Page 36 of Cackle

I close my eyes and pretend I’m back in the city, back in my old apartment. I pretend that Sam and I are still together, that the breakup never happened. I imagine him next to me. His occasional snores. The rise and fall of the sheets. The warmth there beside me.

I can almost feel it.

NEW DAY WITH PANCAKES

I wake up to sunlight nuzzling my face. I roll out of bed, change back into my clothes from yesterday and pull my hair into a sloppy bun.

I didn’t sleep well.

At all.

This is made painfully obvious by the dark circles under my eyes. A germ of a hangover floats behind my forehead.

As I step out of the room, I realize I don’t know where I’m going. Left, I think? I need to get to the main staircase.

I’ve never been in a house so big there’s a danger of getting lost.

I find the staircase, go down the hall of mirrors and into the kitchen. I find Sophie there, kneading dough. Her hair is in a French braid that snakes down her back. She’s wearing one of her signature long black dresses, protected by a burlap apron. She doesn’t have a single speck of flour anywhere on her.

“Morning!” she says. “Oh, pet! You look tired. Did you not sleep well?”

“I slept okay,” I say. “I have trouble sleeping sometimes.”

“Was the bed not comfortable? I’ll beat the mattress. Or I can put you in a different room,” she says, “if you’ll ever want to stay again. Perhaps it was too poor an experience.”

“No, no,” I say, my voice in its lying pitch. I imagine dogs around the world pausing in unison to consider the sound. “Not poor at all.”

“Would you like to go to the diner? It’s a lovely day,” she says, “though it might still be muddy.”

“That’s okay. I’ll go.”

“All right,” she says. She sets the dough in a ceramic bowl and puts a damp towel over it. “Let’s go.”

She leads me back through the woods. She was right about the mud. By the time we get to pavement, my boots are covered in sludge.

When we arrive at the diner, Sophie introduces me to the owner, a tiny bald man named Tom.

He bows to Sophie multiple times as he leads us to a booth in the back corner.

“I’ll bring coffee right away,” he says, hurrying off.

“Do you own this building?” I ask her.

“I own the land it sits on,” she says. “Why?”

I shrug. “Just wondering.”

I’m curious to know exactly how much real estate she owns, how much of this town, but I think it’d be rude to ask outright.

“I like to get pancakes with strawberries and a side of bacon,” she says. “But you can’t go wrong, really.”

“All right. Sold on the pancakes.”

Tom is back with the coffee, and Sophie orders for both of us.

“Coming right up,” he says. He won’t make eye contact with her. Or me.

“He’s funny,” I say.