Secret Desire(16)

What would an estate salesperson get for the things in the house? Probably no more than pennies for worn-out possessions that should be donated. There was nothing modern, nothing that made life more convenient than necessary. Only things with sentimental value, the type without a price tag, and more than likely Fran would want to throw it all away.

Claire pushed open the front door, patting her messenger bag for her jump drive. The fog still hung close to the ground across the fields. Claire tossed her bag onto the passenger seat. The lights were on next door. Did they stay on all night or was Dustin up and about? He’d always been an early riser. Hadn’t they found time alone on many a morning? Stop, she told herself and put the car into drive and floored the gas pedal.

Her staff writing piece was due at Ethos by five in the morning, Seattle time. Her parents’ house sat out in the country, surrounded by hay, corn, and alfalfa. Same crops made up Dustin’s parents’ land. Out here, miles from town, her parents’ refusal to be part of the Wi-Fi world made sense. Their last attempt to join modern society was to convert an acre of land into growing organics and medicinal herbs. The ultimate conservatives had gone a little liberal considering the community farms springing up all over the country. She didn’t want to see the plots go to weed. Her mother’s gardens stood in neat rows, brightly colored flowers edged the stepping stone walkway. So carefully planted and tended. She pressed her lips with no solution in sight.

She headed off toward Highway 9, a two-lane street that fed into downtown Mill Spring. For all its small-town appearance, Starbucks and an all-night copy center had found their way into existence along with a couple of strip malls, a movieplex, and a smattering of upscale restaurants.

She had the copier’s address keyed into her GPS and pulled into the parking lot within fifteen minutes of leaving home.

Claire walked up to the only clerk. “Good morning, I’d like to use the Internet.”

“The kiosk is self-serve.” The young man pointed at a corner over his shoulder. “You just need a credit card.”

“Right.” The place was empty.

He slipped his pen behind his ear and leaned over the desk. “So, are you new in town?”

“No.” She pushed her card into the slot, pressed her lips together, and inhaled.

He followed her into the kiosk area. “I don’t remember seeing you before.”

Either he was lonely, bored, or trying to hit on her.

“Sorry, I’m trying to work right now.” She glanced at him and then back to the computer screen.

“Me too.” He was apparently irritated at her disinterest.

She sighed and tried to concentrate by ignoring his continual movement in the kiosk. Not easy as he spoke loudly to himself and slammed trash bins in and out from under each desk.

Claire retrieved the story from her USB storage device. So far, she’d published a piece each week as a salaried staff writer. The pay was next to nothing, her job only a stepping stone position. Easy to let go.

The icon stopped scrolling and she opened her email account. She wrote a short email.



Mike,



Here’s the piece about Pauline Rivers, the independent mayoral candidate, growing up within the culture of Seattle. I used the 2010 census figures on race, ethnicity, and age along with the ideas about gentrification of Seattle, outlining displacement of minorities. The graphics department has photographs to add concerning the less affluent areas Rivers addresses in her platform, such as King County and Pierce County. Let me know if you want to include the section about the suburbs from the north and east, featuring more affluent areas (where Rivers grew up) that actually hold the most promise for diversity. I’ll know more about my timeline here when I meet with the attorney and find out what needs to be done.



Take care,

Claire.



She signed off and mumbled a thanks over her shoulder to the still grumbling clerk before heading out the door.

The town was quaint and colorful compared with Columbus. Few cars were on the road. The business district was about a mile to the north and, more than likely, what little traffic the area had would be located over there.

Claire decided to hit the Starbucks for some real coffee before going home and tackling the first chore of cleaning out the fridge, pantry, and kitchen cabinets. She took a detour through town. The diner where she and Fran had hung out as kids was still in business. The pet store where she’d worked was gone, as was the community swimming pool. The high school was twice the size it had been when she’d graduated and was still undergoing renovations.

She eased back onto Highway 9 and drove toward the house with her windows down. Several farms had sold out to planned communities. She decided to take Hollenbrook, an old road with sections of dirt and gravel that looped around and came out just a few blocks from home. A mile of Hollenbrook had been turned into a two-lane street that intersected the new suburban neighborhoods. She did a double take at one planned community that boasted a golf course and a gated entrance. She was a tourist in her hometown. What would she find if she left again and didn’t return for another couple of years?