Chapter Text
Some songs to listen to while reading:
Holocene — Bon Iver
Anchor — Novo Amor
Santa Monica Dream — Angus & Julia Stone
──
The plane's wheels hit the runway harder than she'd expected. They bounce once before finally settling onto the tarmac.
Lucy doesn't move.
Not even after the seatbelt sign chimes and the cabin around her comes alive with the sounds of relieved laughter and clicking seatbelts. Not even after the man beside her clips her leg with his laptop as he shoves it back into his backpack.
She stays still until the woman behind her clears her throat, waiting to slide out of her seat. Then she looks at her hands.
Four crescent moons adorn each palm.
She quickly balls her fists and pulls her eyes away from them.
By the time Lucy steps into the tiny terminal, most of the people who had gotten off the plane with her have already disappeared. The sound of rolling suitcases echoes down the narrow hallway toward baggage claim.
The airport restroom is nearly empty when she walks in, and Lucy's thankful. The lights buzz overhead, flickering every few seconds, casting the bathroom in a sickly yellow glow.
Hauling the leather tote she'd packed to the brim with all of her basic necessities, Lucy stares at herself in the mirror.
Hair clinging to her forehead in damp chunks. The back of her head still holding a bit of static from resting against the seat for two hours.
And she's pale.
The cold water hits her face with a flick of her wrist. She watches it drip from her chin and disappear down the drain. Gripping the porcelain sink, she looks back up at the droplets holding onto her eyelashes.
Even now, she can still feel her fingers dig into her palms.
For a moment, she'd been certain they weren't going to land.
This is the last time, she decides.
No more flying in paper airplanes pretending to be commercial jets.
She'd convinced herself while boarding that if she stretched out both arms, she could touch either side of the cabin. And after the last bout of turbulence, she'd nearly hit her head on the ceiling trying.
The paper towel dispenser whines as she twists the handle.
She tears a piece from its teeth and pats at her face. Her mind drifts back to the phone call she'd had with the realtor the week before.
"I just want to make sure you understand what you're buying. It's been on the market for a long time." Lucy had laughed at that.
"Usually realtors try to sell houses, not talk people out of them."
"Usually," he'd agreed. "But I'm a small-town realtor. I still have to see people after I hand them the keys."
A shaky hand finds her forehead, raking through the short, damp waves weighed down by sweat before pushing them out of her eyes.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"You've never actually seen the house, have you?"
"Only the listing."
"Not the inside?"
"No."
Another pause.
Lucy had heard him sigh on the other end of the phone.
"I really just want to make sure you understand what you're really getting into."
"Why? Is it haunted?"
"N—No. At least..." He'd laughed. "I don't think so." She'd laughed with him.
"Then what's the problem?"
"It's just been empty for a long time."
Lucy had heard empty and thought perfect.
The mountain air is cold, but cleaner than Seattle's. Somewhere in the distance, she catches the scent of campfire and something bitter.
A small shuttle sits parked outside the terminal.
Lucy leans over, grips the strap of her bag, and peers through the glass.
The man in the driver's seat is reading a newspaper. A coffee cup rests in the holder beside him, and she envies him. A few sharp pangs in her stomach remind her she's hungry and hadn't had time for breakfast.
She knocks on the door.
The man jumps in his seat before turning toward her. A stubby finger reaches for the switch on the door, and the window rolls down. "What can I do for ya?"
She can't quite place his accent, though she's fairly certain he isn't from around here. Somewhere farther south, maybe.
"Will this take me to Eldersreach?"
"'Bout as close as you can get to it," he answers.
She bites at the corner of her lip before nodding. "I'll take it."
The driver clicks his tongue against his teeth, nudging at something left over from breakfast, and lets out a small grunt as he climbs out of the shuttle. He's quite a bit shorter than Lucy had expected. Without a word, he slides the strap of her duffel from her shoulder and carries it around to the back, popping open the trunk before setting it inside.
"Not from around here, are ya?" He looks up at her as he slams the trunk shut.
"Nope."
"Figured."
The ride goes on long enough that she's eventually fallen asleep, her head resting against the window. Lucy wakes as they hit a rough stretch of road. Her temple knocks against the glass.
Hard.
Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she looks out the window just in time to see the shuttle roll to a stop beside another shuttle sign. She freezes.
