Samson glanced at the guy’s trailer. It wasn’t just tiny. It was miniscule. It looked like there was only room for him to sleep in the thing. Was there any way he could convince this guy to be the new camp host? “Yes, they PAY me, plus, I get the campsite for free.”

The smell of burning bacon attracted the attention of the man and he ran to the back of the trailer. Samson followed him. The back of the small vehicle opened with a large hatch, revealing a kitchen workspace. The campstove was flaming up with bacon grease, but the guy expertly removed it from the heat and blew out the flames. He dumped the bacon and most of the grease out onto a plate covered with a paper towel. “Still good. You want one?”

He held out the plate to Samson. It did look good. “Thanks.” He took a slice and sat on the bench of the picnic table. The man held up some eggs. They looked like white ping pong balls to Samson. “Want one?” He smiled and answered, “I’d love one. Thanks.” The man cracked two eggs into the pan full of bacon grease and it crackled loudly.

“My name’s Samson, by the way.” The guy nodded and replied, “I’m Joey.” Samson pointed at the guy’s trailer. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Where’d you buy it?” Joey laughed and pointed at the eggs. “Over hard okay with you? I pretty much only know how to make ‘em over hard.” Samson nodded.

Joey beamed with pride. “I didn’t buy it. I MADE it!” He swished the eggs around in the bacon grease, separating them with the spatula and spooning out one on one plate, handing it to Samson. “You made that thing? Wow! That’s awesome! We gotta guy here who makes crazy stuff like that. You should meet ‘im!”

Joey ate his eggs and bacon, nodding. Samson asked, “So, were YOU cold last night?” The guy answered with a mouth full of food, “Heck no! I gotta heater in there, just like a real trailer, except it’s so small I hardly need to run it. I don’t even need electricity.” He stood up and pointed at the top of the trailer. “I lined the top o’ this thing with solar panels.”

Samson stood up, but he wasn’t tall enough to see the solar panels, even though the trailer was easily half the size of the smallest trailer he had ever seen. “So, do you do this sort of thing for a living? You work at auto factory or something?” Joey sat in his camping chair and dug into the eggs with his fork again. “No, I manage websites.”

Samson felt a sudden affinity for this guy. “You do?! You know, I used to work at Zerbitz.” Joey looked at him, but Samson could tell he didn’t know what he was talking about. “It was a social networking site kind of like Twitter, except we got bought out and they killed us.” Joey’s mouth was full of eggs. “Yeah, seems a lotta people get screwed when they get bought out.” He chewed some more. “I don’t do anything that big, I just run a few blogs that I write for. Google AdSense keeps me from starving.”

Then Joey laughed hard, “Of course, I’m hungry all the time, so I guess they don’t really keep me from starving.” He popped out of his collapsible chair and fired up the propane stove again. “Wanna ‘nother one? I’m still hungry.” He started cooking two more eggs, even though Samson shook his head.

“So, you got any weed?” He tested the waters. If this guy was self-employed, he could easily be the camp host. Joey’s scolding eyes looked at him like he was a child. “DUDE! This is your brain on drugs, man!” He held out his pan of eggs and the two of them laughed. The crispy bits of egg whites dissolved in Samson’s mouth as he imagined Joey’s tiny trailer in the camp host’s site. This guy could be his ticket back home to his warm bed.

“You know, we’re looking for someone to be the camp host. I’m just supposed to be here temporarily.” He watched Joey to see if there was any interest. “You think you’d like the job?” Joey looked over at the camp host’s site. Samson’s Springbar tent stood there, looking like a military reject. “Don’t you like the job?”

Samson chewed his food. “I actually have a home in Emigration just a little north of here. We lost our camp host back in April, so I’ve been filling in.” Joey lifted the two eggs out of the pan and put them both on his plate. He sat back in the lightweight chair and looked at the camp host’s site. “It’s so shady I’d never get my battery charged.”

Samson smiled. Yes, this was very good. “Nothing stopping me from letting you pick whatever site you want. Moving the sign is easy.” And changing the map? Not so easy, but he’d figure things out. Joey looked at the site he had chosen. “I like this one fine enough. How much you say it pays?” Samson shook his head. “Not much, but enough to fill your belly when the click throughs are low.”

Something Samson said must have clicked through Joey’s mind. He could almost HEAR the gears moving into place. “Sounds good to me. When do I start?”

The dowager was safe. She was going to India unmarried and unescorted to have her own adventures without the shackles of men. As horrible as her writing had been when she added the religious elements that Antioch House had requested, she was glad to excise it from her book. It felt good to take large swaths at it, highlighting text and deleting it.

Of course, she had saved the bastardized version of the novel as well. She renamed it and saved it in an archived file on her external drive. She loved restoring her novel to the way it was supposed to be, but something inside of her worried. She might have to eat her words and go crawling back to Antioch and if she did, she didn’t want to have to create the footman from scratch again.

Her worries weren’t paranoia. Kit Kat had tried to shop her book around to other publishers, but the only responses she had received were rejection letters. Each one was a stab in the gut. It didn’t matter to them that she had been the highest selling author at Antioch House, she was completely unable to get any recognition from any other publishers.

She cursed herself for never getting an agent. She had sold her first book to Antioch, got a contract with them and continued to write for them exclusively. All her loyalty to them was NOTHING compared to the fact that she was divorced. They didn’t care about her sales or the integrity of her book. All they cared about was how her author blurb looked in a Christian book. It made her bitter with anger.

