driveway.
The girl followed a few paces behind. They stood looking at the garden with wilting yellowy plants and bare cracked earth.
“So this is it. Pretty sad, huh?” James said, motioning to his garden plot.
“I like your rock,” she said, pointing at the pinkish-white quartz in the middle of the garden.
“It’s the only thing I can’t kill.”
She laughed. “You definitely need some mulch.”
“What kind of mulch should I use?”
“Don’t matter. I would just take leaves from the woods. That’ll keep the soil from dryin’ out.”
James nodded. “I’m so dumb. I mean, I mulched my trees. Why wouldn’t I think to mulch the garden? Where did you learn to garden?”
“My grammy taught me to garden and cook when I was little.”
“Do you see her much?”
“She died.” The girl frowned.
“I’m sorry.”
She was blank-faced.
“What about your parents?” James asked.
“I should prob’ly get back,” she said.
“I just realized you never told me your name.”
“I’m Brittany.”
“It was nice to meet you, Brittany. Feel free to visit anytime. And thank you for all the expert advice.”
She flashed a small grin and marched back to the trail.
* * *
James sat on a stool at the end of the shiny countertop, finishing his coffee. Jessica attended to a trucker a few stools down from him. The police officers, Kurt’s father and brother, stood from their corner booth. James glanced over. Every Monday night. Same time, same place .
The old man tapped on the counter with his large gold ring as he passed Jessica. “Be good, girl,” he said before exiting the diner.
Does anything change in this town?
James finished his coffee, thanked Jessica, and left a generous tip. He started his truck and headed home. Shortly after leaving the diner, a car pulled behind him, headlights illuminating his rearview mirror. His stomach turned at the sight of the police car tailing him. He watched his speed and observed every traffic signal. The police officer tailgated him but did not turn on his flashing lights or his siren. They drove for ten minutes like this. James was nervous as he turned down the secluded gravel road that led to his cabin. They continued down the dark road for a few minutes. Finally, the officer turned on his blue and red lights.
James stopped his truck and cut the engine. The blue and red lights circled, and a bright white spotlight pierced the cab of his truck. He leaned over and fumbled through the glove box for his insurance and registration. The officer tapped James’s window with a lit flashlight.
“Roll down your window,” the officer said.
James obliged, setting his documentation on the seat next to him. The officer shone his flashlight in the cab, snooping with his eyes. James recognized him as the younger cop from the diner. His gold name tag read D. Strickland. Despite his bird beak, thinning hair, and faded acne scars, he was relatively handsome.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance,” Officer Strickland said.
James handed him his documentation. The officer took the papers and walked back to his cruiser without a word. Ten minutes later, the officer returned and handed James his documents.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asked.
“No,” James replied.
“Where you headed?”
“You should know that. You spent ten minutes looking at my address.”
Officer Strickland smacked the truck door with his flashlight. James jolted upright in his seat. The officer grinned. “You better watch your mouth, boy. I said, ‘Where you headed?’”
“Home.”
“Now was that so hard? People always gotta be so damn hardheaded. And why are you drivin’ on my roads at ten on a Monday night?”
James gritted his teeth. “I have class until 8:30. I did some paperwork, then I went to Dot’s Diner for dinner. Now I’m on my way home.”
“I know you’re new around here, so I’ll fill you in on a couple things. First off, people here
The girl followed a few paces behind. They stood looking at the garden with wilting yellowy plants and bare cracked earth.
“So this is it. Pretty sad, huh?” James said, motioning to his garden plot.
“I like your rock,” she said, pointing at the pinkish-white quartz in the middle of the garden.
“It’s the only thing I can’t kill.”
She laughed. “You definitely need some mulch.”
“What kind of mulch should I use?”
“Don’t matter. I would just take leaves from the woods. That’ll keep the soil from dryin’ out.”
James nodded. “I’m so dumb. I mean, I mulched my trees. Why wouldn’t I think to mulch the garden? Where did you learn to garden?”
“My grammy taught me to garden and cook when I was little.”
“Do you see her much?”
“She died.” The girl frowned.
“I’m sorry.”
She was blank-faced.
“What about your parents?” James asked.
“I should prob’ly get back,” she said.
“I just realized you never told me your name.”
“I’m Brittany.”
“It was nice to meet you, Brittany. Feel free to visit anytime. And thank you for all the expert advice.”
She flashed a small grin and marched back to the trail.
* * *
James sat on a stool at the end of the shiny countertop, finishing his coffee. Jessica attended to a trucker a few stools down from him. The police officers, Kurt’s father and brother, stood from their corner booth. James glanced over. Every Monday night. Same time, same place .
The old man tapped on the counter with his large gold ring as he passed Jessica. “Be good, girl,” he said before exiting the diner.
Does anything change in this town?
James finished his coffee, thanked Jessica, and left a generous tip. He started his truck and headed home. Shortly after leaving the diner, a car pulled behind him, headlights illuminating his rearview mirror. His stomach turned at the sight of the police car tailing him. He watched his speed and observed every traffic signal. The police officer tailgated him but did not turn on his flashing lights or his siren. They drove for ten minutes like this. James was nervous as he turned down the secluded gravel road that led to his cabin. They continued down the dark road for a few minutes. Finally, the officer turned on his blue and red lights.
James stopped his truck and cut the engine. The blue and red lights circled, and a bright white spotlight pierced the cab of his truck. He leaned over and fumbled through the glove box for his insurance and registration. The officer tapped James’s window with a lit flashlight.
“Roll down your window,” the officer said.
James obliged, setting his documentation on the seat next to him. The officer shone his flashlight in the cab, snooping with his eyes. James recognized him as the younger cop from the diner. His gold name tag read D. Strickland. Despite his bird beak, thinning hair, and faded acne scars, he was relatively handsome.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance,” Officer Strickland said.
James handed him his documentation. The officer took the papers and walked back to his cruiser without a word. Ten minutes later, the officer returned and handed James his documents.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asked.
“No,” James replied.
“Where you headed?”
“You should know that. You spent ten minutes looking at my address.”
Officer Strickland smacked the truck door with his flashlight. James jolted upright in his seat. The officer grinned. “You better watch your mouth, boy. I said, ‘Where you headed?’”
“Home.”
“Now was that so hard? People always gotta be so damn hardheaded. And why are you drivin’ on my roads at ten on a Monday night?”
James gritted his teeth. “I have class until 8:30. I did some paperwork, then I went to Dot’s Diner for dinner. Now I’m on my way home.”
“I know you’re new around here, so I’ll fill you in on a couple things. First off, people here
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