“Can I—Calum?”
“Hey, Aunt Georgie.”
Georgina Stone bustled around the corner of the corner to fold him in her arms. “Oh, honey, is it already four? I’m so sorry. We had a pipe burst out back, so I been fixin’ it and lost track’a time.”
“It’s five, but it’s okay. It wasn’t a bad walk,” he said before grimacing internally. Why was he trying so hard to reassure a woman he hardly remembered?
“Well, gimme a second, and I can give you a ride to the house.”
“I can walk.” His aunt frowned with roughened, stained hands planted on her wide hips, and he forced a smile. “I promise I don’t mind. The pipe won’t fix itself, right?”
“Too true. All right,” Georgie conceded, though it came out sounding more like ‘aw rye’.
He tried to understand what she was saying—he really did—but her thick accent made it near impossible. His cousin took pity on him and wrote down the directions to the house. Her hospitality ended there: She all but threw the slip of paper at him with a roll of her brown eyes. Despite being family, he couldn’t remember her name. Brittany? Tiffany? Something equally common.
Left on Main, left on Holly, over the footbridge, right on Willow Lane. #7. Simple enough.
He pulled his bag higher on his shoulder and set off, leaving behind the sweltering interior of the corner market. Old men sat on the porch of the hardware store, grizzled voices echoing over the quiet street. Older women ambled slowly down the side of the road; their rubber-soled shoes scuffed on cracked pavement. Calum could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he trekked along the street. His mom had warned him about this, being new in such a small town.
“They have nothing to do, Calum,” Natalie said before patting his cheek. “Be a good boy, now. Call when you get there.”
Georgie had warned him that his cell phone wouldn’t be of much use in Oak Creek: Service was spotty at best. Calum had stared in abject horror as his mother said he would have to use his aunt’s landline.
A landline.
That was what his life had come down to—alandline. His mother made him swear not to use Georgie’s phone for anything but calling her. It was a courtesy that Georgie was allowing him to call long-distance, and he was not to take advantage of that. He knew what his mom really meant: He couldn’t contact his friends and be tempted into causing more trouble. But really, what trouble could anyone ever have found in such a small, quiet town? Even he wasn’t that talented, he didn’t think.
The footbridge stretched over a pond green with algae. Large clumps of wildflowers grew around the edges, and something fluttered in the tall grass. He stood at the edge and watched the water rippled with something unidentifiable beneath its surface. Wood creaked beneath his foot when he stepped onto the bridge. Some planks had even rotted away. Calum wondered if the shortcut was his cousin’s way of killing him before he could settle in where he didn’t belong.
Willow Lane was aptly named, he saw as soon as he reached the corner. Two large willows loomed on either side of the street, their branches weeping toward the ground. His lips twitched when he noticed a face between the curtain of leaves. The child squeaked before letting the branches clatter together again. Calum schooled his expression into his customary scowl and continued on.
Barely larger than the corner store, the house sat in the middle of the block—or as close to a ‘block’ as the town had. Calum stared at it, at the peeling white paint and the shutters hanging off their hinges over the front window. Wilted grass filled the space between street and home, and weeds poked up through the gaps of the walkway.
Abruptly, Calum realized Georgie never gave him a key. Did she expect him to break in through a window? It wouldn’t be hard. He’d done it dozens of times before. But no, the front door squealed open, a scream of rusting metal hinges, beforeslamming back into its frame. A man stepped out onto the porch, and Calum swallowed harshly. The man was taller than even Calum was, and the thick muscles in Charles Stone’s arms could squash Calum’s head without the man breaking a sweat. His shirt stretched tight around a barrel chest, and his dark eyes narrowed in the August sunlight. Tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Charles cleared his throat.
“Was just on my way to pick you up.”
“Didn’t need it.”
“I see that. Well, c’mon in, boy. Your aunt’ll have my ass if I made you stand outside.”
Calum followed his uncle into the house and stifled a grimace. The door opened straight into the living room. At the back was a small hallway leading to the left. The kitchen was attached to the main room, and even from where he stood, he could tell the room could hold no more than two people at a time. Faded wallpaper covered the walls. The wooden floor showed its age, scratched and warped as it was. He stared at the photos hanging lopsided around the living room, pictures of the Stones through the years. His cousin smiled back at him from every photograph.
A sharp contrast to the dirty look she’d given him in Georgie’s.
Charles beckoned for Calum to follow him to the hallway. To the right was a bathroom. Calum knew he would hate having to share such a tiny space. The room was barely large enough for the toilet, shower, and sink. Makeup and hair products cluttered up the shelf on the wall. Another door stood in front of Calum. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag as Charles warned Calum against entering.
“Tiffany values her privacy.” Pushing open the door on the left, Charles stepped back. “This is where you’ll be staying.”
Calum bit back a sarcastic ‘thanks’ when he got his first sight of the bedroom. Yellowed walls, thin gray carpet. Half the room was taken up by shelving full of his aunt and uncle’s belongings—he didn’t care to know what any of it was. A bed nearly filled the other half despite it being smaller than the one he had at home. The entire place was too different from home.
“Georgie and I been meanin’ to clean it out so you got space,” said Charles in lieu of an apology. “If you can deal with it ’til this weekend, we’ll finish haulin’ things to the attic.”
“It’s fine,” Calum muttered as he weaved his way around the massive amount of stuff to the bed. He dropped his bag on the mattress and glanced at his uncle. “Thanks.”
“Well, I better get back to work. Georgie and Tiff will be home ’round six.”
Calum nodded and listened to the boots stomping across the floor. The screen door screamed as it inched its way closed, then the house fell silent. Dropping to sit on the bed, he stared at his feet. He wasn’t used to the eerie quiet. In Las Vegas, there was always some sort of sound. It was dead in Oak Creek. No cars passing on the street, no emergency vehicles or loud music from the neighbors. Not even children playing outside. Only birds in the trees.
