Page 35 of A Summer to Save Us

T he saleswoman wipes her hands on her apron and approaches. I estimate she’s around fifty and probably belongs in the perpetrator category. “Which stable do you belong to? Never seen you here before.” She speaks super loud and reveals a gap in her teeth.

I swallow, and buzzing fills my head. Don’t panic. Get out the pad and write to her.

With shaking hands, I rummage in my pockets. I feel like a five-year-old abandoned alone in the wilderness.

I can’t speak , I scribble on the pad, as if I wasn’t just mute but also illiterate.

“Can’t speak?” she repeats what I wrote and puts me through another test, which I obviously don’t do well because she twists her face into a big grin. “So pretty, but dumb as a fish,” she says disgusted.

It certainly wasn’t meant as a compliment, but I feel myself blushing.

I bite my lip hard and grab a shopping basket from the pile at the door.

I definitely won’t get a new charging cable in this store, but I’ll put apples and bananas in my basket.

The woman follows me as if she’s afraid I’ll steal.

At the rack with the sunglasses, I grab two mirrored aviator sunglasses for River and me since the old ones are still in the changing room at the last store.

“Oh, Miss Wordless and Beautiful ain’t traveling alone. That was expected, darling.”

I hate people like her. I would like to leave the store in a hurry, but I force myself to keep going.

When the door rings, I’m relieved. I hope it’s an older lady she can gossip with.

I walk on, grab two toothbrushes, and glance over my shoulder. My wish is not fulfilled. Two guys have walked in, probably both in their late twenties, one with black hair and one with blond. They bring the sharp smell of cheap booze wafting in like a cloud of mist.

I quickly turn and hurry because the two of them look like trouble. I have no idea why I think that. Maybe because the long-haired blond looks like he hasn’t seen a shower in months, or because the black-haired one has the build of a breeding bull, which makes me feel even tinier.

For a few seconds, it’s as still as a church in the small shop. A tingling sensation tickles the back of my neck.

“Well, well, looky what we have here! Look, John,” I promptly hear one of them say. I seem to be a welcome addition to Woods Crossing.

I study the range of snacks intensely. That’s how it always starts. With harmless words.

But luckily, Berry—because I assume she’s the owner of the shop—comes to my aid. “She’s mute, Jack. Save it!” Paper rustles as she continues to unpack fruit.

Jack and John. I memorize the names as if that would protect me.

“She can’t speak?” another nasal voice repeats incredulously. Apparently, it's John. Out of embarrassment, I put chips and cheese dip in my basket that I didn’t actually want to buy. My hands are icy. Why won’t they just let me shop in peace?

“Why can’t she speak? She deaf too?” I hear someone strolling in my direction and quickly move around a corner shelf, and grab two small water bottles. I just want to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“She didn’t write that down for me, and it’s none of your business, Jack,” Berry says resolutely. “Get your liquor and leave the girl alone.” Apparently, these two aren’t her favorite customers.

“If she can write that she’s mute, then she can write what her name is!” nasally John insists. “Where you from anyway? Never seen you here before. I would have noticed, little angel.” He stands behind me and tugs my hair.

I press my fingers firmly into the Handana, wanting to flee to the cash register, but the black-haired man blocks my way.

“Wait a minute, sweetie, not so fast. Write your name for us. We don’t want to have to call you little angel all the time, do we? That’d be rude.”

It’s also rude to bother strangers. I take a deep breath.

My hands grow even colder. Don’t panic; breathe calmly .

I count to four while holding my breath, count to four again, and exhale.

A trick from my old psychologist. But it doesn’t work because they have me wedged between them.

The acrid smell of alcohol surrounds me, along with a haze of old sweat.

Do what you want! Just leave me alone!

Without looking at them, I take the pad and pencil out of my pocket and write with shaking fingers.

My name is Mariah, and I’m from Sioux Falls.

The one behind me, John, I think, leans low over my shoulder and whistles through his teeth. “Woo-hoo, so it’s Mariah. Hot name for a hot girl.” I hold my breath because he smells of rotten meat and liquor.

“So, what’s someone like you doing here in this nest, with only bad-tempered women?

” Jack asks me and stares unabashedly at my breasts.

His nose seems too long for his face. It almost reaches his upper lip, which now twists conspiratorially as he glances at his friend and nods in the direction of my breasts.

