Page 8 of True North

“That’s good. A woman needs to be busy. Idle hands...”

“I’ve heard that before.” I smile at her. She is the sweetest.

She pats my cheek and takes my hand. Turning it over, she drops the keys in my palm. “You eat dinner with us a few times a week, hey? I could use some company other thanil marito.”

I tilt my head with a frown.

“Someone besides Mr. Mancini.” She winks.

I chuckle and thank her as she makes her way down the stairs, slower than before. When she clears them without incident, I shut the door and turn the lock. Old Cali habit. Guess it’s not as needed in Lewistown.

I lean against the door and close my eyes, letting my head fall back to thud on the wood. “A fresh start. It’s only up from here, Louisa. You can do this.”

I look around the apartment. The small green L-shape kitchen is in one corner with a weathered rectangular wooden table with two chairs. An old blue sofa that looks like it’s seen better days sits on the other side of the room. Three doors dot the wall across from me. I’m guessing that’s the bathroom and two bedrooms.

I pluck up my bag and walk for the center one. Opening the door, I find a small bathroom. A white ceramic pedestal vanity sits under a small mirrored cabinet. Black-and-white tiles cover the floor, and a clawfoot bath sits under the only window in the room. No shower. How old-school Lewistown.

I try the next door, left of the bathroom. Bedroom one. The window overlooks the ugly metal roofs of downtown Lewistown. Trying the next one, I find a huge front bedroom. Soft, sheer lemon-yellow curtains flow over the open window. An old cast-iron canopy bed with ornate swirls in the headboard is the centerpiece of the room. A long sofa under the window with a small side table. I’ve never had this much space for myself.

Needless to say, apartments in Cali are tight.

I’m liking this change. More than I thought I would. I drift to the window, looking down on Main Street. Everywhere I look in the small one-horse town, all I find are snippets of memories of another lifetime.

Each one featuring him.

From the day I met Harry Rawlins, he was a force of nature. Always so few words. But the impact he had on me...

“Come on, Louisa!” Mom called from the driveway.

New school. New friends.

Yay... Not.

Changing schools at sixteen is nobody’s idea of fun. Let alone mine.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I call down through my bedroom window. Mom throws her hands up. In truth, I have been dreading this move. I don’t make friends easily, and the thought of talking to strangers has me tied up in knots.

I run a brush through my unruly hair once more and swipe up my satchel before running down the stairs and through the front door.

In the car, Mom sighs at me before pulling out the drive. We make it to the new school as the bell rings.

Great, just great.

Next thing, I’m staring at the most uptight principal I have ever seen. His comb-over and knee-high socks are ridiculous.

“Miss Masters, you may go to class now. Your buddy will be along to show you around shortly. Don’t make a habit of being late. Not the greatest start for a new student.” His reprimand shines in his eyes as much as it’s carried in his words.

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s a good kid, really—” The door closes behind me, cutting off my mother’s plea. The principal’s original take of me is spot-on. I’m not a straight A student. The core subjects do nothing but bore me. Guess that’s what I would call it when I spend the majority of the class dreaming up new recipes.

Science is okay, at least I get to use a burner and boil stuff.

Not that it’s edible.

I make my way to the locker that’s to be mine. A bunch of girls stand nearby, their scathing gazes running the full length of me. They chuckle between themselves, most likely entertained by my hand-me-down clothes. One steps forward and opens her mouth to say something before someone snaps the group’s attention. When they all turn at once, like a pack of lionesses who just sniffed out a gazelle, I slide in by my locker, doing my best to ignore them.

“Hi,” one coos at whoever is approaching. I don’t hear a response, but by the footfalls, I can tell it’s a guy.

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