Undone: The Complete Duology, page 7
Someone should warn him, but I had stopped being a nice person the day Bobby and I had found ourselves at odds with each other. Way back when, before he left Thorn Tree. Before he ran away from the damage he had caused.
That was before I knew I was a witch. Before I saw the demons in the graveyard. Before I knew the truth about what was happening here in the smallest town on earth.
I slowed as I neared the bakery. Thorn Tree didn’t have a lot of specialty stores, but Mr. Jimenez had sold fresh baked goods from his home until he was doing so much business, he opened a store front. It was well deserved. Thorn Tree ran on his daily loaves of bread.
I pulled onto the curb as there was no parking for the store and looked around before getting out. It wasn’t like I could avoid people in town, but I liked to be prepared for who I was going to run into. Some people took more self-control than others. A few I found it worked best if I pretended to be invisible around them.
The chilled air brushed over my skin, and I shivered as I stepped into the bakery. The scent of warm baked bread rolled over me. I inhaled softly, deeply, savoring the nostalgia for a place I had never been, a home in which I had never lived.
My father was a good man, as good as any average person who often failed but tried not to. My mother had died when I was younger, and that roll of the dice could have gone either way with the townspeople: they could have shunned me for the harbinger of something awful, or they could have taken me under their wing as their collective daughter.
They had chosen the latter. I knew all these people. As a kid, I ate cookies with the children in the town and played in the pond in the spring catching frogs. When I had a moment at school, every adult was there one by one, to steer me back onto the right path. I had been the golden child.
How far I’d fallen.
Pushed out. They’d pushed me out, all of them.
I stilled just inside the doorway as Mrs. Anderson and Mr. Jimenez continued their conversation. No bell chimed on the door, and neither seemed to notice my presence yet—just the way I liked it.
“The doctor will be around tomorrow to check in on her,” Mrs. Anderson was saying. “We’re sending up prayers every day.”
Mr. Jimenez bagged a loaf of bread and handed it to Mrs. Anderson. “Take this, on the house. It’s her favorite. I hope she starts feeling better.”
Mrs. Anderson clutched the loaf as if it were a dear offering. To be fair, it was. It didn’t even need butter.
“I’ll tell Miss Gladys you send your regards,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
I slunk to the side as Mrs. Anderson turned for the door. Her gaze landed on me, and I ducked my head as I made my way to the counter.
She averted her attention and left as if I had never been.
A ghost of Thorn Tree past.
I slid a few dollars onto the counter in front of Mr. Jimenez. “Bread, donuts, and if you have it, one of those enormous cinnamon rolls, please.”
He took my money—it was still good here, at least—and silently began bagging up my request.
I leaned over the counter. “What’s going on with Miss Gladys?”
She had been the town’s favorite primary school teacher for at least five decades. A few years ago, she had retired, much to everyone’s dismay. As she had aged, the town had pitched in, bringing her casseroles and keeping up on the yardwork, then eventually taking turns cleaning her house too.
Around here, when you were in, you were in. No one dared to lose that support network by trampling on toes.
Some of us lobbed off the whole damn foot, though.
“She’s under the weather,” he said, piling bags on the counter. He knew the drill. “I guess she’s taken a turn for the worse.”
He sat down the last bag on the stack and looked at me.
“Sorry to hear that,” I said. It was so strange, talking to people in town as if I belonged here, when we both knew I didn’t. “Thanks.”
I nodded at the paper sacks and began gathering up my goodies. The aroma of the bread caught me, stronger this time, and I knew not all of these were making it home.
He placed his hand on the last bag. “Gracie, just…don’t bother her.”
My throat tightened, and my eyes burned. I wasn’t going to cry. Light him on fire, perhaps, but not cry. I didn’t cry, not anymore.
Without a word, I grabbed the last bag and stormed from the bakery, shoving open the door hard enough it smacked the exterior wall. At my jeep, I dropped the sacks into the backseat, then paused next to the driver door, staring into the bakery through the large windows.