Instinctively, I curl my fingers around the handle of the shopping basket. I want to slam my fist right into his nose. I step aside, but this built-like-a-bull Jack mirrors me. I’m not getting by.

“Leave the girl alone and mind your own business!” Berry intervenes again. She comes toward us panting, and this causes the two to increase the distance between them and me. Nevertheless, I notice that they are looking at each other over my head, as if they were exchanging messages.

“Come on, get your stuff,” Berry tells me.

I’m far too paralyzed to nod gratefully at her, so I flee into the next aisle. Maybe she isn’t a perpetrator after all.

I look around. I still need sandwiches. The two men blatantly stare at me over the shelves, even as Berry watches over them like a guard dog.

One starts humming. I quickly run to the small refrigerated section and grab a few plastic-wrapped cheddar toasts, frozen peas, and, in the next aisle, soap.

I grab a newspaper from a rack in front of the checkout and stiffly unload my items. I’m canceling the Jack Daniel’s for River.

That was a crazy idea, anyway, since I don’t look anywhere near twenty-one.

“You got everything?” Berry waddles down the aisle while the men are still watching me. I hastily look at my purchases and fiddle with the hem of my blouse.

“So, how’s your father, Jack? How’s his rheumatism doing?” Berry asks as she enters the prices by hand on the old store cash register. It seems as if she deliberately wants to distract them.

Jack makes a strange sound. “Don’t stop him from shouting, anyway. Horse breeding is going poorly. Shoulda stuck to potatoes.” He sniffs noisily. I cautiously peek in his direction. Our eyes meet, and he grins. He’s been watching me the entire time.

I shakily put the groceries into two bags and squeeze out the door.

“Ciao, darlin’,” John calls after me in his nasal voice. “See ya ’round.” The other one laughs, and they say something I can’t hear.

As soon as I leave the store, I run with the two bags in my hands. I have to get away from here. I only hope Berry takes her time ringing them up.

I turn back when I’m a few hundred feet away from the shop and see the two of them coming out. They each have four bottles in their hands. Apparently, they only bought alcohol, and they’ve just discovered me.

Holy crap!

There are no side roads here, just the wide main street, which then turns into the highway. I have nowhere to hide. And the houses on both sides of the road seem abandoned. No one would probably open the door to me anyway, and what would I give as an explanation?

I keep running, forcing myself not to constantly look over my shoulder.

Out of breath, I pass the last houses of Woods Crossing and almost make it to the motel when I hear an engine roaring behind me.

I don’t dare look back and instead rush headlong down the highway. Not long now, and you’ve made it!

With the heavy bags, I stumble across the gravel parking lot and onto the wooden walkway in front of our motel room. The approaching vehicle slows. Don’t turn around!

With my fingers trembling, I unlock the door, slip inside, and drop the bags to the floor.

My heart is pounding in my throat, and I feel sick from the anxiety.

I peer outside. A black car turns off the highway and pulls into the parking lot.

At first, I think it’s the Camaro from before, but it’s an old, beat-up Ford.

My mouth goes dry. The burly, black-haired man is sitting at the wheel, and the greasy blond looks briefly toward the reception desk at the end of the rooms. The two seem to be in a discussion as the black-haired man points toward the rooms, and the other shakes his head.

After a few minutes, they get out with their bottles of liquor.

Oh my God!

I can’t close the door I need to know what they’re doing here. Unfortunately, there’s no window on this side of the room. The ones there look out at the forest and the back.

The black-haired man glances around as if he’s still looking for me, and then the two disappear through the door to the reception area.

After a while, they come back out without the bottles.

Suddenly, it dawns on me. They must be supplying the motel owner with alcohol. Maybe they weren’t following me at all but would have stopped here anyway. It’s a small place; everyone knows everyone.

Still, my knees won’t stop shaking.

When I’ve calmed down, I sit on the bed next to River and look through the newspaper. Luckily, there’s no article about me, just a report on the stock market crash.

At some point, River sits up and seems completely beside himself. “What day is it? How long have I been sleeping?” His hair is disheveled, but that only makes him prettier.

I show him the newspaper and tap the date.

River rubs his eyes and groans. “Two days. It feels like an hour.” He ruffles his hair sluggishly, then drags himself into the bathroom without a word and turns the shower on. He simply left the door open.