Page 22 of The Witch's Orchard
I was sixteen at the time. I had my license but no car. Still, I’d been able to drive my mom’s ancient Escort, my mom moaning in the passenger seat, to Leila Horton’s place, Happy Paws Veterinary Clinic.
Leila was an old friend of my mom’s. They’d grown up together—the same rough neighborhood, the same rough parties. But Leila got a scholarship to Eastern Kentucky University and my mom got married and pregnant, not in that order.
“I can’t,” I told her.
“She’s got three cracked ribs,” Leila said.
My mom was resting in another room. It was Sunday and the clinic was closed except for emergencies. We were standing in Leila’s office. It was nice, with pictures of her kids on the desk. Her kids were younger than me. A little girl and a little boy wearing nice sweaters, playing in the leaves with a golden retriever. I’d never had a pet. Never had a cat or dog to bring to Leila’s. I always just brought my mom, even before I could legally drive.
“Annie, he’s gonna kill her,” Leila said. “I know he’s your daddy but—”
“I can’t make her press charges,” I said. “I can’t make her do anything.”
“Oh, Annie…” Leila said. She crossed her arms and sighed through her nose. “You still mostly staying with your granny?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I can’t stay with them.”
“All I can do is give her some Tylenol, wrap her up in elastic bandages,” Leila said. “You know I can’t prescribe anything.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t bleeding inside.”
“Jesus, Annie,” Leila said, and then looked chagrined, like she hadn’t meant to reveal her horror. “Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?”
I’d shrugged and said, “What I need is the ability to get around, Leila. I need wheels.”
She’d pressed her lips together, looked out the little window.
“How about a job?” she said.
That was how I was able to get my first car, a 1993 Pontiac LeMans. I cleaned the Happy Paws Veterinary Clinic after school every other day. I only quit when I joined JROTC. I took my mom to the clinic four more times before I graduated. The day before I left for the Air Force, I sold the car for what I could and took the money to Leila, told her to put it in the charity vet care fund.
I didn’t own another car until I got out of the service.
“Okay, Honey,” I say now, my voice a little strangled as I pull onto Main Street. “Let’s get something to eat.”
I need to take my mind off my own hard case, I think, and put it onto the one I’m actually getting paid for. And I might as well get some lunch while I’m at it.
Honey purrs at me, and I look for a spot. Parallel parking with Honey is its own kind of adventure, and if you’re not careful you’ll wind up with Honey’s ass sticking out for any old car to come by and smack. I take a deep breath and keep an eye out, eventually maneuvering into a tight space just a few yards down from Shiloh’s Sweet Treats.
“See,” I say. “I had it all along.”
I get out and lock her up, my belly already grumbling.
Like the rest of Quartz Creek’s Main Street, Shiloh’s is a two-story redbrick rectangle with a glass storefront. Unlike the rest of Main Street, it’s busy. A woman comes out and gives me a quick “Howdy!” before going past me. I take the brief pause in traffic to make my way inside, where I’m nearly bowled over by the intensity of the warm, sugary air. I work my way around the crowd to a long glass counter filled with breads and cookies, cupcakes, and pastries. A few other customers peer into the glass and some sit at little café tables jammed into the corner of the store.
“Morning!” a woman says. She’s young and smiling and she wears a red apron.
“Shiloh?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “In the back. You need to talk to her?”
I say that I do.
“Shiloh!” she yells through a set of double doors. “Somebody here for you!”
Another woman comes out a moment later, wiping flour from her hands. She’s broad-shouldered and she’d probably be six feet tall if she weren’t wearing chunky platform heels. But she is. So, she’s more like six-three.
“Hi!” she says. “You must be Annie. I’m Shiloh.” She thrusts her hand toward me. Big open smile, big curly brown hair, big strong hand. I get the idea everything about this woman is outsized. Like she’s too grand for this small, normal world but she’s making the best of it. I like her immediately. I take her firm hand and shake and feel flour dust in her palm.