She looked at the envelope she received back from Mira yesterday. DIVORCED. It was final. Everything had been accepted. She didn’t need to pay any alimony. She was not financially responsible for anything to do with his vitamin business. In his desperation to impress that girl, Dave had signed away all his rights. Kit Kat simultaneously wished Mira had been more ruthless and he had been more cautious. If he was going to divorce her, she really wanted to hurt him, but if he had been more cautious, maybe he wouldn’t have wanted the divorce after all. She wanted to hurt him, but at the same time, she wanted him back. It was a very strange feeling to have.

“Not important,” she thought to herself. It doesn’t matter. “All that matters is work. I need to get an agent. I need to get this book cleaned up. I need to get writing the next one. THAT’S what’s important.” She picked up her phone and tried calling another agent. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to talk to Megan Moore, please?” She identified herself to the secretary and hoped that the agent would take her call.

“This is Megan.” Kit Kat felt a glimmer of hope at the woman’s voice. “Hi, this is Katherine Townsend. I was an author with Antioch House, but I have a novel that doesn’t really fall in their parameters. I sent it to you last week…” Her voice trailed off.

“Is this that dowager book?” A rush of joy filled her. “Yes, The Independence of the Dowager of Langthrope! Yes!” The woman on the other line paused and Kit Kat felt her spirits fall a bit. “Yeah, I read it. I gotta tell you, some of those characters have GOT to go. That footman is the WORST!”

Kit Kat laughed, “Yes, I had added him on later to appease Antioch, but it wasn’t enough for them. I am working on a rewrite taking him back out, cleaning it up, you know…” The agent was quiet, so Kit Kat kept talking, “My sales with Antioch were really good.”

Megan interrupted her, “Not normal publisher good, but better than they usually get. Why’d they drop you?” Kit Kat froze. It hurt so bad to say it out loud. “Honestly, there were a couple of reasons, some of them my fault. Firstly, I got divorced and that doesn’t really work with their Christian image.” The agent agreed and Kit Kat could tell by her voice that she had a kindred spirit in that respect.

“Secondly, they wanted to marry the dowager off to the merchant and…” She shook her head at her own stubbornness. “I just couldn’t marry her off to him.” Megan replied, “I’m not going to lie to you, Katherine. A historical novel is difficult to sell if there’s not a romance or an adventure. I’m sure the dowager is going to have lots of adventures when she gets to India, but there sure isn’t one in this book.”

Kit Kat could see the dowager’s future as clear as day. The stately woman WOULD have many adventures in India if only she were given a chance. She had known that all along, but never addressed that possibility in the book. “What if Independence is the first in a series? I could rework Independence with elements of an adventure novel…” She ran out of ideas. Would her fop of a son try to kill her? That seemed highly out of character. How would she make Independence the first in a series of adventure novels? She had no idea where to start. All her novels had been very quiet and introspective. She felt lost and excited at the same time.

“Have you written the second one?” The agent brought her back to the present. “No…” Megan laughed, “You’re too honest. LIE to me and say you have outlines for seven adventure novels and I might be willing to take you on.” Kit Kat couldn’t lie, “I don’t have outlines, but I can write an outline for the next novel if that will help.” The woman clucked her tongue. “Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.”

They hung up and Kit Kat added a reminder in her calendar to call Megan in one week to see what she had decided. It was the most hopeful she had felt in over a month, and she immediately started working on the outline for The Indian Adventures of the Dowager of Langthrope.

A.S. rolled her eyes. “You can come in, but he’s really tired today. I don’t think you can talk to him, but I’ll ask.” She pointed at the couch and Kit Kat sat down and waited for her. She looked around the living room. It was a perfect room with no sign of the children who lived there. She suspected that the kids weren’t even allowed into that room and it was only used when people visited Tortimer and when the visiting home teachers came.

Her mother would have called it a frou frou room, even though it wasn’t frilly or fancy. She remembered the frou frou room in her parents’ house in Emigration. The fainting couch had been the focus of the room. Where was the fainting couch now? Was it one of the things that went to Ricky? She couldn’t remember and the thought of it made her sad. For a brief moment, she wondered what that ranger guy had done with the frou frou room. Even now, that thought of entering that room made her nervous as if her mother would come to her as a ghost and swat her behind for entering it.

The soft voices coming from Tortimer’s bedroom were unintelligible. A.S. left the room alone, shutting the door softly behind her. She whispered when she came back into the living room, “Sorry. He’s really not feeling well.”

Kit Kat sighed. In actuality, she wanted to talk to A.S., but had asked for Tortimer out of respect. “Well, that’s alright. I guess I’ll talk to him next week.” How could she approach the subject without offending A.S.? She laughed to herself. There’s no way NOT to offend A.S. No matter what she said, the woman would find some way to find offense. The thought was strangely liberating.

“Did you know that there is a secret cabal meeting every month at Mount Zen Cafe?” A.S. perked up at the knowledge. “Cable meeting? What, about Comcast? Man, they suck!” Kit Kat laughed. “No, CABAL…” She was going to define the word, but decided against it. “They were originally meeting because the Bowen House is weird and I crashed their party, so now they’re all embarrassed.”

