Chapter 1 - Joe
Warm drapes of dust were slowly engulfing the living room. The bright sun rays escaped around the old and moldy curtains to strike through the hardwood floor and the aging furniture. Joe had kept almost everything when she moved in, as if not to disturb the fleeting presence of her old man. The house stood on two floors. The ground floor was completely opened except for the bathroom. The kitchen was compact and handy, and the dining space consisted of stools behind the counter. The living room was a small extension overpopulated with couches, sofas and a big center coffee table. The upper floor consisted of a long balcony with a bed, a couch and a desk, and a small bathroom which had only been fitted with old camping surplus equipment. All in all, the house looked like a patchwork of different elements collected from dumpsites. It looked old, overused but welcoming. It was situated in the North of Widow Creek, a quiet suburbs to the even quieter Wood Burrow. Grassy Lake laid ahead, a couple dozen meters away, burdening the soil.
The air was wet. It weighed on your lungs and no amount of ventilation could take away that stale sweat.
Joe dragged her feet out of her bed around eleven thirty, quietly woken up by the sound of the surrounding activity. The Dudds farm across the road, and Carter's house East of her. The other houses stretched further, down the lake and up in the hills and mountains. The community was small but spreaded across the entire land. Joe did not have much land, just the house and the twenty meters around it. Nobody really understood what she was doing there. It had been surprising enough to learn that the old Jammy had a daughter at all, but the fact that at barely nineteen years old, she had taken the decision to take over his house, had puzzled everybody. This part of the Montana was only known for three things: hunting, fishing and farming. The young population, whether it be sons and daughters of farmers, or young entrepreneurs, had fled to the cities at the first chance. The sons and daughters got fancy degrees or jobs and were now enjoying the full extend of the citadine life whereas the entrepreneurs left their business in the hands of locals, collecting the money with swift bank transfers, without having to get their shoes dirty.
She didn't even know why she was really there. It was a peculiar feeling between the relief of having a place to be and the ghastly reminder that she did not belong anywhere. Having worked as a cook in Florida, she found a job in the local bar/café, a couple of minutes walking on the side of the lake. She was the cook there, the only one. She prepared mainly burgers, sometimes onion rings and, if a tourist or two were wondering in the place, some beans in a baked potato. She was sometimes helping the barman and the waiter, especially during football nights or when the local festivities invited people to stay up late.
Her shift did not start until four. She put two pieces of bread in the toaster and got herself a coffee, extra milk, extra sugar. She took her toasts in a small plate and got her coffee in the other and walked out. Her small garden extended towards the lake. She sat at the table and chair before seeing movement in the corner of her eyes. She turned and waved to Carter, her neighbour.