He catches her expression in the rearview mirror. A knowing smile creases his round cheeks.
"Eldersreach's another thirty-five minutes from here."
"Someone'll come through eventually. Usually 'bout every half hour."
He glances down at his watch before looking back at her through the mirror.
"I'd suspect you've got about another fifteen minutes before the next one."
He leaves her sitting on the metal bench. The cold bites through her jeans and she watches the shuttle pull away. Exhaust disappears into the morning air like a ghost.
She taps her phone awake. Checks the time.
Fifteen minutes.
She really hopes he'd been right.
Her stomach growls under her shirt, loud enough that she presses a hand over it.
"I know," she mutters.
The road into town is even bumpier than the last.
Lucy hooks her thumb through one of the leather handles of her duffel as she looks out the window. Outside, the colors shift from orange to yellow, and from yellow to green.
A heavy wooden archway stretches over the road ahead.
ELDERSREACH has been carved into the weathered beam overhead. Its once-white paint has chipped away in random patches, the rest faded to a tired gray.
Lucy cranes her neck as the shuttle passes beneath it, watching the sign disappear.
The shuttle rolls to a stop just beyond the entrance.
Two benches sit beneath an overgrown gazebo, separated by a planter, and beside it rests a handful of abandoned picnic tables.
Through the trees, sunlight shimmers across what looks to be a lake.
"Town's just there," the driver says, pointing through the windshield toward the buildings farther down the road.
Lucy thanks him and swings the duffel over her shoulder. The leather groans in protest.
He answers with a distracted, "Mm-hmm," before she shuts the door.
Lucy follows the dirt path leading away from the entrance, her shoes stirring up small puffs of dust settled along the ground. She stops to adjust the strap as it digs into her shoulder. It slips right back into the same irritating groove. As she looks around, she catches traces of pine and wet earth, along with the faint, rhythmic clanging of a flagpole. A handful of houses appear beyond the fence line farther down.
Empty terracotta pots sit beside flowerbeds prepared for the season.
Traces of summer remain untouched in a front yard.
A small plastic pool upside down against the fence.
Lucy decides people are the same everywhere you go. Whether it's a city like Seattle or a small town like this one, the same things always seem to bring them together.
A grill sits beneath a fitted tarp, protected from the weather.
Next door, a pair of pink flip-flops lies forgotten beside a sun chair.
Just beyond, she catches the warm glow of what looks to be either a café or a small diner. Lucy squints, trying to make out the name from where she stands, but gives up. Whatever it is, she only hopes it's open. She cuts across the grass. The sweet scent of maple syrup drifts toward her on the breeze. A gentleman steps through the glass front doors, pausing to light a cigarette. She offers him a polite nod as she passes, catching him staring over his lighter to watch her disappear inside.
The bell above the door announces her before she has the chance to.
Conversations softens at her presence. A few curious eyes lift from their water cups.
Most don't linger on her face nearly as long as they do on the oversized duffel hanging from her shoulder. Lucy offers a small, polite smile before spotting an empty booth tucked into the corner. Before she can make it there, the black swinging doors beside the counter burst open.
A wide-set woman emerges, wiping her hands on her apron.
"You lost, honey?"
Lucy stops and turns.
"Oh." She smiles. "No. I'm alright, thank you."
The woman gives her another look, and Lucy struggles to decide whether it's amusement or confusion. Maybe both. She slips into the corner booth and lowers the duffel onto the floor beside her.
"Well," the waitress chuckles, "you just holler when you're ready."
Lucy nods her a thanks and immediately lifts the laminated menu high enough to hide behind it.
A fork scrapes against a plate in front of her, and she hears the bell above the door once more.
"Morning, Barbara."
"Good to see you."
"Hey, Harvey"
"Hey, Doc. You finally get some sleep?"
Lucy freezes in her seat. Doc?
"A bit."
Against her better judgment, she lowers the menu just enough to peek over the top. A tall man has stepped inside, and as he laughs, fine lines fan gently away from his eyes. She watches an older gentleman reach across the aisle.
"Hey, Clyde," Harvey says warmly, clasping his hand before giving it a gentle pat with the other.
"How's your hand doing?" Clyde holds up his fork with a grin.
"Much better after that massage of yours. Can hold this just fine now."