A.S. smiled, secretively. “Well, they can’t talk about you behind your back, now, can they?” It was the exact response Kit Kat wanted. “No, now all they do is complain about you. I thought you’d want to join me next time they meet.” A.S. huffed. “Complain about me or about the mayor?”

Kit Kat shook her head and tried to commiserate, “That’s my problem exactly. No matter how often I remind them that YOU’RE not the mayor, they pretty much expect you to pick up the slack.” A.S. replied, “I do a shit load of paperwork for this town and I don’t even get paid for it.” Kit Kat nodded, trying to stay on A.S.’s good side. “I know, I know.”

She felt stuck. She didn’t know how to bring up the subject without hurting A.S.’s feelings. She tried to ease into it. “Maybe it’s time…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. A.S. folded her arms, eyes squinting at Kit Kat and waiting for the rest of her thought. Kit Kat continued, “Maybe he should step down.”

A.S. stood up and walked to the door. “Out of the question.” She opened the door and motioned to Kit Kat to leave, but she refused to get off the couch. “Come back here and talk to me. If you’re not willing to let them take away his mayoral title, then you’ve got to step up in a real way. You HAVE to be the mayor that Merriton needs if you want your dad to keep his dignity.” She could smell the rush of spring flood the house and she hoped her words weren’t skipping out the door into the wilds of Mount Zen.

A.S. stood with one hand on the door knob. “Time to go, Kit Kat.”

“Find a hippie that’s responsible,” Roscoe suggested. Both Moe and Samson laughed into their plates of food. Samson answered, “Responsible hippies don’t want to be camp hosts.” A couple of years ago, Roscoe lost Dean and MaryJane, the elderly couple who had been camp hosts for the Wildwood Campground. He hadn’t been able to find a couple to replace them and they had cycled through two or three single men in tents and broken down trailers every year.

Moe had his own axe to grind. “I don’t mind climbing Moose Hill, but there’s no point if the tank’s empty. Maybe we should’ve planned only one trip up this month, ‘cause there was nothin’ to haul down last week.” Moe had taken over Roscoe’s duties on Moose Hill. The climb up the mountain was difficult enough with a regular off-road vehicle, but Moe drove up the truck to siphon out the vault restrooms.

“That happens sometimes, but we still gotta check it.” Roscoe answered, but it wasn’t good enough for his ranger. “Why don’t we look and see how many camping sites were reserved and gauge how often we go up based on that?” Roscoe sighed. He had suggested the same thing to his own supervisor many years ago. “That doesn’t take into account the hikers that use ‘em.” He shuddered with the memory of his own experiment in different schedules. “Nothin’ worse than emptyin’ an overflowin’ toilet. I decided long time ago that it was worth the drive up there to avoid havin’ to clean up that mess.” He could almost smell the stench of it spoiling his breakfast.

Moe was unappeased and Roscoe had a flash of memory. Long ago, Jeff, his previous supervisor, had allowed him to create his own schedule for the toilets. After months of tweaking, he created what he considered the PERFECT schedule. Only after all that work did he notice how closely his schedule that he had worked so hard on matched the one that Jeff had created for him. He thought it was such a waste of time, but at the same time, he felt so grateful to Jeff for letting him decide on his own.

“Tell you what. It’s your job. You make the schedule you want. I’ll just trust ya to keep the toilets clean and emptied. If you wait too long, you gotta clean up the mess yerself, though. How’s that sound?” Roscoe saw Moe’s face light up. “Sure thing!” A wave of gratitude passed over Roscoe. Jeff had taught him far more than he had ever realized. He made a mental note to call the old guy.

He then focused on Samson. Not even Roscoe had an idea for the camp host problem. He had depended on Dean to monitor the campground and had never learned all of his tricks. He had allowed Samson the final decision for all the camp hosts. What should he do? “How are ya advertising for the job?”

The little guy squirmed in his seat. “Well, I tried that camp host site you talked about, but as far as I can tell, it’s just a spam site. The last guy answered a Craig’s List ad I put up.” Roscoe finished his eggs. “And why’d he leave?” Samson shook his head, blushing in shame. “He didn’t tell me. He just packed up and left in the middle of the night.” He looked confused. “I talked to him the morning before and he said something about being cold, but he didn’t say anything about leaving.”

Roscoe nodded. “Was it a cold night?” Samson shrunk away from him. “I don’t know.” Roscoe chuckled. “It’s mighty easy to sleep the night away in yer own house, huh?” Samson nervously laughed and Roscoe realized that he had been a little harsh on the guy. “You willing to be camp host for a bit? I could pick up your other duties if you do.”

The guy’s face changed. A flush of red lit up his forehead. He only got really flushed when he was really worried. He finally answered, “I’ve never camped before.” Roscoe and Moe looked at each other and laughed. Moe said, “Who ever heard of a ranger who’s never gone camping?” They continued to chuckle until they saw the embarrassment on Samson’s face.

“You hired me as a snow ranger.” He tried to defend himself, but Roscoe stopped him, “Don’t worry none. It’s just funny, that’s all. So, you don’t know anything ‘bout campin’, but you wanna learn?” Samson’s face turned funny. “I guess it’s not fair for me to ask these guys to do somethin’ I’ve never done myself. I’ll stay there, but only until I can hire a replacement.” A mischievous grin spread. “A good excuse to look at camping gear.”