Mr. Jimenez cleaned his counters, working away as if he hadn’t just thrusted a knife in my chest.
All of them, every time.
I grit my teeth and climbed in behind the steering wheel. He wasn’t the boss of me, and he didn’t speak for Miss Gladys, either.
I drove towards the grocery store but found myself headed towards her street instead. Panic fluttered in my chest. She was rarely alone these days, and I didn’t want anyone seeing me hanging around. They wouldn’t understand.
Instead, I pulled off to the side of the road, next to the trees, and stepped out. I started in the direction of her house, then thought better of it and tore off a piece of the soft bread before heading out. As I walked, I chewed bites of the bread, thinking about what I would say. I hadn’t visited since she had retired. It was possible she would ring a bell or sound the alarm or whatever they had set up for her to alert that I dared to show my face around her deathbed.
But I didn’t believe she would. Color me stupid, but I held faith that Miss Gladys would give me a chance to say goodbye. Maybe she even wanted me to, though that might be stretching it a bit.
When her house came into view, I veered around through the open space and crossed through the back of her yard. Fences were almost as rare as locked doors around here, except for the homes clustered in the center of town. The rest had understood boundaries that people rarely acknowledged anyway.
We were family, here in Thorn Tree. That was what the Reverend would say.
I halted in the thick of the trees and watched the back of her house, still munching on pieces of bread I tore off in bite-sized chunks. No movement or sounds came from the house, so I inched into the clearing. When no dogs barked or mobs with pitchforks emerged, I popped the last bite of bread into my mouth and beelined for the window on the far end. The curtains were ajar, so I ducked to the side and crab walked out of view before peering over the sill.
Miss Gladys lay alone in bed, propped up on pillows. Her chest heaved up and down, her wrinkled hands folded on her stomach. She did not look at peace but wishing for it to come.
Antonia, a young mom that lived a few houses down, entered the room with a steaming teacup. I dropped out of sight, onto my ass, and waited, listening. When the door closed, I dared another peek.
The teacup sat on the nightstand, and Miss Gladys stared up at the ceiling, still breathing heavily.
With far too much bravery, I tapped on the windowpane. She startled, then eased to a sit, her eyes struggling to focus. Finally, they cleared, and a thin smile crossed her face. With effort, she lifted her hand and beckoned me closer.
I gave her a knowing, remorseful look, hoping she would get my drift. It wasn’t a big secret around here that I was the town pariah.
She lifted her chin, then waved me down. I slunk out of sight to the side of the window.
“Antonia?” Miss Gladys called, wheezing. “Antonia, I’d like to go outside please.”
A muffled response came.
“I think a little sunlight is just what I need,” Miss Gladys said. “I’m dying, anyway. What harm can it possibly do?”
A few soft thumps came from the room. When the back door opened, I skittered to the side of the house, on hands and knees, and watched. Antonia helped Miss Gladys into a chair on the porch, then brought her a glass of ice water and a few extra pillows.
Antonia started to take the other chair, but Miss Gladys gave her a stern but gentle look. “Alone one last time with my birds, please.”
Antonia gave a sad, soft smile, then patted Miss Gladys’ hand. “You just call me if you need anything. I’ll be back in ten to check on you.”
Miss Gladys squeezed Antonia’s hand, then settled back in her chair.
When the back door closed—without clicking shut, leaving just enough open to hear distress—I crept back into view.
Miss Gladys’ eyes shone. “How are you, little bird?”
I chuckled, standing and dusting off my jeans, and then crossed over to the porch.
“I had to come see you,” I said. “I just heard about…”
What was I supposed to say? Your imminent demise?
Miss Gladys gestured to the empty chair. “Come, talk to me.”
I glanced at the door, then took the seat, leaning forward, hands clasped together. “Is it that bad?”
