Page 13 of How Does It Feel?

“They’re right about you, you know that? Twenty-seven years, ain’t nobody ever said sorry for callin’ me crazy.” He chuckled so hard I thought he might drop his books.

I glanced down at the pile of books to spot a few I recognized in the stack.

“Entangled Life? Mystified Morels? Earl, are these all books on mushrooms? I didn’t even know Willow Springs library had some of these. What are you doing with all of these?” I asked as I stared at him.

The man positively glowed. Did this have anything to do with his partying? Cliff had said to talk to him about mushrooms . . .

“Help me take these to the car, and I’ll tell you all about it. Matter-a-fact, why don’t I just give you a ride? I heard your truck was still at Big Don’s. That’s what you were doing on the steps anyway, huh? Tryin’ to find a ride?”

More perceptive than I would have thought. To be fair, I had only seen him in passing a few times at the gas station, and I was surprised he even knew my name. My first week here, he had tried to talk to me about the trees talking and forest bogs or something crazy. After Cliff had told me of his unstable chaos and drug usage, I had just avoided him. It was easy enough to believe from his unkempt appearance. It wasn’t that he looked dirty or anything, there was just something in his appearance that made you sympathize with him for not being quite “all there.” Though were any of us really all there? Sometimes I wondered.

I followed him across the parking lot to a small white hatchback. I hesitated to respond because, quite frankly, I was both surprised that Crazy Earl read or drove. I had never actually spoken to him after that first day, so I’m not sure why I was so surprised by how articulate he sounded. I was starting to feel awful for passing such judgment on him simply from the words of others, mostly Cliff. I did need a ride today though.

“If you’re sure I won’t put you out?” I asked as I handed him the last of the books to be placed in the back seat of his car.

“Not at all! Happy to have the company of a fellow biologist for a spell and a pretty one at that,” he said with a smile as he got into the front seat.

Okay, I was intrigued. I’m quite sure I’ve never jumped in a stranger’s car faster.

“Fellow biologist?”

He chuckled warmly. “You know any other nut that checks out eight books on mycelium and six on the genealogy of bullfrogs?”

Why would no one have told me this? Surely Cliff knew. Why wouldn’t he tell me Earl was a biologist too? I would have loved to talk to someone in my field.

“Forgive my surprise, cra—Earl, I just had no idea. Are you still working?”

“Oh no, I umm . . . was let go. A hundred years ago, least that’s what it feels like now, I worked as a microbiologist for the state. Where to?”

I had been so busy bug-eyed staring at him that I hadn’t realized he had been patiently waiting at the library exit for more instructions on where to take me.

“The rehab center, if it’s not too far. I need to grab my microscope. So you worked for the state?” My voice was rising to new pitches with each new surprise.

I coughed to try and control it better. I know it sounds silly, but I had no one to talk to about work. Not the complain-about-who-stole-your-leftovers talk, Cliff got those, but the “oh my god, have you seen the cercariae in the lake that’s giving everyone swimmers itch?” type of talk.

“No problem at all,” Earl said as he took a right onto the main drag. “Yep, I was a professor of biology at a university for ten years before Michigan offered me a job. After twenty-three years, they . . . let me go.” He stiffened his back and shoulders.

I noticed the slight shift in his eyes as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel ever so slightly.

“Wow, that’s quite an accomplishment. I was told I was Willow Spring State Park’s first biologist?” I asked, silently hoping I hadn’t taken a job he had tried to get or replaced him and he was mad.

“Well, so far as I know, you are. I worked in a small group with the government. They hired me to explain a few odd things they’d been finding. It’s how I ended up here as well.” He tipped his head to me and smiled kindly.

It was gentle and honest, and I immediately found myself liking him more by the second.

“Really? I always thought you were from here?”

I glanced around the cluttered interior of the car like a sleuth. Old mason jars, food wrappers from the local Chinese restaurant, endless balls of wadded-up paper littered the floor and back seat, and a few notebooks, but nothing out of the ordinary.

“No, I was brought out here for work much like you, and guess you could say I got stuck. Cecelia said you got a new microscope?” he asked, eyebrows peaked with interest.

“Now, how is it this whole town knows what I had for breakfast or what’s inside my packages, but I’ve never heard any of this about you?” I laughed, instantly hoping he didn’t ask what exactly I had heard about him. It wasn’t very nice, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Oh, I know what you’ve heard about me,” he murmured with a sheepish look. “It’s okay, one day, I will prove to them all that I’m right.

Okay, usually people didn’t want to prove they were crazy . . . time for a subject change?

“So if you’re not still working, then what are you doing with all of these books? Looks like research to me,” I said with a genuine grin.