Roscoe warned, “Just don’t get one o’ them propane tent heaters. They pretty much kill a family a year up here.” Samson nodded. “Don’t I know it. Part of the reason I don’t really want to camp up there. It’s cold. There’s no electricity at the camp host site and propane heaters would kill me.” He turned serious. “Honestly, Roscoe, it would be a lot easier for me to hire a camp host if the sites had electricity.”

Roscoe nodded. It had been the bane of his existence ever since Jeff had retired. The campers complained about it and he couldn’t keep a camp host because of it. Was there any money in that road budget that he could redirect for electricity? He couldn’t see that working because the road budget was so tight. “I know, Samson. I just haven’t been able to figure out how to get some power up there. We have the rights, but stringing the wire from the distribution poles is the expensive part.”

Moe chimed in, “You’re not really gonna make ‘im be camp host are ya?” He turned toward Samson. “Listen to me, as soon as that sun goes behind the mountain, it gets cold at night, even in the summer. You gonna freeze in your tent when your house is just a drive away?” A look of panic crossed over Samson’s face again. He looked at Roscoe, but it was Moe who spoke. “I think it’s time we used the iron ranger again. Just have ‘em pay at the booth and then Samson can empty it and make sure all the people campin’ paid like they should.”

Samson shook his head. “We need a camp host overnight, though. Remember when the pipes burst? That guy, what was his name? It doesn’t matter. He was able to turn off the water and keep the damage under control because he was there overnight.” Moe nodded. “And you ‘member WHY those pipes burst?” Samson began to answer, but Roscoe interrupted him, “Water freezes overnight sometimes. We all know that. We can’t buy you an RV, Samson, so Moe’s probably right. It’s too cold for anyone who’s tent campin’ to be camp host. You’re just gonna hafta find a camp host who’s gotta camper AND isn’t smokin’ dope all the time. Until then, we’ll use the iron ranger.”

The three of them finished their breakfasts, paid for their food and parted ways. He was amazed at how busy his life had become since Jeff had retired. “Haven’t seen Dora for days,” he thought to himself. And the stack of paintings in her little studio was starting to worry him.

Just as she had practiced, she paused, waiting for LoWanda’s response. It was so hard not to continue with her speech, but she felt as if the less she said, the better. She was negotiating for the integrity of her book. She had to be strong for the sake of the dowager. Kit Kat cringed at the thought of marrying her off to the merchant. She MUST be allowed to go to India unescorted and unattached.

LoWanda queried, “You’re returning your advance?” It was enough to launch Kit Kat into her speech, “I’m not willing to make the changes that you want to the story. I want out of my contract and I’ll shop the book around to ‘real’ publishers.” There it was. Her threat was out in the open, and she hoped that it would make them cave into her demands.

During the days after she sent the check, she fully contemplated what she was willing to do. She was willing to concede the Christian elements of the story as long as they were willing to keep her original ending. As long as the dowager was allowed to be independent, then she was willing to do the rewrites. Otherwise, she was fully willing to leave Antioch in search of a publisher who would respect her work.

The silence on the telephone, however, disconcerted her. There was no negotiating going on. It was just silent. She held her tongue. This was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Suddenly, everything she had thought was important about the book seemed silly. What did it matter if the dowager married the merchant? She was imaginary anyway. Kit Kat felt herself crumbling, but kept quiet.

LoWanda quietly started, “We had been considering cutting you loose…” Kit Kat was surprised by the answer. Her editor whispered into the phone, “As soon as they heard that you were getting divorced, they were going to drop you, but I convinced them to keep you on.” The fact that her Antioch House blurb had never been changed crystalized in her mind. They were embarrassed by her. Not only is she not Christian, but now she’s divorced.

“You just don’t represent their readers very well.” It was obvious that LoWanda did not feel the same, but had been trying to defend her. Kit Kat drew in a breath. “Returning the advance lets them cut you free without any regrets.” The revelation of it ran through her, but she was able to stay calm. “Then maybe it’s best if we stop working together. I want all rights to this book, LoWanda.” Her editor sighed, “I’m pretty sure I can get you those.”

She felt shell-shocked as she ended the phone call. It had been so easy to think about shopping around her book to other publishers when the check was in transit, but now that they had accepted her offer and cut her free, she felt lost. She had no idea how to shop her book around and all her past sales seemed pathetic and shallow to her now. She had been Antioch’s highest selling author and they were willing to let her leave because her husband had left her.

April was turning out to be a bad month.

She walked out of the Bowen House and headed over the Lancaster’s to visit Vesta. For the first time since she had moved to Merriton, she NEEDED to be with someone. No one answered at the door, though. She walked around the back and side yard, but she didn’t see Vesta or Elvis. She could smell the goats in the corral, but the sheep were no where nearby. She considered wandering the fields looking for both the sheep and her neighbors, but decided against it. They could be miles away.

John. She could go visit John, but the thought of it sounded hollow. He had seemed preternaturally obsessed with her books. She imagined he would be terribly disappointed to hear that she had lost her contract with Antioch. She didn’t want to take care of him. She needed someone to take care of her.

Dora. She wanted to talk to Dora, but she was teaching school right now. She couldn’t just go barging into the high school, crying and begging for her friend, could she? No, that would have to wait until after school got out.

