The Deal

The Howling Dog

*TW: talk of death and suicide*

I stopped making routine trips into town when Barry McBride threw a ball of mud at my head and dared me to hex him at the summer festival when I was 15.

Of course, I refused to do so. Though, Barry did pee his pants on a school trip only a few weeks later and Nan seemed suspiciously pleased and unsurprised by that.

Despite the humiliation of that event, I still walked through town when I needed and gone for my shifts at the store, but I grow my own food and shop online to avoid the malice of the townspeople. The days I deign to enter the market or a restaurant are few and far between.

But, today is special.

Today marks ten days since my father woke up.

To celebrate, I dared to venture out into the land of living and pick up his favorite chocolate croissant from the crowded café on the square he loved so much.

Despite my resolve not to care about the town's opinions and steel myself against their criticism, I may have spent too much time in front of the mirror. As soon as I'm down the street from my house and crossing the paths of townspeople, I wonder if I dressed too lavishly.

It's simple black trousers with silver boots to match the silver stars and moons beaded onto my vest. Maybe it's my wide-brimmed black hat that makes Mr. Crenshaw sneer or maybe it's my beaded clutch with fringe that has Ms. Nguyen spinning around to gossip with her friend.

Either way, I'm already on edge by the time I make it to the hustle and bustle of the square: the day young and weather giving a rare reprieve from the chill we've been frozen in for weeks.

But, the regular stares and jeers from the pedestrians seem more intense and frequent than usual. Most of them have learned to ignore me by now, desensitized to my scandalous presence, but today, they're all blatantly staring and pointing.

I glance around in confusion as I walk under the awnings of businesses, leaves crunching under my heels and purse making too much noise. I briefly wonder if it's my outfit or appearance in town that's causing this disruption, but a few of their whispers are carried in the wind. I hear clips of my name and my dad's and suddenly my skin is on fire, hairs raising on the back of my neck as I quicken my pace.

I guess word is finally out.

It's clear they've heard about the change in my father's condition and I'm suddenly sheepish, the talk of the town for a reason I'm not used to. I honestly didn't think they'd care, but so little happens here, I'm sure they've clung to this event like leeches, sucking up all the gritty details they can get. 

Unlike the women of my family, my father was never really shunned or deprived of social interaction. He had lots of loyal friends and attended many events, always friendly and outgoing. The only stain on his reputation was my mother and me.

Typical.

So, I suspect the town is more curious than malicious, but their stares and whispers still make my skin crawl. By the time I make it to the peeling white paint and metal seating of the cafe, my heart rate is at dangerous levels and my palms are so slick I can scarcely grip onto the handle of the door.

As soon as the door is blown open by the wind and my trembling hand, the few patrons inside the black and white building turn to look at me. Spoons stop halfway to their mouths, conversations are cut short, and even the woman at the register stops punching keys.

I let the door slam shut behind me, jumping lightly at the sudden noise. My cheeks burn and I focus on fiddling with my rings as the diner slowly returns to a low hum of noise, sun filtering in through the window and highlighting the photos of the town's landscape hung on the wall.