The day had been hotter than usual, even for July. Local residents sat here and there in whatever snatches of shade they could find, craning their heads to catch a breeze, occasionally engaging in conversation until the heat-induced fatigue made conversation more of a burden than it was really worth. There were less than a hundred people in this town. They all knew everything about each other. What was there left to talk about?
The sun was starting to seriously contemplate the western horizon. It was closing time, but most of the shop owners continued to hang around the front doors, wistfully watching the traffic roll by on the distant interstate, hoping for just one or two more sales from the weekenders heading up into the nearby mountains.
The barber saw her first. She was petite, with long, dark hair, pale skin, and a look on her face that suggested she had been hit over the head and wasn't happy about it. The girl looked to be about twelve or thirteen. Her family was new to the area, and the locals were eager to learn all about them, but they spent most of their time in the city at their jobs or at the expensive private school with the French-sounding name that most of the locals couldn't hope to pronounce. The father did something with farm science, so the rumors went, which was the only explanation for why a rich city-slicker scientist would buy a defunct farm and uproot his family to live there.
The barber watched her as she drew closer. From the hunch in her shoulders, and the way she kicked at the ground, he could tell she wasn't feeling well. He narrowed his eyes, noticing that she seemed to have some swelling on her face. Had she been beaten? Was she being abused? Should he talk to someone, like the sheriff?
No, he needed to let it be. The last time he'd gotten involved in what he thought was an abuse case, it turned out that the wife was the one doing the beating on herself, so she could sue her husband out of his money and run away with her secret boyfriend. No way was he going to involve himself in something like that again. But his heart went out to this girl. He himself had been beaten by his father on a regular basis, and he knew what it was like. He shook his head and went back into his shop to find his broom.
The grocer saw her next. He kept one suspicious eye on her while sorting out bad fruit from the front display. Her hands were jammed into her pockets, and she kept her gaze down, but he noticed a few furtive looks here and there. A delinquent, almost certainly, coming into town to hunt for the perfect opportunity for a five-fingered discount on some hapless storekeeper. It was something of a tradition for the kids around here to dare each other to test his observation skills, and he wasn't going to let the new kid in town get the best of him.
Everyone knew city kids had no morals, no manners, and no compunctions about stealing from the hard-working folk in farm country. He kept his head turned roughly in her direction, watching without really looking, until she had passed by. With a snort of derision, he went to empty the ruined fruit into the pig trough out back.
The sheriff's deputy was just coming out to his patrol car when he spotted her. He had been out of town for some training for the last few months, and had never seen her before. He frowned, watching her as she walked along the road, shoving her dark hair away from her face now and then, not paying a bit of attention to the people around her. Was she lost? Running away? Was she an accident victim wandering in from the interstate? No, that couldn't be it, or she would show some kind of trauma. Her face did look rather swollen... but if she needed help, wouldn't she ask him?
His radio squawked and he had to hurry off. Some crazy speeder out on the highway risking life and limb. He hurried into his car and sped off down the road, still watching the girl in his rearview mirror. When he returned, he would have to look for her. Something just wasn't quite right with that situation, and he was duty-bound to find out what it was.
The librarian was just finishing her usual cleaning of the door glass when she saw the girl. She was curious... she had noticed the child a few times before, but she never went to school, never came to the library, didn't seem to have any interest in learning at all. In this state, it was perfectly okay to homeschool your children... unless she went to some kind of private school? Maybe that was it... the woman vaguely recalled meeting the girl's brother at one time, and he said something about a school project. She hoped that this girl did indeed attend school. She looked so lost and sad. What she needed were some friends, and a few good books. And a library card. The next time she saw the girl, she would have to do something about it. Picking up her glass cleaner, she went into the library and started to straighten up the shelves.
* * *
Marissa followed the dusty old road into town, absently kicking up dust here and there, inwardly composing the perfect diatribe of curse words to level at her idiot brother when he finally came home from school with his horrid little friends. This was the third time in a month that he had failed to put gas in the car after borrowing it, and she was livid when she found it with an empty tank. Since their family lived five thousand miles from the middle of nowhere, the car was necessary for just about every daily task, and he just didn't seem to get it through his head that there was only one gas station nearby, and she didn't have time or energy to have to constantly walk to town to fill up the gas town.
She certainly wasn't going to do it today. Lifting her hand to her cheek, she absently rubbed it with a wince. The dentist had not been kind, and the anesthetic was already wearing off. Her jaw throbbed as if a major-leaguer had swung a grand slam across her poor face. All she wanted to do was take a pill and crawl into bed in her nice, air-conditioned room. But thanks to her moron of a brother, she had to walk to town to get her medicine.
At long last, she reached the pharmacy and went inside. At the back, behind the rows of geriatric supplies and suppositories, she saw the counter where her uncle worked. She flopped onto a bar stool and tried to smile, but it just hurt too much. "Hi, Uncle Ted."
He gave her a look of utmost sympathy. "Hey, kiddo. I got the fax from Dr. Dawson, here's your pills. And some water. Take one now before you fall down; I'll drive you home, so don't worry about being drowsy."
She seized the water and gulped the pill down, grimacing as some of the water spilled on her shirt. Oh well, it was hot, and that's why some genius had invented the washing machine.
Ted took the empty glass from her and shook his head. "I hope you've learned your lesson about chewing ice now, young lady. Your mother warned you I don't know how many times."
She rolled her eyes and nodded. "I know. From now on, the only ice I ever want to see is the stuff I put on my face. Speaking of which--"
He handed her a plastic bag full of frozen cubes, which she pressed to her jaw with a sigh of relief. Laughing at the look on her face, he waved a hand toward the display cabinet where the ice cream buckets were neatly lined up. "Mint Chocolate Chip, or Cookie Dough?"
"Cookie Dough."
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