She walked back to the house to get her car keys. She imagined just going for a drive, but the car directed itself to the ranger station. There were three pickups in the drive. One of them MUST be Roscoe’s. Kit Kat pulled onto the dirt in front of the station and walked into the building. She took in the fresh scent of the evergreens around her. It felt as if the entire mountain was entering her body through her nostrils.

The guy behind the counter had huge eyes. He looked as if he were an anime character and blinked at her. “Can I help you?” Kit Kat nodded. “Is Roscoe here?” The guy shook his head and called to the back. “Samson, can you come here?”

Suddenly, Kit Kat became aware of herself. Her clothing, her appearance and her hygiene snapped into focus. She was wearing a pair of sweats with her hair pulled into a sloppy bun. She hadn’t showered or even brushed her teeth that morning. None of that mattered when she was talking to LoWanda, hundreds of miles away, but now, she was incredibly self-conscious.

The small ranger came out of the back. “What is it, Moe?” The guy with the big eyes pointed at her. “This lady wants Roscoe.” Samson looked at her and his eyes softened. “Kit Kat.” He sounded genuinely happy to see her and smacked Moe on the shoulder. “This is Kit Kat, you dolt! She’s BOM. Give her some respect!”

BOM. She hadn’t heard that word for so long. It had meant something when she was a teenager. Locals Only was a catch phrase for many of the ski resorts, giving preferential treatment to the residents of Merriton and Emigration. But being BOM meant even more.

Moe shook his hands and taunted, “Born on the mountain.” He said the words again with a strange bitterness, “Born on the mountain. Makes no difference to me.” It was obvious, however, that it DID make a difference to him. He looked at her with a touch more reverence. “She wants to talk to Roscoe. I thought you could help her.”

Just listening to Samson and Moe argue with each other about the respect due to locals eased Kit Kat’s mind. What did Antioch House know about her? Didn’t they know that she was BOM? That MEANT something here and they could just kiss her BOM butt if they didn’t want her anymore.

“I would have been a lot easier to find if you hadn’t disconnected my phone. Or at least given me a heads up that you were going to do it.” She tried to suppress the bitterness as Dave tried to defend himself. “I kind of fell behind paying the phone bill. It wasn’t really fair for me to pay for both of our phones anyway.”

The hurt and anger from his abandonment spilled out of her. “Fair? What exactly is fair about you taking every scrap of furniture in our apartment?” His glib answer made her blood boil. “I got the furniture and you got the apartment. Totally fair. That was a great place. I don’t think I’ll ever find a rent-controlled apartment like that again. You got the better end of the deal if you ask me.”

She instantly regretted every moment she had spent over the last months wishing that he would come to his senses. Just the sound of his voice was enough to tell her that he was still miserable and she had a nagging feeling that he still blamed her for his own misery. “What do you want, Dave?”

She heard a slight hesitation. Did he want her back? Did she want him back? She felt as if that was the question she should be asking herself, but she knew that if he wanted her back that she would take him into her life again without a moment’s thought, despite the misery. He had promised to love her for the rest of his life. Was he now willing to make good on that promise?

“I just flew into the airport. I thought maybe you and I could talk.” She was confused for a moment and imagined that he had flown into the small airport on the outskirts of Emigration, floating down into the town in a biplane. Impossible, he must be Up North. “You mean you’re Up North?” He laughed nervously, “Yeah, I really need to see you.”

She could hear a ring of deception in his voice. He doesn’t want to see me. He HAS to see me. “I don’t know, Dave. It’s over an hour for me to drive up there.” If he’s so desperate to see me, he can drive all the way down to Merriton. “I don’t have a car. Can you just come up here?” She felt herself cave into him and they agreed upon the Roasters Coffee Shop near the airport.

She hopped into the shower and put on her best clothes. She had gained back some of the weight she lost when she came to Merriton because she was no longer suffering from never-ceasing diarrhea and stomach pain. Her clothes were still loose about her and she wished she had something that fit her form a bit closer.

As she left the bedroom, she passed the kitchen. Three copies of the divorce papers that Mira had sent her were stuffed into one of those kitchen cupboards. She paused in front of the cabinet, trying to decide whether she should bring them or not. Then she remembered that he took all their furniture and thought SHE got the better end of the deal. At least she knew those papers were looking out for her. She grabbed them before getting into the car.

“Thanks for meeting me here.” He looked exactly the same. She could see how the weight of misery had lined his face: the grooves in his forehead from the constant scowling and the etchings at the edges of his mouth, drooping down. There had been a time when she thought his misery was what made him interesting, but after so many years of being blamed for it, she could finally see him for who he was.

“How did you find me?” If he had only told her that he couldn’t pay the phone bill, she would have paid it for both of them. All it would have taken was one phone call. He laughed. “I called Antioch House and they gave me your new contact information. By the way, LoWanda says that they are still waiting for your chapter rewrites.” She nodded as if the rewrites were part of the normal writing process instead of a complete bastardization of her novel.

“So, how are you doing?” He asked her, sipping his coffee. She noticed that he hadn’t ordered her one. The scent of the coffee enticed her, but she was still avoiding any dairy and black coffee sounded bitter. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t want a coffee anyway, despite its inviting aroma. It didn’t matter that Dave didn’t order her one.

