction from the townspeople: a sinister, detached, condescending amusement. But he saw Marah look back at him one last time before she disappeared from view, and he didn't feel that way at all. It was like he'd had a wall built up between him and the rest of the town, that allowed him to cope with the solitude, the suspicion, the fear—and she'd come and she'd torn that wall down. He cared, cared very much, what she thought of him. He wanted her to trust him...but how could she?
The walls of his world were in shambles. He didn't even trust himself anymore.