Page 6 of Melancholia

At least I have her humor to count on tonight, if only for a few moments of my time. Even though I open my mouth to protest, feeling like it’s the polite thing to do, Betty just shakes her head again. “Go home, Nell,” she advises, looking me over with a worried look on her face I’ve usually only seen used for the senior folks of Still Pines.

Do I really look that bad?

“Thank you.” With one last smile, I split, heading to my car and sinking into the driver’s seat with a sigh.

I’m ridiculous.

Literally, ridiculous.

“You are ridiculous,” Mary agrees. “How are you going to get around in the world if just the mention of twins bothers you? Or was it the point being driven home when she mentioned the black hair and freckles?” Mary turns, and I can feel her staring at my face like she’s cataloging all the small, faded marks there. “You don’t have as many freckles as⁠—”

“Stop it.” My words come out sharper than I intend, and I immediately jam my finger onto the media button on the car screen. “You didn’t know her.”

“You didn’t know me, but here I am anyway. Do you even know if my birthmark is facing the right way, Eleanor?” The way she says my name reminds me uncomfortably of my mother, because of course I’d be doing this to myself tonight.

“No.” Once my music is playing, I crank it up until I can barely even hear my own thoughts, no matter where they’re coming from. “It’s like you said. I don’t know anything about you at all, Mary.”

The drive back out of downtown Still Pines takes maybe ten minutes, and that’s really just because I prefer cutting around the suburbs rather than going straight through the roundabout. This late, I’d be lucky not to run into some stupid kids either out messing around with their dad’s cars, or daring each other to walk into the road.

Which, really, should be a marker of just how badly small towns need revitalization, in my opinion, but no one ever asks me.

The suburbs are quiet and clear of anything except the stray squirrel or prowling cat that I easily avoid. Then I come back up toward the buildings that are a mix of small businesses and residential, before it becomes mostly commercial near the center of town.

Coffee Crest is lit up, even at this hour. Its owner, Hestia, impressed upon me when I took the apartment above her place that part of the reason rent was much less than other places was because she kept her doors open until late, then opened again around eight am.

Well, that and the mysterious knocking that could be heard through the walls…and the mysterious stain in the bedroom closet.

But when you’re just looking for a small place that doesn’t judge, who can be picky?

The parking lot behind the building is empty enough that I don’t have to squint in the poor lighting to find a spot, and I recognize Hestia’s car there, which isn’t a surprise. Sometimes I wonder if the reason she’s open so late is that she prefers working the graveyard shift. Not that I can judge when I’m basically doing the same thing these days. With the funeral home being staffed by a receptionist to field clients and open to the public during the day, I usually find myself starting work when the rest of Still Pines is getting home and comfortable for the night.

Because for some reason, embalming bodies is a job for the night, instead of one that’s acceptable to take place during the day.

After locking my car, I stride up the sidewalk, only belatedly noticing a car beside Hestia’s that I’m sure I’ve never seen before. While I don’t know all the cars of all the people in Still Pines, I know that I’ve never seen such a nice SUV around before. The words RANGE ROVER are embossed across the white hood, the shiny silver picking up light from the dim streetlamp overhead.

I’m so engrossed in eyeballing the SUV and seeing if I can peek at the details through the windows—God knows I’ll never see them from the inside—that I don’t notice anything in front of me as I round the corner to the front of the building, where I can get upstairs to my apartment.

A dog barking makes me gasp and stumble into the blue mailbox perched near the road hard enough to lose my balance completely. My hands hit the sidewalk, and it’s a good thing I’m not holding my phone, I think ruefully. Otherwise, it would be cracked to shit on the ground.

The dog barks again and I glance up into the face of a panting black Shepherd, its plumed tail wagging back and forth behind it like it’s trying to power the whole town with wind propulsion. It doesn’t look particularly vicious, and I barely notice the dog sniffing at my ear as the one in front of me whines happily.

“Hi,” I greet, finally glancing around to see another, very similar looking black Shepherd at my side. Both are leashed to a hook near the door of Coffee Crest, though it usually holds flowers, rather than dog leashes. “You guys scared me.” It’s clear I’m not in any danger, so I reach my hands up to let both dogs sniff my fingers, belatedly hearing the coffee shop door open.

“Noctis! Umbra! Platz!” Quick as a whip, both dogs suddenly drop to a down position, gazing up obediently at the man exiting the coffee shop.

And to my humiliation, I also gaze up at him from my spot on the ground as if I’m a trained canine like the two black dogs.

One of them, the smaller one, wags its tail, its entire butt wiggling as the man comes closer. He smiles down at the dog, giving me a few moments to survey the man whose dogs I stumbled into.

He’s definitely not a regular.

My first thought is plain and obvious; and embarrassingly, the main reason I’m so sure is that I would’ve noticed this guy coming in and out of Coffee Crest. His black hair that’s somehow darker than mine is pulled up into the smallest of knots. Framed by the coffee shop’s glow, his warm, golden-brown skin seems richer against the black of his coat. He⁠—

A hand is suddenly in my face, and behind it, the man is giving me an apologetic, soft smile. “May I help you up?” he asks, as if it’s a foregone conclusion that I want to be on my feet.

“Sorry.” When I take his hand, his fingers are warm against mine, and despite his lithe frame, he easily pulls me to my feet like I weigh nothing at all.

I bet it’s his Range Rover out back.