“Hey, Liam!”
“Hey there, Moose,” I said, walking into the general store.
“Coming into town for some stuff, I see,” he said. “Need anything in particular?”
“Just as much gasoline as you can load me up with,” I said.
“How does twelve gallons sound?” he asked.
“Can you put them in those one-gallon containers with the nozzles?”
“You got it.”
Henry Weavil, also known as Moose due to his sheer size, was the shop owner in town. His place had everything you could need. From bait and tackle to hunting boots, to gasoline, to every single grocery you could ever need, he always made sure the people of Gatlinburg could make only one stop if they needed to. Him loading me down with gasoline freed me up to grab the groceries I needed to stock my place, which meant I could get out of here and back to my cabin quicker.
I didn’t like being in town too much or too long.
I walked around the store and grabbed anything I could think of: steaks, fresh fish, some chicken breasts. I’d already shot and processed a couple of bucks while I’d been here, so I didn’t need much meat, but a bit of variety always did a soul good. I grabbed lots of canned goods, as well as some frozen vegetables, then grabbed two massive sacks of rice before I started loading up the smaller things.
I ended up making two trips around the store before I could think about leaving. I bought another set of sheets for the bed and picked up some free newspapers for kindling. When I was finished, I took my second haul up to the register, where Moose was standing.
“So, newcomer, how you liking our part of the country?” he asked.
“I like it just fine,” I said.
“Have you been to Fred’s Tavern yet?” he asked. “They do it up right over the holidays.”
“Haven’t gotten there yet, no,” I said.
“You should go. Make yourself some friends. Maybe find yourself a nice lady to keep you warm this winter. I hear it’s gonna be brutal.”
“That’s all right,” I said, chuckling. “I’m doing just fine on my own right now.”
“Well, a handsome man like yourself wouldn’t have no problems finding you a nice country gal around these parts. If you’re ever looking for one, my granddaughter’s a sight.”
“I’m sure she is, if she looks like you,” I said.
“Damn straight she does. Her mother’s a hoot, though. Gets her sense of it from her.”
“I bet she does.”
“Any luck finding a job?” he asked.
I started picking up the bags and putting them into the cart. “Not really looking for one,” I said.
“Not looking for a job?” he asked.
“I’m retired, sir.”
“Retired? Son, you don’t look any older than thirty.”
“Thirty-two.”
“Then how are you retired?” he asked.
“Military,” I said.
I knew what was coming. It was the sentiment that always came after I said something like that. I had no interest in telling him I was a medic or a doctor or any sort of physician that could help people. That part of my life was behind me. Because the truth was, I didn’t help people. Not on that last tour before I got us the fuck out of there.
I broke every damn promise I ever made to myself on that tour. Decent doctors didn’t do the things I did.
Nope. Those fucking days were behind me.
“Well, son. Thank you for your service. What you’ve given to this country’s a mighty big sacrifice. I want you to know we appreciate it. I appreciate it and I appreciate you.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
I snatched up the last of my groceries and paid in haste. I needed to get back to my cabin. I could already feel the shaking in my hands settling in and I needed to get out from underneath the gaze of others before someone wanted to start a conversation I had no intention of having.
“What happened to your hand there?” I heard Moose ask.
And, of course, before I could catch myself, I turned around.
There was an elderly man at the register, buying himself some chew and a gallon of sweet tea. He was in rugged old jeans and a t-shirt with a coat and his hand was bandaged up. It was swollen and bruised and I could tell by the way his thumb was sitting that it was dislocated. I ran my eyes up his arms, noticing the swelling in his wrist before his arm disappeared underneath his coat.
Then, I caught it. He reached for his wallet to pay for his stuff and his middle finger wouldn’t move.
He’d broken his hand. Probably picking up something he shouldn’t have been and dropping it on himself. He could move his wrist, so it wasn’t shattered, but he couldn’t move his middle finger, which meant one of the main ligaments was being impeded by something leaning up against it.
And it had to have been a broken bone because dislocations didn’t cause the kind of bruising this man had.
Images started flashing around in my mind. Suddenly, the grocery store was flickering in and out. It kept switching from food to darkness. Food to darkness. Food to chains. Food to a basement. I closed my eyes and shook my head before I turned back toward my grocery cart.
I had to get out of here. I had to get out of here before things got out of hand.
I walked out to my truck and tossed everything else into the back. Taking deep breaths, I tried to calm the storm rising in my chest. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs, threatening to split my sternum as I wheeled the cart over to a gathering point.
By the time I got back to my truck, I was practically in a full-blown run.
I hopped behind the wheel of my truck and cranked the engine. I only had a half tank of gas, but I didn’t fucking care at that point. All I wanted to do was get back up my mountain. Get back to my quiet space where no one could see me. There, I could sweat and scream and rage all I wanted. There I could chop wood to dispel my anger and toss myself around in bed without anyone next to me.
I felt the shaking of the truck as the wheels carried me up the mountain and I finally started to breathe a sigh of relief. I knew that the moment I hit the thicket of trees ahead of me, no one would be able to see me. No one could ask me questions or stare at me like I was losing my mind. No one could try to make small talk or try to figure out what I was doing in town.
No one could hear me scream myself awake or cry in the shower when I couldn’t handle it anymore.
I felt my truck being swallowed by the shadows of the trees and my entire body relaxed.
It was done. I was done.
No more people until the winter was over.
CHAPTER 4
WHITNEY
I lay on my air mattress, my mind whirling. It had been a month since I’d quit my job and, while I wasn’t hurting for money, I was hurting for a purpose. I slept until noon, got up long enough to grab an apple, pee, and then I’d crawl back into bed and feel sorry for myself.
My entertainment for the day was watching my clothes swing in my closet with the breeze coming through the window that wouldn’t quite shut while I fell in and out of sleep.
But then my phone rang.
I groaned, rolling over on the mattress that needed to be blown up again. I picked up the phone and put it to my ear, not bothering to see who was calling.
It couldn’t be anyone else but her.
“What’s up, Gwen?” I asked.
“Get your ass out of bed and get down to this salon,” she said.
“Why, are you okay?” I asked.
“Because I just finished my last client before lunch and I’m about to go to the bank. We’re having a celebratory lunch.”
“In the salon?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s gotta be quick but I’m making the final deposit into my ‘get my own business’ account.”
“Oh my gosh. Gwen, that’s amazing!”
“It is, so roll your ass out of bed and get down here. Whitney, you have a fucking law degree. You shouldn’t just now be warming up your voice to talk to the world at lunchtime. Get up.”
“Okay, okay. I’m coming. I’ll be there in… twenty minutes?” I asked.