"I'm glad to hear it. You let me know when it starts acting up again."
"Hey, Harv," the waitress calls from behind the counter. "You want the usual?"
He hooks a long leg over the stool across the room and settles onto it with ease.
Lucy sinks another inch into the booth.
From behind the menu, she studies him without meaning to.
Long, dark waves fall onto his forehead, curling softly beneath his ears before brushing the nape of his neck. He runs a hand through them as he reaches for the menu. Thick brows pinch in quiet concentration above a pair of tortoiseshell glasses.
"I think so."
The waitress disappears through the swinging doors and returns moments later carrying a mug that steams gently in her hands. She sets it in front of him. "It's very hot, hon."
"Thank you, Barb."
He lifts the mug to his lips, and Lucy watches him sweep his thumb beneath his mustache after taking a careful sip.
"You decide what you're having yet, sweetheart?" Barbara calls over. Rests a hand on her hip.
The question reminds the rest of the restaurant she's still there and she flushes. Hot. And suddenly she curses her complexion.
From behind the menu, Lucy can feel stares settle over her. She lowers it just enough to answer and, out of the corner of her eye, sees the man watching her above the rim of his coffee mug.
"Uh..." She clears her throat. Breathe. "Yeah. I'll have the breakfast scramble, please. With toast."
She swallows, resists the urge to tug at her bangs, the wispy curls now lying in soft waves across her brow. Instead, she reaches for the end of a loose curl that had slipped back over her shoulder. The rest remain pinned behind her. "You want ketchup with that?"
"Please." A wave of nausea rolls through her. Relentless. And she can't tell whether it's the leftover anxiety from the flight or the sudden awareness of every pair of eyes in the room.
"Sure thing."
The swinging doors squeal once more.
Lucy lets out a quiet breath and drops her gaze back to the front of the menu.
The Lucky Spoon.
The food comes quickly, and Lucy leans in, letting the smell of sausage tease her nose.
The patty looks thick and juicy. Enough to make her mouth water. She lifts her knife and cuts into it. A small sound of appreciation threatens to escape as she chews. Eyes fluttering shut for half a second before she remembers she's surrounded by other people.
The scrape of a chair against the floor pulls her attention away.
A woman rises from a nearby table and walks toward the booth, sliding into the seat across from Lucy without waiting for an invitation. Lucy looks up mid-chew, tucking the bite into one cheek as she raises her eyebrows.
"Hello," she manages, her voice muffled by the food.
The woman flashes her a smile. "And just whereabouts are you from?"
She props her chin on one hand as she studies Lucy. Her hair is cropped just beneath her jawline, and a faded rust color.
"Uh... Seattle?"
Lucy forces down the half-chewed bite. "How'd you end up here?"
"I bought a house."
She brings a napkin to the corners of her mouth before setting it back on the table and running her tongue over her teeth. "You bought a house..."
The woman's eyes narrow in thought.
"Don't tell me Steve suckered you into buying the old Ridgebrook Place." Lucy stifles a laugh.
"Well... actually, he tried to convince me not to on the phone last week."
Around her, she knows everyone is listening. Eyes peek over the rims of coffee mugs and breakfast plates before darting away again. In a town this small, Lucy suspects conversations belong to everyone. Harvey has lowered his coffee mug. One corner of his mouth threatens a smile as he pretends to study his menu.
"Well. And you still bought it anyway."
The woman's attention shifts to the duffel sitting untouched on the floor.
"Quite the young lady you are."
"So I've been told."
"Celia, leave the poor woman alone," Barbara calls, rolling her eyes in their direction as she wipes the counter with a wet rag that leaves the diner smelling faintly of lemons.
"Oh, I'm only trying to help her," Celia calls back. Her eyes never leave Lucy.
"And I'm assuming you know how to get there?"
"Well, I have the location on my phone, so I figured I'd try to find it."
"It's a short walk from here. Ten minutes, give or take." Celia glances down at Lucy's bag. "But I can give you a ride, seeing as you've got your hands full."
Lucy hesitates. Searching the woman's face for some sign of what she's really after.
"I think I'll be okay."
She circles a finger over the edge of her plate. "I could probably use the walk after this."
"Nonsense. You'll disappear."
"Plus..." Celia smiles, "In this town, we look out for each other."
"I couldn't trouble you—"
"You could."