Chapter Text
Leah sets the sheets and quilt in the collection box on the Saloon’s counter. Thank Yoba that the snow is melting early this year. It’s a nice enough quilt, but definitely better suited for warmer weather than a Pelican Town winter can offer. She had to replace it at the end of her first fall here. It was a nerve-wracking expense at the time, but now she’s glad that someone else gets to use it.
The whole town has been pitching in—Jodi donated a rug, Emily and Haley framed a photograph, Demetrius even dug out an old TV. Leah has woken up to the sounds of Robin working on the farmhouse more mornings than she’d prefer, but she admits that the banging and sawing has paid off. Gone is the dilapidated, borderline creepy shack that Leah could barely see through the thicket. The improved cabin is still small, yes, but in a way that reads quaint and cozy.
Leah’s looking forward to the Saloon this evening. The last night before the farmer comes. It was the only topic on Friday, though truthfully, it’s been the only topic all winter. Lewis and Evelyn have rehashed every detail of the old man who used to own the farm to anyone who would listen, and with the desperation for fresh gossip in this town, that was anybody. Leah has heard every theory possible about the new arrival, but most reactions are as she expected. Haley and Shane can’t be arsed about it; the Exercise Class can barely contain themselves. Things don’t really change around here.
As if the Saloon wants to prove her point, Leah doesn’t need to say anything past the usual pleasantries to Gus before he pours her a pint and gets Emily to prep a salad. She navigates to the back where Elliott’s holding down their table, nodding hello to a swaying Pam as she does.
“Very nice of you to contribute to the great farmer fund,” Elliott says as she settles next to him.
She waves him off. “It’s neighborly. And maybe if she’s grateful for the bedding, I’ll get some radishes out of it.” She sips her beer. “What did you put in?”
He smiles. “A bowl.”
Leah laughs. Some big help that is. But she knows the bowl he’s talking about—white, well made. Not the worst thing in that seaside shack he could have thrown in.
“I don’t get it, though. We move to town and we’re lucky to get a wave in the street. She hasn’t even arrived yet and the townies are tripping over themselves,” Elliott says. Leah doesn’t think calling them townies is the way to curry favor, but he’s absolutely right that the citizens of Pelican Town get wary about strangers. Her first month here, she made the mistake of going to Joja on a Wednesday. It took three long weeks to get Caroline to speak to her again.
“It must be her grandfather,” Leah muses. “Even George says nice things about him, and—”
“—and George never says nice things about anyone,” Elliott finishes.
“Marnie says he built the community center,” Leah says. “You know, that overgrown building north of Pierre’s? She was saying it used to have all this cool stuff—a crafts room, a little kitchen, even a fish tank.”
“And they just stopped using them?”
Leah shrugs. “I bet no one maintained it after him.”
“How lovely of the town to leave it all to the rats.”
She hears footsteps to her side and turns to see Emily with her salad. “Are you guys talking about the new farmer? Robin says she’s getting in on the afternoon bus.” Emily sets the plate down, the back of her hand brushing Leah’s forearm as she does.
“Is that so? Maybe she’ll stop by the saloon for dinner. We should stake the place out, Leah.” Elliott raises his eyebrows.
“Mm, I doubt she will,” Leah says. “That ride from the city is long. I think I went to bed as soon as I arrived.” She notices the smile on Emily’s face drop slightly, so she adds, “I’m sure she’ll come in on Monday.”
The corners of Emily’s mouth pull up a bit more. “I’m sure you’re right, Leah.” And, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear: “Enjoy the salad.”
Elliott watches her walk away, then turns to Leah as soon as she’s out of earshot. “She has a crush on you, you know.”
Leah rolls her eyes. “I thought you said the townies hated us.”
Elliott’s eyes point across the room to Clint, whose gaze flicks to Leah’s table before trailing back to Emily, fixing on her as she makes her way back to the bar. “That one might. But I forgot—you’ve accepted the hermetic lifestyle and pledged yourself to a celibate life.”
“Clint’s poorly disguised infatuation with Emily has nothing to do with me,” Leah says. She leans in closer to Elliott. “And just because you’re pining for someone doesn’t mean everyone else in this town needs to, too.”
