When I step outside onto the narrow porch, I spot a man unlocking a room. Everything inside me becomes frozen, just like it used to do when I was called on in class. I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them again, he’s still standing there, staring at me.
Then I recognize him. It’s the hippie from the supermarket. He obviously recognizes me, too, because he grins and raises his hand.
“Hi!” he calls out, a little too loudly.
I wave back self-consciously and walk over the crunchy gravel with my head bowed. I need to get away before he asks awkward questions. Funny, there are no cars in the parking lot—he must be hitchhiking.
I hurry along the side of the road, and soon the houses begin. Everything seems as deserted as the motel. Ihopeit’s not a ghost town! Hopefully, there’s some kind of business in this wasteland. I walk for a while but encounter no one. Only one tractor loaded with hay bales drove by. Shortly afterward, I see a sign in the distance:Berry’s Market.
Thank God!
I’m drenched in sweat, but not because of the heat or the warm sweater. I’ve never shopped anywhere alone.
You have paper and pencil; you can do it!
I once read that it’s encouraging to talk to yourself in second person. I’m not only afraid of standing in front of strangers in an unfamiliar situation, but I’m also afraid of being recognized. Now, I could kick myself for sending Dad the picture of my new look.
Holding my breath, I push the door open and wince at the tinkling sound. The store is tiny and only consists of three aisles, a fruit section, and the cash register. I look around and spot the newspaper rack, but my face isn’t on any of the covers—at least,not at first glance. I breathe a sigh of relief and see a corpulent woman in curlers and a green apron, packing fresh fruit into boxes at the counter.
“Hey,” she mutters and inspects me as if I were a rotten grape that needed to be sorted out of the harvest.
I nod and try to smile, my heart pounding in my ears.
Please don’t ask me anything!
Chapter 15
The saleswoman wipes her hands on her apron and approaches. I estimate she’s around fifty and probably belongs in the perpetrator category. “Which stable do you belong to? Never seen you here before.” She speaks super loud and reveals a gap in her teeth.
I swallow, and buzzing fills my head.Don’t panic. Get out the pad and write to her.
With shaking hands, I rummage in my pockets. I feel like a five-year-old abandoned alone in the wilderness.
I can’t speak, I scribble on the pad, as if I wasn’t just mute but also illiterate.
“Can’t speak?” she repeats what I wrote and puts me through another test, which I obviously don’t do well because she twists her face into a big grin. “So pretty, but dumb as a fish,” she says disgusted.
It certainly wasn’t meant as a compliment, but I feel myself blushing.
I bite my lip hard and grab a shopping basket from the pile at the door. I definitely won’t get a new charging cable in this store, but I’ll put apples and bananas in my basket. The woman follows me as if she’s afraid I’ll steal. At the rack with the sunglasses, Igrab two mirrored aviator sunglasses for River and me since the old ones are still in the changing room at the last store.
“Oh, Miss Wordless and Beautiful ain’t traveling alone. That was expected, darling.”
I hate people like her. I would like to leave the store in a hurry, but I force myself to keep going.
When the door rings, I’m relieved. I hope it’s an older lady she can gossip with.
I walk on, grab two toothbrushes, and glance over my shoulder. My wish is not fulfilled. Two guys have walked in, probably both in their late twenties, one with black hair and one with blond. They bring the sharp smell of cheap booze wafting in like a cloud of mist.
I quickly turn and hurry because the two of them look like trouble. I have no idea why I think that. Maybe because the long-haired blond looks like he hasn’t seen a shower in months, or because the black-haired one has the build of a breeding bull, which makes me feel even tinier.
For a few seconds, it’s as still as a church in the small shop. A tingling sensation tickles the back of my neck.
“Well, well, looky what we have here! Look, John,” I promptly hear one of them say. I seem to be a welcome addition to Woods Crossing.
I study the range of snacks intensely. That’s how it always starts. With harmless words.
But luckily, Berry—because I assume she’s the owner of the shop—comes to my aid. “She’s mute, Jack. Save it!” Paper rustles as she continues to unpack fruit.