“You mean how am I doing since you walked out on me?” He shifted nervously. “Yeah. Did you find what you were looking for?” She couldn’t believe his flippant response. “What I was looking for? I’m not the one who went looking. How about you? Did you find what YOU were looking for?”

He smiled, still nervous. “Yes, I did.” He hid behind his paper coffee cup and, for a split second, she imagined punching at the cup, spilling the hot and sticky liquid all over his smug face. “So, you’re happy?” She saw the flash of misery cross his face again. It was so familiar to her that she was able to recognize it, even though it was only there for a moment. “Yes, I am. She’s wonderful, Katherine.”

He wants a divorce.

She realized with finality that he had flown into town to get her to sign divorce papers. He went on talking about how happy this new girl made him, but she KNEW with every fiber of her being that he was lying. Whether he was lying to himself or to her, she couldn’t tell, but she knew that he hadn’t conquered his misery. He had merely placed his faith in a different external hope. She felt such a profound grief for this new girl, and there was no way she could warn her.

Kit Kat stood up and headed to her car without a word to Dave. She had always told herself that if he wanted a divorce, he would have to deal with it, but she had been wrong. Mira had been right and she was so grateful that she brought the manilla envelope with her.

“Where are you going?” He followed her out of the coffee shop and to her car. She held up the envelope. “I have divorce papers here. We’re going to find a notary and sign them.” He shook his head. “No need. I had some papers made up for us.” He produced his own, holding them up. She didn’t even need to read them to know that she was not going to sign them.

“You want this divorce? Then, you’re going to sign MY papers or I’m going to sue you for abandonment.” She had no idea what she was saying. She was merely parroting back what Mira had said so many times in a desperate effort to get her to pay attention. “How would your new little girlfriend like a long, drawn-out and messy divorce?” She hissed at him.

A glimpse of worry crossed his face and Kit Kat realized that he hadn’t told his girlfriend that he was married. He had just picked up his life as a single man without a single thought about her until this girl had pressured him to marry her. She knew at that moment that he would sign whatever she put in front of him and she sincerely hoped that Mira had been just as ruthless as she said she was going to be.

Random McCain: You there?

Samson Tso: Yeah. I’m almost done with that bug ticket. I think I’ve narrowed it down.

Random McCain: I heard a rumor.

Samson Tso: Is it about me?

Random McCain: Kind of. I heard from Sierra, who heard from Mira, who heard from Kit Kat that she had a fight with John.

Samson Tso: Wow. With that many people spreading rumors, it’s sure to be true.

Random McCain: Is it?

Samson Tso: I heard from Bree that they had a fight. She was in her bedroom at the time, so I guess that’s first-hand, right?

Random McCain: You’re not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?

Samson Tso: I do ten stupid things a day. You’ll have to be more specific.

Samson had sincerely thought about visiting Kit Kat, but now, he was in an even stickier situation. If he didn’t want to be the rebound guy after Kit Kat’s divorce, did he really want to be the rebound guy after John? There was no way he could compete with that hulking blond. The guy looked like he should be on a German propaganda poster.

Samson Tso: You there?

Random McCain: Yeah, just waiting for you.

Samson Tso: Sierra threw a DVD case at my head. I’m still kinda pissed off about that.

Random McCain: Soft plastic. It bounced nicely. No blood.

Samson Tso: She throw things at you?

Random McCain: All the time.

Samson Tso: Uncool.

When he thought about Sierra throwing that DVD case at his head, he felt guilty and angry. In some respects, he felt like he deserved it, but at the same time, he felt as if no one deserved to have things thrown at them. If she did that to Random all the time, then he felt a profound sadness for his friend.

Random McCain: You still there?

Samson Tso: Yeah.

Random McCain: You’re not going to ask her out on a date, are you?

Samson Tso: Thinking about it.

Random McCain: I never forgave Mira for dumping you like that.

Samson Tso: Me neither.

Random McCain: This isn’t some revenge thing, is it?

Samson Tso: Hell no!

Random McCain: If Mira thought it was all right to dump you like that, won’t Kit Kat be the same? They’re sisters. Raised by the same parents. Bad genes or something. How good of a woman can she be if her sister was so bad?

Samson didn’t want to think about Mira. He wanted somehow to separate the sisters from each other, hoping that if he just didn’t think about their relationship, he wouldn’t have to accept that maybe Kit Kat would put him through the same pain as her sister had.

Random McCain: Kevin? You there?

Random McCain: Hello?

John took a deep breath. She noticed his nervousness. “I tried to call, but your phone doesn’t work.” He paused as she shook her head. “My phone works fine.” She pulled it out of her purse. For the first time in weeks, she actually LOOKED at her phone. Not the wi-fi signal or the email, but at the phone signal. How many bars? None. It said, “No Service.” That’s funny. It worked… She tried to remember when the last time she had actually spoken on it.

“I was worried that maybe you disconnected it so you wouldn’t have to talk to me. Valentine’s Day was kinda…” He paused. She flinched with guilt, remembering her behavior on that holiday. “About that…” What could she say to make it better? “I didn’t actually notice that the book used to be my mom’s. That was actually a really nice gift. I’m sorry.”

She hoped that her apology would be enough, but there was still something wrong. John continued, “The more time I was alone, the more I realized that I shouldn’t be datin’ you at all. You ain’t even legally divorced yet and if you was, you still should be in mourning.” The word seemed foreign to her situation. John kept talking, “I figure a divorce is like a death, so you should be in mourning for a year, wearin’ weeds and all.”

