Liam noted none of it. He drove, his senses closed to all but piloting the truck.
It was shortly before noon when Tallston came into view. When the Chevy crested the last hill before the town, he wasn’t prepared; even with the sickening pulse of grief in his stomach, the sight still moved something inside him.
The city sat at the bottom of a depression, its left side hugged tight by a line of bluffs that soared a hundred feet above the town in some places. The muddy twist of the Mississippi flowed opposite the bluffs, hemming in the town with its curves. The city sprawled in a general crescent shape, its design embedded in the natural surroundings. It was as if the first settlers had wanted the city to blend with nature instead of declaring its blaring progressive presence, which was common in other towns of its size. The city’s name itself came from the sentinel bluffs. Tall Stone became shortened, robbed of its phonetic history by hurried tongues. At least that’s what Allen had told Liam when he’d opened his practice here twenty years ago.
Liam sighed as the truck coasted down the steep hill and into the outskirts of town, past a sign that declared, Welcome to Tallston, the jewel of Minnesota. A few yards after the greeting, another sign stood in the high grass beside the road, this one smaller yet still imposing with slanted letters that blazed against a black background: Future home of Colton Inc. Where industry meets nature. LIES was spray-painted in dripping white letters across the lower half of the company’s message.
The road wound around two corners and fell away once more, and Liam stretched his jaw, surprised at the feeling of his ears popping from the descent. A few homes dotted the sides of the road, their fronts obscured by thick growths of trees and hedges. Soon the highway became Main Street, a long, curving swath that cut the town into halves, which were divided in cross sections by multiple side roads shooting off left and right in between the businesses that studded the blocks.
Liam slowed the truck to a crawl as he entered the street—“the drag,” his brother had called it once. Tallston knew its place as a tourist locale, and kept its buildings in check, not allowing much room for trend. Instead, the colors and architecture reminded Liam of a golden era long since passed, when tail-finned Studebakers might have cruised on a warm Saturday night, numerous elbows cocked from the windows, with the occasional catcall issuing from within whenever a pretty girl in a poodle skirt passed by. On the left side, the glass windows of a bakery displayed cakes and brightly colored cookies. Beside it was a nail salon, a hardware store named Brenton’s, and what looked to be a conglomeration of businesses boxed together into one storefront with a sign proclaiming The Square. On the right was a drugstore, a long textile mill, a dentist’s office, and a small café nestled next to an overbearing two-story stone building with no lettering on its front.
Liam pulled into a parking space in front of the café and shut the truck off. Despite the roiling in his stomach, he knew he should eat and his coffee was long gone. He let his hands fall to his lap and rest there while he studied the people making their way along the sidewalk beside the storefronts. Their garish clothing screamed tourist, just as the town around them echoed the same.
Liam climbed out of the Chevy and pocketed the keys after locking the truck. When he pulled open the door to the café, the smells of cooking food and aged wood surrounded him. The eatery was narrow and long, with several booths lining its right side. A row of tables sat to the left, and at the far end a bar ran parallel to the back wall, the red upholstered stools before it showing their age with wisps of cushion poking through in various places. One booth held a couple drinking coffee, and a lone man in a long threadbare coat sat at the bar. Liam made his way between the tables and booths until he reached the counter, and took a seat several spots down from the man in the coat. A waitress in black dress pants and a black polo looked up from reading a newspaper and smiled.
“Good morning . . . or afternoon?”
Liam nodded and tried to return the smile. “Afternoon now, I think.”
She grabbed a menu from beneath the counter and slid it before him. “Well, we serve breakfast all day if you haven’t had any yet, and our special is roast beef covered in gravy with mashed potatoes and a fresh garden salad. Would you like anything to drink?”
“Coffee, please,” Liam said, and looked down at the menu. The descriptions and pictures of the food designed to entice only made his stomach seesaw. When the waitress placed the cup of dark, steaming liquid before him, he slid the menu back to her. “I’ll just have the club sandwich.” With a nod, she retreated to the kitchen doors and disappeared from view.