“Then what? You’ve talked to them, right? E-mails? Texts? Leaving home means you simply didn’t return to the town, right?” He looked out the windshield at the trees. “I haven’t seen anything out here to make me want to drive the four hours.”
Mercy pressed her lips together, wishing she’d not started the conversation. “There’s been no contact at all. Nothing.”
“What? Do you have siblings?”
“Four.”
“Four? And you’ve never called or e-mailed any of them?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“What’s wrong with your family? My mom would fry me if she didn’t hear from me at least once a month.”
“They’re different.” Understatement. “Can we not discuss this right now?”
“You brought it up.”
“I know I did, and I’ll tell you about it later.” Maybe. She took the final turn into Eagle’s Nest and drove down the two-lane road she knew would take them through the center of town.
She slowed to the posted twenty-five miles per hour. The lofty name Eagle’s Nest implied that the town sat on a hill, grandly overlooking a valley. It lied. Eagle’s Nest sat on the flat. The town’s elevation was three thousand feet, but so was that of the hundreds of acres surrounding it. She drove past the schools, craning her neck to get a good look. According to the rusting signs, the older building still housed the high school, while the larger “new” building still held K–8. The “new” building had been constructed in the seventies, before she was born. Behind the old building she saw the lights for the football field and stands. New red bleachers stood on one side of the field.
September. Should be a football game this weekend.
“Did you go to school there?” Eddie asked.
“Yes.”
The road took a sharp turn. On her left the sawmill was still closed. Its roof sagged more than she remembered, and weathered plywood covered all the windows. The familiar sign was gone. The mill had been abandoned when she was quite young, but it’d always had a big sign with a message board out front. In her teens the town had used the tall message board to post event dates in mismatched letters, but for a long time before that it’d simply proclaimed: We’ll be back.
All that was left now was a jagged, broken metal post, and Mercy felt a small pin stab her heart. It’d been everyone’s habit to check the board to keep a finger on the pulse of the community. Senior citizen birthdays. Fairs. Bake sales.
Now they probably post on the city’s Facebook page.
Everyone in the community had sworn the lumber mill would reopen. She’d heard it over and over. At one time the city had kept the mill’s property free of dumped garbage and replaced the windows broken by stupid kids. “Someone will buy it. We simply need the right business to come along.”
The missing message board said the town had lost faith.
The mill was a victim of poor economics, federal policies on tree harvests, and increased conservation measures. Now it looked like a good location to create a Halloween haunted house.
She kept driving. Suddenly one-and two-story buildings lined both sides of the street. She scanned their signs. Several were new to her, but some hadn’t changed. Eagle’s Nest Police Department, Eagle’s Nest City Hall, Grand Movie Theater, Post Office, John Deere Dealership. She noticed a church had been converted to a senior center. The old Norwood home now called itself “Sandy’s Bed & Breakfast.”
Eddie pointed at a tiny shop. “Hey, that looks promising. I need caffeine. Pull over.”
Mercy pulled into a slanted parking space, remembering how she’d had to learn to parallel park when she moved to Portland. It wasn’t a skill needed in tiny towns. The Coffee Café occupied a building where she’d once spent hours as a teen browsing used books. It looked fresh and updated, and the Illy brand coffee sign in the window suggested the owners took their coffee seriously. The store was a small, bright flower in the depressing gray of the streets and tired buildings. She glanced up and down the street. A few trucks drove past, but no one strolled the sidewalks.
The bell jangled as they pulled open the door. Mercy unzipped her jacket, appreciating the rush of heat and coffee scents.
“Hi there.” A teenage girl popped out of a doorway behind the counter. “What can I get for you?”
She was cute and smiley, with a perky ponytail. She regarded them with faint curiosity, but she was polite and kept her questions to herself. Mercy studied the chalkboard menu just inside the door as Eddie stepped forward and ordered something with a triple shot. The girl started his espresso, and Eddie looked over his shoulder at Mercy. “She could be you twenty years ago,” he said in a low voice, a question in his eyes.
Uh-oh.