Page 21 of Tributary

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Asa

ANDY MOORELY EMAILS to ask if he can meet me at the train station in Oak Creek rather than on campus. I arranged to come to town early to catch up on Moorely’s project before Hunter Crawford’s welcome back party. I also decided I was never going to have a chance at wooing Diana if I was staying with her family, so I had Andrea do the leg work to buy me a house on Main Street.

I barely looked over the emails she sent about furnishing it. She’s done this before in other areas I visit frequently for Wexler Holdings. I opted to take the train rather than charter a flight because I enjoyed it so much last time. The whole damn town of Oak Creek is walkable. I feel practically rustic waving at Moorely as the train slows at the platform. I am pleasantly surprised by my enjoyment of the ordinary experiences I find here. Turns out socialite life on the Upper East Side means forgoing the simple pleasures of meeting a friendly colleague at the train station.

“Asa, good to see you,” he says, pumping my hand. “Can I get you a coffee or something? I just need to check in on a project and we can be off.”

I shrug and follow him into the Insomnia Bakery. A young couple argues behind the counter as they set out a tray of fragrant pastries. I inhale and lean in, listening to them go back and forth about which of them was up more frequently with their twins the night before.

Moorely coughs and says, “Stu, Jess, I’d like you to meet Asa. He’s in town for—”

“Oooh, we know all about you,” the woman says, bringing one hand to her heart and smoothing her braids with the other. “Diana still giving you the cold shoulder?”

This takes me by surprise and my eyes go wide. So she’s been talking about me! Moorely coughs again and asks for two coffees to go.

Caffeine in hand, we step back outside as the couple starts to fight about their toddlers again.

“Sorry about that, mate.” Moorely seems uncomfortable. “Listen.” He pauses outside the Houseplant Haven and I feel my breath catch. Diana is in there. “I’m testing out some new sensors with Diana, some of the tech that you’ve been funding. That’s the stop I need to make before we head back and go over some numbers.”

I nod as he opens the door, my heart racing at the thought of seeing her again. I’m hit by the heavenly smell of all her herbs in the sunshine and I can see she’s got rows of houseplant “patients” perking up from their owners’ neglect. Moorely leans on the counter and then I hear her voice coming from the back.

“It’ll be ok, Abigail…yes. I know, babe. I’m getting a shovel, too…I know. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise…I’ll be there soon.”

And then Diana bursts from the back room weilding a machete.

Moorely and I leap backwards. “Christ,” he yells. “What the bloody hell are you on about?”

“Oh,” she says, noticing us. “I’m sorry, Andrew. I need to postpone our appointment. I have to go euthanize Abigail’s chicken.”

“Come again?” Moorely looks equally as shocked as I feel, but my senses are piqued at the sight of her. I have no idea what it means that she’s going to kill a chicken, but I’m not about to miss it.

Diana rummages around in the box of tools under the counter I’ve been revisiting in my fantasies. She extrudes a shovel from beneath and stands, eyes flashing as she pulls a fleece on over her flannel and jeans.

“I have to go. I’ll be back in twenty minutes if you want to wait.”

Moorely and I look at each other. “I need to see this,” I tell him, intrigued. Diana takes off and we follow, Moorely puffing and muttering to himself about the Crazy Crawfords he’s tangled up with.

“What happened to Abigail’s chicken,” I ask, lengthening my stride to keep pace with Diana. She props the shovel up over one shoulder and fists the machete handle in her right hand.

“Sounds like a raccoon got in the coop last night,” she says. “That happens with Dad’s birds sometimes. It’s really pretty awful. The poor girls are such heavy sleepers. They don’t usually know what’s coming.” Her voice drifts off and she looks me over. “You’re going to get blood on your fancy pants,” she says.

I shrug. We arrive at Abigail and Hunter’s house and Diana heads right toward the gate to the back yard. I reach for the latch for her and open the gate, ushering Moorely and Diana ahead of me. Abigail is pacing the yard, tears running down her face.

“Oh, god, Diana! I came out to get the eggs and I saw it and then I heard her…”

Diana drops the shovel and pats Abigail on the back. “Let me end her suffering. This will be ok,” she says, and strides toward the coop. She reaches inside the hutch and pulls out a struggling bird.

I look away as she picks the bird up by the feet and draws the knife back. I hear Abigail wail and so I walk toward her. She grabs for my hand and squeezes and then Diana comes and wraps her arms around her friend. Moorely stands by with his jaw hanging open as Diana soothes Abigail. “You did the right thing, calling me,” she tells her friend.

“Hunter is going to be so sad,” Abigail cries. I shift my weight around and, noting the shovel, decide to make myself useful. I glance around the yard and decide to start digging by one of the flowering trees along the back fence. The ground is hard—the warm days of spring haven’t yet settled on Oak Creek and there hasn’t been enough rain to make mud.

I dig for a bit until I see a shadow cross the shallow hole. “You didn’t have to help with that,” Diana says, standing with one hand on her hip and a paper bag in the other.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” I tell her, wiping a wrist across my brow. I worked up a sweat in the few minutes it took to get Abigail calmed down and inside with Moorely, who’s helping her steep a pot of tea. “You didn’t have to help with that,” I counter, gesturing at the dead bird.

Diana scoffs. “Abigail is family, basically. Of course I helped.”

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