and pumpkins were getting brought out. “That’s private property, see the ‘No Trespassing’ signs?”
“Yessir, Mr. Tucker. Sorry.” One of the kids had the guts to actually face me, which was reassuring, since I was now definitely sure these were some of Daniel’s lesser-known pals.
I waved my arms at them. “Go on, get out of here!”
The kids scrambled, hopping back onto their bikes and shrieking with laughter as they pedaled away, leaving me to realize I’d skipped mid-life and progressed directly into the high-pants-wearing grandfatherly phase of my time here on Earth, where I screamed at people to get off my lawn. And this wasn’t even my lawn.
I stopped running, leaning over to catch my breath in front of the rusting gates of the big house. I let out a breath feeling disgusted with myself, but not just because I’d stopped some kids from vandalizing a decrepit old house I didn’t give a shit about.
No, there were plenty more reasons for me to feel like I was watching my life swirling around the toilet bowl of existence, making a slow but steady spiral toward utter and complete failure. Or maybe not failure as much as stagnancy. I. Was. Going. Nowhere.
Now more literally than usual, since I was just standing here in front of the creepiest house in town, staring at the old Victorian monstrosity when I was supposed to be jogging. But . . . Wait, had I just seen something move in the upstairs window? I was one hundred percent sure the place was deserted, and had been since I was a little kid. A chill ran through me as I squinted up at the darkened windows of the second floor. Creepy.
“Now I’m seriously losing it.”
I sighed and turned away, determined to finish my run, even if nothing else in my life had gone according to plan.
Crosswalk Tango
Addison
“Pie me.” Mom held her hands out for the lemon meringue that sat on the work table in the kitchen at the Muffin Tin. I’d been hiding in the kitchen for a couple days now, pretending to help, and Mom kept coming back and asking for things—her way of checking on me without really checking on me. I guessed it seemed to her this was better than demanding answers from her thirty-five year old daughter who’d shown up suddenly at her childhood home, refusing to discuss what had happened in her fantastic independent life in New York City.
I’d have to tell her eventually, I knew. But my mother, Lottie Tanner, had an affinity for gossip, even when it was her own. I couldn’t really tell her until I was ready for everyone in Singletree to know what an utter fool I was. For now, only my sister Paige knew what had happened.
“Here.” I handed Mom the pie and looked around the small kitchen, gilded in stainless steel and feeling suddenly suffocating in its cleanliness and shine. “I’m going to take a walk, I think.”
Mom’s eyes widened a touch beneath the perfect steel gray bob, and she pressed her lips together before saying, “Sure, honey. You go get some air.”
Lottie was showing remarkable restraint, which I appreciated. I knew she had thirty thousand questions she was dying to ask, but instead she had welcomed me home with a hug, made up my old room for me, and told me I could stay as long as I liked.
I didn’t want to stay at all really, and not just because Mom shared her home with three free-range chinchillas. But I had nowhere else to go. Except back to New York, and I couldn’t even think about that yet.
I pushed out through the front door of the cafe, offering friendly smiles to a few of the townspeople who gathered there on Sunday mornings for muffins and coffee.
The air had turned crisp, and I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I’d thought to pull my jacket from the hook before going out. I didn’t want to go back inside though, the cinnamon spice felt almost oppressive with its air of comfort and family togetherness. It reminded me of happier times, of feeling loved, of being where I was supposed to be. But this place wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I’d moved on, and coming back here felt like a concession. A failure.
I was moving toward the crosswalk, ready to cross the square to avoid walking in front of the little bookshop a block down from Mom’s cafe—I avoided it out of habit, not because I really