“It’s not pleasant, child,” she said with humor. Then her expression softened. “What have they done?”
Her question caught me off guard. She knew the story; everyone knew the story. Why did she care about my side?
“I don’t think it matters,” I said, and a strange bit of relief rushed through me that Miss Gladys wouldn’t be here when I got my revenge on this town. She had been coerced to join in on their fuckery, but she hadn’t been in a position to stand up against them, even if I had occasionally hated her for choosing survival over me. “I just wanted to come and say…”
Goodbye. I was here to say goodbye. A little shiver worked through me.
Death was so final.
She reached out, offering me her hand. I hadn’t held it since I was a small child and she had led me to the bathroom or the nurse’s office, or the one time I’d been too sick to walk home alone.
Her hand felt just like I remembered, and tears stung my eyes.
Get it together, Gracie.
I held her hand but hardened my feelings. “You were a great teacher.”
That wasn’t a lie. She had somehow managed every child in this town, often on her own, for decades. We had all respected her more than we had our own parents.
I couldn’t say what the other children of the town felt about her, but for me, she had been a wealth of knowledge. She knew everything, without even having to look it up, and I had marveled my entire life how one human could store so much. She was a font of wisdom. Everything I ever feared, she knew what to do. Her status as teacher went far beyond the school setting.
Her death was more than just a passing. We were losing our real guide in this life. No one in the beyond could possibly need her more than we did here, more than I did.
“I’ll miss you,” I said. It could have sounded foolish to others, considering how rarely I spoke with her anymore. She understood, though. Her presence would be missed. Just knowing she was around the corner would be missed.
She squeezed my hand. “You’re not what they made you.”
I caught her words like butterflies in my hands. She hadn’t said what they made me out to be, or what they tried to make me.
What they made me. That was what she had said. She knew the truth, but I shouldn’t be surprised.
She always had.
I gazed out towards the tree line, and the small birds pecking at the ground below the branches. They never made a sound in Thorn Tree. Never once had they sang.
“I am now.”
“Miss Gladys?” Antonia’s footsteps approached the jarred back door.
I leapt to my feet and pecked a kiss on Miss Gladys’ cheek. “The only thing this town truly has in common is our love for you.”
She smiled up at me, and I returned the smile before taking off through the grass, tall weeds brushing my hands, making my skin itch, before I disappeared back into the trees.
As far as I was concerned, the town losing Miss Gladys was just one more sign from the Goddess that it was time for Thorn Tree to burn.
10
GRACE
On the way to the grocery store, where I had been headed before my little detour, I tried not to think of Miss Gladys too much. Her end was nigh, but it wasn’t an entirely horrible conclusion. For her, anyway. She wouldn’t have to witness what I finally became, at the end.
It wasn’t going to be nice.
I parked my jeep in an empty space a few doors down, in front of the mechanic shop, then walked the short distance to the store. The small parking lot was jammed full. Halfway to the door, I did a double take at the little white sedan. I knew that vehicle. It had parked outside my house more than once recently.
So, Mac was here. Strange. Wasn’t Mrs. Woolworth feeding the man?
A gust of cold wind billowed around me, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I hurried towards the store. Dark gray clouds darkened the sky. Winter was promising to be a painful one this year.
Inside, I rubbed my arms as I surveyed the rows. No Mac.
I grabbed up a plastic basket from the small stack. I had probably used all those hundreds of times over the years. Nothing in Thorn Tree changed.
As I strode down the aisles, I dropped items into my basket: milk, cereal—two boxes; I had a guest—apples.
Chocolate. My hand hovered over the display of bars in their telltale purple wrappers. Partway down the aisle, Mac stopped and stared at me.
My heart fluttered, but I tamped down the emotion. I had to keep my wits about me. Mac and I weren’t friends; we couldn’t be. Our entire purposes in life set us at odds with each other, even if he hadn’t realized that yet.