She looked at him, “Weeds? You think I should be wearing widow’s weeds?” The archaic term brought to mind the simple garments and dark, muted colors of mourning that a widow would be required to wear in the Victorian Era. She was quite familiar with them from her novels, but the thought that he might be holding her to Victorian standards of decency was appalling to her.

“Should I be wearing a veil as well? What about lace or jewelry? Am I allowed to wear that?” She stood up and paced a bit, walking over to the fireplace and, suddenly, she noticed how similar this house was to the Bowen House. Above the mantel, they had a old landscape print that had faded from its many years in the house. She thought, absentmindedly, that one of Dora’s paintings would look good there. “What about voting? Am I allowed to vote?”

John looked confused. She could tell that he was scared to answer. “What?” She lifted up her hands in a shrug and the tall, blond guy tried his best to answer. “I don’t know. I just think that it’s a sin for me to be datin’ you if you aren’t divorced.” Kit Kat folded her arms. “A sin? You DO know that I don’t believe in God, don’t you?”

John swallowed uncomfortably. He mumbled, “Just fallen away from the faith, that’s all.” Kit Kat shook her head and folded her arms. “No. I never believed in God. In fact, that’s what makes me such a great religious writer. Christian novels are like Sci-Fi, except instead of creating a world based on science, I create a world in which the universe actually conforms to Christian morality rather than reality.”

Despite her anger, something about this argument seemed wrong. The problem was, what he was saying was correct. What would she do if Dave showed up in Merriton, wanting reconciliation, just like she hoped? Would she have to explain her behavior to him? Would she feel guilty about the dinner at Chili’s or the night beating John at bowling? She tried to imagine herself with Dave again, but he seemed so far away.

She held up her hands. “Maybe you’re right.” She walked over to the coat rack and John popped up off the couch to help her. “I’ll see you in a year.” She snapped at him and walked out the door. She pulled her phone out of her purse again. No Service, it said.

“I wanted to talk to you and Curly in private.” At her words, Angie shut the door, turned the lock and switched the neon sign off in one graceful movement. Kit Kat took her dinner plate to the clean up station. She scraped her food and the napkin into the garbage and dropped the dishes in the bin. When she turned around, she saw Curly furtively watching her from the kitchen. She rated the likeliness of him coming out of the kitchen to talk with the two of them and evaluated that he would probably just listen from there.

“Well, I gotta clean tables.” Angie walked out of the dining area into the back kitchen and returned with two buckets: one with soapy water and the other with fresh. “I hate sticky tables.” Kit Kat nodded. “I’m helping A.S. with Onion Days.” She saw Curly, in the kitchen, nod and fold his arms, looking at his wife. Angie replied, “Have fun. Hope she doesn’t bite your head off.”

Kit Kat laughed, “Yeah, I’m pretty much expecting her to bite my head off every time I see her. Knowing it’s going to happen makes it sting less when it does.” Angie scrubbed the table harder, running her bare fingers along the wood, checking for stickiness. Kit Kat wondered why she didn’t cover the tables with glass or get tables with vinyl tops that were easy to clean.

She scanned the dining room. It looked the same as it had looked for years. Kit Kat remembered coming to this cafe long ago when it was run by Angie’s aunt. What was her name? She couldn’t remember. She remembered coming here when she was a teenager and Angie was just working as a waitress. Nothing about it had changed and it felt so comfortable and warm because everything was the same, right down to those wooden tables.

Kit Kat said, “You should help us.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Curly nod and look at his wife desperately. Suddenly, she realized that she didn’t need to convince Angie. She had an ally in Curly. All she had to do was make it appealing enough to him to break his silence.

“I’m sick of ‘er getting all the credit. I’m not doin’ it anymore.” Angie wiped the table clean with fresh water and tested the table with her fingertips again. She seemed appeased and moved on to the next table. “Onion Days isn’t about A.S. It’s about MERRITON. Our town. Our history.” She saw Curly’s head shake ever so slightly, his hand running over his big, bald head. Wrong approach, she thought to herself, think, think!

“You been letting Elvis muck about in your brain? I’m not gonna help her.” Kit Kat nodded quickly, trying to think of the proper thing to say. “Okay, you don’t have any patriotism for Merriton. I understand that. Strange choice for someone who wants to be the mayor, but I’ll give you that.” Curly’s head was still shaking, unaware that Kit Kat was watching him. What did he think? That the kitchen pass through had one-way glass?

Angie scrubbed away at the table, not acknowledging Kit Kat’s dig at her ambitions. When Kit Kat had rehearsed this conversation in her mind, she had highlighted Angie’s duty to the town. Now that the patriotism angle had been shot down, she felt lost. She smelled the bleach in the water and tried to think of a different angle. Curly was pacing in the kitchen. What do people want? They want fame and money. Angie felt like she wasn’t getting enough credit for working on Onion Days and there was no way that Kit Kat could convince her otherwise. Could she offer her money?

“It’s a great advertising campaign…” At her words, Curly turned toward the window, nodding and focusing on Angie’s response. She was onto something there. Scrambling, she ran with the idea, “In exchange for your help, we could give you a booth, advertising the cafe.” She stood up and pointed out the window. “We could position the booth in front of the cafe, so all those hungry people at Onion Days could come HERE to eat. Just think of the profit you’d make in that one day.”

