Town Hall

Town Hall Chapters Three and Four

Chapter Three

After cleaning up I left with the last half dozen linger-ers, those others who had to mop up the floor, or thought they needed to crisply refold tablecloths. I was casting my eyes around for Elijah but didn't see him. I was disappointed and then instantly told myself to not dare be disappointed. What was the point? I had to pointedly shoo those neighbors, so I could lock the doors. I knew there wasn't really a need to lock up (who would want to break into town hall?) but as one of the two people who had the key rings, it seemed prudent to do my due diligence, even if Andy had already weaseled out with the first people to leave. Elijah was sitting on the bottom step, arms braced on his knees, a cigarillo dangling from his hand. He looked like an out-of-place Midwestern cowboy. Pinching out the ash (I'd never been able to do that, always burning my fingers) he threw it carefully into the trash barrel on the sidewalk.

Lynnie, who taught first grade, jumped watching him stand up.

"Oh, Mr. Black! Didn't know you were still about!"

"Walking on home with Ms. Decoutere, since we're just down-road from each other."

"Oh good! She walks everywhere! She bikes too! Gives me a heart attack, she's going to be sideswiped by some kid someday when she ain't paying attention, or when the driver ain't, and then what?"

"And then what, indeed?" He returned gravely.

"I mean I know you got Minnie's old truck and all, but do that even drive, Dusty dear?"

"Not well, Lynnie."

"Well, and so, that's what I thought! Keep an eye on her."

"Yes ma'am," he said, still terribly grave. She waved, heading towards the parking lot. I came down the steps until I was on the sidewalk with him. I both did and didn't want to look up at him. I was afraid I was still blushing, but I wanted to get a closer look at his face. Between our brief meeting at sundown and surreptitiously watching him at breakfast, I felt that the image I had of him was piecemeal, not whole yet. I'd pulled all those little details I liked about his face; his smile, his eyes, how his brows were black, and his hair was gray. But I couldn't draw a fully formed portrait if I should sit and try. We started walking down the road. He moved slower than me, hipshot, at ease, in no rush.

"Did you get anything to eat, Ms. Decoutere?"

"Just me and you on the road now. You could try for Dusty again. Everybody else does."

"Oh, I'll bet everyone does try for you."

I glanced sideways, seeing if this was the tease I thought it was. Very likely. He had that sunlight glinting on water twinkle at the corner of his mouth, in his eye.

"I reckon you're quite good at sidestepping other folk. Pretty good at deflecting and not answering questions, huh?"

I glanced again, stepping a little ahead. Yes, still teasing.

"Not really. I was a little too busy to sit and eat. Been catching up on all the nonsense the newcomer needed this week."

"Shame. Had some excellent syrup. Pretty good cinnamon bread too. Betcha everybody does appreciate all the work."

I wondered who told him I'd brought the cinnamon bread, the syrup. I grunted. We walked in silence, our almost-facing houses pulling up on the horizon. My house was another few dozen steps past his.

"Can I walk you back in tonight? You never know when sideswiping bandits will be down this road."

I looked at him, standing by his mailbox, hip cocked.