Gina Ranalli - House of Fallen Trees

It was strange, but sitting in this car with these two men, these virtual strangers, riding down an old road cut through a thick and rolling forest, it was the nearest she’d been to her brother in almost five years. And, she realized with some dismay, that it was the first time she really felt his absence, a vacant spot located somewhere in her chest, in her heart and in her mind.

For the first time she actually missed the little shit. Missed him with a deep pounding ache that caused tears to spring unexpectedly to her eyes. She turned away from Rory, pretended to be fascinated by the passing trees.

Sean , her mind screamed. Where the fuck are you?

They rolled into the town of Fallen Trees a little after noon, all three of them anxious to get out of the Jeep, stretch, and find a bathroom, which was their main reason for stopping in the town proper at all.

Rory parked the Jeep in front of The Lantern and they walked inside single file, like weary time-travelers eager to find their way back home.

The men were greeted with many hellos from bar patrons and a young pretty waitress Saul introduced as Nikki.

Karen smiled politely, said “Hi, nice to meet you,” and then made a beeline for the restroom.

When she came back out, the guys were seated at the bar and she was mildly annoyed to see that Saul now had a mug of beer in front of him. As she approached, he grinned at her and said, “All that driving makes a man thirsty.”

“I can see that.”

She slipped onto the stool beside him, putting herself between him and Rory, who, she was happy to note, was not drinking a beer, but talking in low tones to the bartender, an older guy with gray hair, dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt.

“Well, Rory,” the bartender was saying, “You know that shipment of salmon was supposed to be here this morning. Come dinner time, you’re gonna have a lot of hungry folks wanting their fish and getting all the more cranky the longer they have to wait for it.”

“I’ll call the distributor right away, Mike,” Rory assured the guy. “I don’t know why you didn’t leave a message on my cell about this.”

“I tried,” the man insisted. “But it just kept saying you weren’t available. You know how I feel about those dang unreliable things.”

“Mike hates technology,” Saul whispered into Karen’s ear and gave her a mischievous smile before taking a gulp of his beer.

“You’re damn right Mike does,” Mike said loudly, turning to them. “I’m only sixty-six, Saul. I ain’t deaf yet.”

Karen cracked up as Saul made a show of trying to hide behind her.

“You can’t trust those gadgets,” Mike said to Karen, as if they’d been lifelong pals. “Mark my words, those things’ll let you down when you need ‘em most. A good old-fashioned solid telephone line you can actually touch. That’s what I like. None of this satellite bullshit.”

“Okay, Mike,” Saul said. “We get the picture. No cell phones for you.”

Mike scowled at him before returning his attention to Rory.

“He thinks he’s Paul Bunyan,” Saul said, raising his voice so the whole bar could hear.

Karen gazed around the place. There were two booths by the front plate-glass window and another two against the back wall. About three tables with chairs were set up in the middle of the room on the far side of a lone pool table and exactly six stools in front of the bar. “This is a pretty small place,” she said.

“Yeah, but you should see it come six o’clock,” Saul said. “The whole frigging town shows up. Standing room only.”

“And I take it they serve food?” She referred to the conversation Mike was having with Rory.

“Mostly just burgers and potato salad. Occasionally something special will come in, like salmon or lamb or some shit. Place goes crazy on those nights. They’re like a bunch of rabid hungry dogs. Not that I’m one to insult dogs. You want a beer?”

“Um…no.” She’d seriously had to think about it. A beer was sounding pretty good, but she didn’t want to stay here any longer than they had to. “I’d really just like to get to the house as soon as possible.”

This statement caused a cloud to pass over Saul’s face and he made no reply, choosing instead to concentrate on the contents of his frosty mug.

Karen took the time to study the people. There were about ten of them in all, a few seated at the bar, drinking, a few more shooting pool and two couples in the booths. They all looked vaguely the same as Mike the bartender. Flannel shirts, jeans, work boots. They looked like a hearty bunch, the kind of people used to hard work and hard winters, all pale-skinned as if they never saw the sun, and living up here, Karen supposed that was the truth. A good portion of the men sported heavy beards while the women wore haggard looks. Most of them were staring back at Karen with curiosity. Some stared with unmistakable suspicion, though she didn’t think it was her per se. She thought it was because she was with Rory and Saul. She got the distinct feeling they were outsiders here — tolerated, but probably not much more than that.

The guys themselves seemed oblivious to the scrutinizing eyes. Most likely they were so used to it, it no longer fazed them.

“Well,” Rory said, slipping off the stool. “I’d love to stay here and haggle with you all day, Mike, but we have places to be.”

Mike’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going up there , aren’t you?”

“We are,” Rory confirmed. “Drink down that brew, Saul. I want to get up there before four.”

“What happens at four?” Karen asked. She was surprised when it was Mike who answered her.

“Gets dark,” he said. “Dark as a damn womb up there.”

Karen raised her eyebrows. “Well, that sounds pretty dark.”

Mike remained grim as Saul drained the mug and slapped a five on the counter. “For you, my good man,” he said to Mike with an exaggerated British accent. “And all your kind hospitality.”

The bartender grunted at him, scooped up the bill and then turned his back on them, pretending to take a sudden interest on the bottles lined up behind him.

Back outside, Karen did her best to make her voice low and spooky. “Dark as a woooomb !” Saul laughed, but Rory remained serious, climbing into the driver’s seat without even cracking a smile. Karen assumed it was because he was irritated about the salmon delivery, or lack thereof.

Inside the Jeep once more, she said, “Interesting crowd in there. I got the feeling they don’t care much for outsiders.”

“They’re automatically leery of strangers,” Saul said as Rory started the engine and pulled out onto the road.

“Why is that?” she asked.

Saul shrugged. “Small town. They’re used to knowing everybody. It’s nothing personal.” Rory snapped the radio on and a strong male voice boomed out of the speakers. “…carcass.”

Karen felt her blood turn to ice-water, her eyes widening, staring at the radio.

The voice continued: “So, if anyone wants a nice fat venison steak, give old Mac Gershon a buzz and tell him to put you down for some. That buck was a big one.” The voice stopped talking and a second later Miles Davis oozed out into the air like a long swallow of fine, smoky whiskey.

Rory opened his mouth to say something, glancing at Karen. Whatever he was about to say, he abruptly changed his mind when he saw her paper-white face. “Are you okay?”

She continued to watch the radio as if waiting for it to sprout a hand and grab her knee.

“Karen?” Rory said. He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

She flinched, her eyes darting from the radio to Rory’s face. “That man on the radio…”