Curly pointed at Kit Kat and nodded. The movement was so distracting that she looked right at him and the two of them locked eyes for a moment. He ducked back into the kitchen and out of her sight, but she felt as if she had gained an ally. Angie had stopped scrubbing the table she was working on. Her fingers absent-mindedly ran along the grain of the wood. They found some sticky spot on their own and tapped at it. She grabbed the soapy brush and started scrubbing at the table again, bringing a rush of chlorine to Kit Kat’s nostrils.

“I could buy a booth of my own. All I gotta do is pay the five hundred bucks.” Curly’s surprised face popped into view again and Kit Kat nearly laughed at him. She kept her cool, however, “Why pay the money when you can get the booth for free? Plus, a booth right THERE,” she pointed out the window again, “is a corner booth. It’d be worth six hundred.” She lowered her voice, trying her best to convince with finesse, “You’ve got more time than money. Why don’t you spend a little of your time instead of a LOT of your money?”

Kit Kat looked up at Curly and the two of them exchanged a look that told her that Angie was going to help with Onion Days, no matter what she said right now.

“Sit down here and I’ll get him.” She pointed at a couch and Kit Kat took a seat. A.S. walked down the hall and opened one of the bedroom doors. She could hear soft voices from the room. A.S. exited first, backwards, rolling an oxygen tank. Tortimer followed her and Kit Kat’s blood turned cold.

He was OLD.

Tortimer had always seemed old, afflicted with osteoporosis in his middle age, he had been slumped over like a turtle for as long as Kit Kat could remember. But now, she shuddered, he wasn’t just old. He was most certainly dying. The thought of it made her feel a profound sadness as if part of Merriton itself were dying.

The slow progress to the living room was finally achieved with a strained bending into a La-Z-Boy chair that looked like it had been purchased in 1973. It’s black leather was shiny from years of butts and arms rubbing against it, while other spots were held together with duct tape.

Once he was situated, he smiled at Kit Kat. “My, my, Katherine! You’ve grown up to be a big girl. Andrea tells me you want to talk about Onion Days.” He heaved his words in asthmatic puffs. “Nothin’ pleases me more than seein’ people get involved with our traditions.” She didn’t really know what to say. Somehow, she thought that she wouldn’t be allowed an audience with Tort and would have to talk to A.S. instead.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Mayor. From what I’ve heard, last year didn’t go so well. I wanted to make sure this year is better.” The old man smiled and nodded. “These things go in cycles, Katherine. Things grow and they decline until the younger generation steps in to help ‘em grow again.” His smile lit up the room, despite the smell of adult diapers.

Kit Kat looked over at A.S. The woman’s look of love directed at her father, surprised Kit Kat. Their interactions had been so hard and aggressive that she had forgotten that A.S. was just a little girl, looking for the approval of her father. “Well, sir, I’m one of those willing to help Onion Days grow again. What can I do?”

Tortimer tried to stand up, but his weak arms failed him. A.S. shot out of her own chair and helped him stand. The old man turned to Kit Kat, “I’m glad to know you’re willin’ to help. I’ll let Andrea fill you in on the details.” He spoke directly to A.S., “You give her a choice of what she wants to be in charge of since she’s the first to volunteer this year, you hear?” A.S. responded, “Yes, Papa.”

Tort turned back to Kit Kat, “It was nice talkin’ to you, Katherine. I’m sure you’ll do well.” He ever so slowly inched his way back to his bedroom while his daughter followed him with the oxygen tank. After a few moments inside the room, A.S. returned, closing his door.

“Let me walk you to your car.” She led Kit Kat out the front door and the two of them stepped off the patio. A.S. was the first to speak, “I still hate you.” Kit Kat laughed, “Back at you, bitch.” She couldn’t hide the mirth in her eyes. The fact that A.S. was so very honest with her, made Kit Kat like her all the more.

“Thanks for asking for him.” A.S. looked both ways, as if the barely budding trees would hear her and spread the word to the rest of the town. “Everyone acts like he’s already dead and they just come to me about issues with the town.” She folded her arms and shivered, coatless, in the chilly spring. The snow hadn’t fully melted yet and there was a pile of it on the north side of the house.

“Can’t tell you how angry I was last time Elvis came here, scolding me about something or other.” She lowered her voice. “I’m NOT the mayor. My dad is. Stop acting like he’s dead!” Kit Kat held her tongue. Seeing the effort it took for the mayor to come out of his bedroom just to see her had been enough for her to never ask for him again, but she saw now that was wrong. If she was going to volunteer for Onion Days, she was going to ALWAYS ask to see Tortimer, if only for A.S.’s sake.

“I just want it to go well this year, but I can’t do it all on my own.” Kit Kat nodded at her and tried to think what she could do to help. “I want it to go well, too, but I have NO idea what I’m doing, so I’m going to just do whatever you ask me to.” A.S. nodded, shivering. “Cool.” She turned back toward the house.

“Wait,” Kit Kat stopped her. She couldn’t let her leave without one more thing. “I wanted to thank you about the advice to cut out the wheat and dairy. It really helped me.” A.S. smiled rudely and replied, “So I smelled.” She turned away and went back into the house without a goodbye.