She enjoys the flash of shock on Elliott’s face and the way he scans to make sure no one—and no one in particular—overheard her.
“It’s not pining if one uses their feelings for inspiration,” he flushes.
“I would argue it’s better for the story if the tortured poet finally goes and asks the handsome town doctor if he can buy him a drink.”
“Leah, he’s too busy.” Elliott’s gaze drifts over to where Harvey sits. “All he talks about is how much work he has at the clinic. I can’t bother—.” His brow furrows. “We’re not talking about this anymore. Your turn. Is your crazed ex-paramour any less crazed?”
The joy of seeing Elliott squirm leaves her in a rush. Leah deflates and rests her forehead on the sticky wood table. “I got back from the Winter Star feast and there was this crazy long voicemail from her.”
“Oh Yoba.”
“All the usual—‘Come back to the city,’ ‘I’ll forgive you,’ ‘We’ll figure it out.’” She sits up, grabs her fork, and stabs a cucumber slice. “I’m so sick of it, Elliott. It’s coming up on two years of this...this bullshit,” she says, punctuating the last word with her cutlery.
“Oh my little sculptor,” he sighs. “One day you’ll be rid of her.” He holds up his glass. “Fucking Kel,”
“Fucking Kel,” she agrees, clinks her glass against his.
Leah feels, as she often does, a rush of appreciation towards Elliott. He arrived last spring and Leah still finds herself tickled with how well they get on. Like her, Elliott moved down here to escape the city, to find some inspiration. They gravitated towards each other, the two artsy out-of-towners trying to do something more than grind out an existence.
And truthfully, Leah had needed someone in her corner. Her relationship with Kel was floundering long before she left for the valley. What Leah thought was devotion revealed itself to be a possessive streak that wove its way into every corner of their lives—Leah’s job wasn’t what Kel thought it should be, Leah’s art took up too much of her time. Whenever Leah felt gutted by life and its difficulties, Kel didn’t ask how she could help, would only tell Leah how she was letting her down. But—they had been together, lived together for so long. Breaking it off was jagged and messy.
Her life in Pelican Town started lonely. Plenty of time for art, languishing months of walks in the wood that developed her self-honesty, but few others to share her sculptures or revelations with. Then Elliott moved into the cabin on the beach, and her lonely hearts club grew to two members. In the summer, they swam in the river outside Leah’s house. They picnicked in the secret woods, where Elliott would write and Leah would draw. Elliott calls the valley their own private artist’s commune, a moniker that makes Leah laugh every time. For the first time in years, Leah feels peaceful.
She’s never had peace before. It’s a little monotonous at times, maybe, but there’s not a day she wouldn’t take villagers you can set a watch against over an ex that shreds your sketchbook when she’s raging at you. She finally feels like she can breathe again, now that the days of Kel’s volatility are over. Unlike what Elliott would insinuate, she has nothing against romance. She just doesn’t need it right now. Pelican Town is small, and it is predictable. But small and predictable are a balm.
Elliott, ever perceptive, knows that his prodding has touched on something a little too heavy for the evening. Blessedly, they move on from Kel and Harvey to their usual topics, progress reports on their latest projects, complaints of creative blocks or edits. Their glasses get low, then their second ones do too, until she looks up to see Gus wiping down glasses. It’s late. Shane has already stumbled out and Pam looks ready to follow. Leah waves goodnight to Emily and Gus, and to Elliott when they part outside the saloon.
The end of this winter was warmer than usual. A few weeks ago, Leah’s eyes would be pricking in the cold, but tonight, she hasn’t even buttoned up her coat. The last bits of white slush cling to Jodi’s planter boxes and roof slope, soon to be melted away completely in tomorrow’s sun. Even Marnie’s cows, searching for the new season’s grass, have taken tentative steps outside.
Back in her cottage, Leah checks her messages, feels the knot in her stomach loosen when she sees there are none. She lights the fireplace; it may be the last night she needs it for a while. In her bed, watches the warm light dapple her walls. She wonders if she listens hard enough, past the soft crackle of wood, if she can hear Robin and Lewis finish setting up the farmhouse. But that just makes her think of the quilt in the donation box, then of her own quilt brushing against chin, and finally, she falls asleep.