But I couldn’t shake Bobby’s resolute belief that Mac would save him, that it was only a matter of time. Mac did seem to be everywhere. Thorn Tree only scraped the triple digits in population—Miss Gladys’ death might set us back to doubles—so seeing familiar faces wasn’t unexpected.
His, however, was a constant reminder that he wasn’t just out living his life. He was on the move, a man with a plan, or at least a mission. And somehow our paths continued to cross.
That was bad for me. The more time he spent buzzing around me, the more likely he might start to think the townspeople were onto something with their distrust in me.
They hadn’t been right, not back then when all this started. They were now, though.
Still, I couldn’t just ignore Mac. I needed to keep tabs on him. Enemies and closeness and such.
It didn’t hurt that my enemy also had amazing biceps.
“Hello, Gracie,” Mac said, polite as pie.
“Hello, Mac,” I said stiffly, not looking at him, then grabbed my chocolate bar and tossed it into the basket.
I grabbed another, just for good measure. I was going to need it.
“Quite a storm brewing out there.” He nodded towards the front of the store.
I spun on my heel to face him. “What do you want, Mac?”
I sounded distraught, and I tried to compose myself again.
Mischief glinted in his eyes. “Depends what’s on the table.”
“Nothing is on the table,” I said, gripping the handle of the basket tighter. He was like a magnet, and I was pulled towards him. It took everything in me to stay in my spot.
He seemed to pick up on my frustration and took a step closer to me.
If I were a bear, I would stand on my back legs and flail my paws, roaring. I didn’t want to hurt this man, but he needed to step the fuck down in every way.
If he didn’t, I couldn’t be held responsible when I ripped out his throat.
“The bed is more comfortable,” he said, a cheeky grin in place.
He looked nothing like Bobby. I had to remind myself these two were related and seemed to care about that connection for some reason.
“Hard pass.”
His grin widened, and I realized my mistake.
I groaned. “Hard…ha-ha. Are you sixteen?”
“Hey, I didn’t say it.” He relaxed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look, I know this is a bit forward, but Mrs. Woolworth is kicking me out tomorrow afternoon for some renovations. I was hoping I could convince you to spend a few hours with me, nothing but a little hospitality.”
I laughed. “What about me makes you think I’m the least bit hospitable?”
“The bar is pretty low around here.”
He had a point.
“Well, that’s very flattering, officer.” I plucked up another chocolate bar and handed it to him. “At least pretend you’re buying something before you totally freak out everyone with your slinking around.”
He laughed as he accepted the bar. “Good tip. So, how about a picnic in the trees outside Honey and Hive?”
A picnic was a strange choice, but it was harmless enough. It would keep him from poking around, maybe give me a chance to figure out what he had put together so far. I would have to be on guard not to reveal anything of importance to him, but I would be a first-class listener, all ears.
“Am I supposed to cook?”
I couldn’t go too easily. He would be suspicious of me.
“Mrs. Woolworth suggested the picnic,” he said with a shake of his head. “I think she’s trying to set me up with some of the girls around here.”
I bristled, but I kept my expression unimpressed. “Why not ask one of the girls you have your eye on, then?”
“I did.”
Heat flushed through my face, and I fought a smile.
He laughed. “My, Miss Miller, are you blushing?”
“I just—”
The words died on my lips as he paled, staring past me, over my head. I turned to check what had unsettled him.
Brian stood at the end of the aisle, contemplating the popcorn and candy options.
Mac slid up behind me. “Who’s that?”
The heat from his body rolled off him, warming my chilled skin. I wanted to lean back against him, inhale his scent as he wrapped his arms around me. My stomach twisted as I heated in lower places, inappropriate visuals crowding out all other thoughts. I had to fight to answer him.
“Uh, Brian Bixby. The mayor’s son.” I tipped my head back to look up at Mac. Our faces were so close; I wanted to rub my chin against the stubble of his jaw and then maybe other parts of me. “Why?”
