Simple Man

- SIX -

It had been four days, two motel stays, and countless truck stops before Rowan finally saw the 'Welcome to Juniper' sign—population one thousand seven hundred and thirty six; the six was painted over a one. Juniper was a town made up of ones; one grocery store, one hotel, one church, one gas station, many four way stops but only one stop light.

   Little Shop of Horrors, Casablanca and Overboard were playing at The Rox, the only cinema in town. It was as if the minutes moved slower in Juniper. Everything looked pretty much as Rowan remembered it, the only difference was some of the cars parked along the street were newer. Rowan was surprised to find onee even looked like a 1980 model.

He himself had one stop to make before checking into his hotel room. With his arrival in town Rowan felt a peculiar mixture of relief, nostalgia and dread. His emotions threatened to consume him from the inside out. Seeing his old haunts overwhelmed him so much he forgot to pay attention to the road for a split second. He kept thinking about that little girl he had almost hit as he passed by his old elementary school. She seemed unfazed nearly becoming roadkill but she was apparently fazed by something. He caught the tear streaked cheeks and the untold pain behind those honey-brown eyes.

She was too suspicious and guarded for someone that young. Rowan recognized real damage when he saw it but he didn't know her story. All he knew was whoever placed that anguish in those eyes of hers deserved a special place in hell. It was then Browning's Funeral Home came into view as he took the corner off the main road onto Whitman and parked his bike in the driveway of an old French colonial. It looked like a fresh coat of white paint had been slapped on or the addition of black shutters and matching roof made the white all the whiter by contrast.

Rowan's boots touched pavement as he turned off his engine and squinted up at the house. He was certainly weary from his trip but the sigh he took was not brought on by fatigue. "What the hell are you doing here?" Rowan asked himself before getting off his motorcycle. It was strange that after all this time the air in Juniper smelled the same—still fresh and sweet—and not all like the smog in Los Angeles. He walked up the brick sidewalk leading up to the bright red front door. Rowan sucked in a breath as he stared at the door, his fist lifted up in the air to knock but frozen.

He wanted to turn away, get back on his bike and go back to California empty handed of any sense of closure but he didn't—something beyond his own understanding planted him to that spot. Finally, he knocked. As he did he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. As soon as his hand returned to his side Rowan heard muffled sounds from the other side of the door.

"Coming!" came a faint but familiar female voice.

The red door swung open and he was greeted with the kindly face of Lorraine Browning as he knew he would be, "For decades I've worked as a mortician but this is the first time I've ever laid eyes on a ghost!" quipped the elderly woman, her soft cajun drawl just as pronounced as ever.

   Rowan was taken aback as she pulled him into a tight embrace, any tighter and she would have cracked a rib, "Nice to see you too Lorraine."

"Oh baby! I wish it was under better circumstances!" She replied, releasing him from the hug but her hands lingered on his shoulder, "Come in! Come in!"

   Rowan felt strange walking back into this house after all this time, he felt more at home here in this funeral parlor than he had anywhere else in his life. This had been one of his places of refuge, the other being a bar just outside of town that was owned by a man who was already old when he was a kid but he still hoped Oz was still alive out of sheer spite. Ozzy's was the place he felt safest.

"So guess this means you got my message," Lorraine asked as she left Rowan in the foyer to go to the kitchen.

Rowan looked around as he answered, "Yeah, I got the voicemail you left."