CHAPTER 6 - Rosie

I get flustered as all hell when Amon Parrish compliments me this way. My face and chest go all hot, like I'm blushing too.

Amon notices this and chuckles. "Come out with me. Just once. We won't go bowling. We'll do something better."

"Better like what?" I'm still trying to get a hold of myself, so my answer isn't very original, but it's all I've got at the moment.

"Oh, I don't know. I'll figure something out."

"Hmm. Well, I think maybe you should come up with a better plan before you ask a woman out, Mr. Parrish."

Amon laughs too. "All right. That's fair." Then he's about to say something else, but Geraldine Guffie—the head waitress, who's well into her retirement years and has been working here since she was a teenager—calls my name from across the diner.

For a moment I think she's mad that I'm doing too much chatting, but she's holding an envelope up in the air, waving it at me. "You've got a letter here, Rosie."

"What?" I call back. "What kind of letter?"

Geraldine shrugs. "The kind that comes in the mail?"

I huff, then look at Amon. "You two decide what you want and I'll be right back."

Geraldine put the letter on the counter and went back to her business, so I just pick it up and look it over. It's familiar. As it should be, because I got one just like it at McBooms. Sure enough, when I open it up, there's a worksheet inside. This time it's not an extreme dot-to-dot but a maze. A very complicated maze that isn't the kind where you simply find the path to the center, but has little equations to solve along the way. There's a key at the bottom with numbers—presumably the answers to the equations—and a direction to turn. When I look closely at the center, there appear to be six different ways to arrive there. But when I look for the entrance to the maze, I only find one.

"Huh."

"What is it?" Taylor Hill asks. She works here in the Revenant diner weekday mornings when the Bishop Inn is slow.

I fold the paper back up and tuck into the envelope. "Oh, it's just some junk mail."

Taylor throws me a confused look. "Junk mail? Here? That's weird, isn't it?"

"Geez, Taylor. It's not that big of a deal. It's like… a sample, or something. For a kid's workbook. Tryin' to sell me stuff, that's all."

She shrugs, then bounces off to deliver some scrambled eggs and hash browns.

But it is kinda weird. What I said makes sense, if there were marketing material inside, but there isn't. But it's really not worth worrying about. I look over at Amon's table and find him smiling at me from across the diner. So I just stuff the envelope into my apron to think about later.

"OK. I've got an idea for a date." Amon says this as I approach his table, getting my server pad out and clicking my pen.

"I'm all ears, Amon."

"Is that real interest? Or are you just humoring me?"

"Well." I let out a breath. "I guess I'm not sure. Are you truly interested? Or just bored?"

He looks a little sad for a moment, but this look disappears so quickly, I almost think I imagined it. "I'm interested. For real. But how about we leave the date as a surprise?"

He didn't answer my question. "A surprise, huh? Well… how about I check my schedule and get back to you?"

He's about to say something. Probably something about my schedule not being so full that I can't give him an answer. But in that same moment I think he gets it. This schedule-checking thing isn't some kind of lie and he knows this because he's seen me working all over Trinity County in the last week. So he rethinks his objection. "OK. I'm sure we'll bump into each other again soon. So you check your schedule and then I'll plan a date."

I smile. It's a customer smile, not a flirty one. Because I think he is bored. I think he's been all over the world, and seen some really cool things, and being back in West Virginia is all kinds of normal. And so are the women here. I'm probably the most eccentric one around, actually, which isn't saying much. "Now, what can I get you two boys for breakfast?"

I didn't see Amon and his dog leave because I was in back mopping up a mess one of the new cooks made with some bad egg-flipping, but he left me a nice tip. Twenty-five dollars. Which I give to the bus boys to split because I don't actually work this job for the money and I like tipping bus boys. He also left a note that said, I'll be in touch . And this makes my heart flutter a little bit because it's promising something. That he will get in touch, obviously. But something more than that. It's hinting at… change. And I've got quite a bit of that going on in my life at the moment, so I'm just not sure I need more.

But that's a worry for another day because Amon left and went on with his business and now it's time for me to do the same. I change into my bell bottoms and halter top, leaving the diner just as the lunch rush is getting started because there are plenty of Revenant waitresses who like to work lunch and dinners during the week and I'm just not needed. But that's fine. Because I am needed down at McBooms.

I'm always needed at McBooms because Lowyn is so damn good at buying new pieces of old junk that those catalogues constantly need attention. Plus, I am in charge of the teenagers and there ain't a teenager on the planet who can't use some extra supervision. My past teenage self included.

There is some squealing going on when I enter the store, and the same two boys are hanging about. These boys and girls are Lowyn's helpers in her tent during Revival this season, so naturally they are getting close and even though the boys aren't needed here at the store, it's not surprising that they're showing up. It's summer, after all. Chasing girls is pretty much what all high-school boys do during the summer.

Still, things must be guided or they will go off the rails. Having once been an out-of-control teenager myself, I understand that persons of this age are often unreliable, overly emotional, and impulsive.

The adult in the room can handle it in one of two ways:

One, forbid them from doing things. Like telling the boys they can't hang out. Or telling the girls they can't have music.

Or two, you can give them a project.

I don't actually wish someone had given me a project at fifteen because then I would not have Cross. But I do generally subscribe to option number two.

So let me think… what might be a good way to keep teenage boys busy while showing off for the girls they like? Why, moving heavy objects in the heat of midday, of course.

I call them all into the back storage area where Lowyn keeps the pieces she hasn't had time to stage yet. She's been so busy with her new life with Collin down at the compound that this area is starting to become a bit of a mess. So I tell the teenagers to put all the pieces out on the floor in a place that makes good design sense. Girls decide where and boys do the moving.

The girls are excited. This is fun for them. The boys, not so much. But that's just because they haven't thought things through yet.

You see, it only takes about ten minutes of moving armoires and bookshelves before they need to take their shirts off. Which allows them the opportunity to show off the muscles they've worked so hard to build all year doing sports. Which in turn allows the girls the opportunity to admire them.

Everyone is satisfied and I don't come across as the ‘mom' in the room, even though I am. Once they are all settled into their new project, I gather up the stack of mail, take it over to my favorite dinette set, and plop it down so I can go through it.

Now this is when I pause and remember that letter that came to the Revenant diner. It's still tucked in my waitressing uniform, which is in my car, so I go out and get it. Then bring it back inside with me and study the pattern.

Of course, the most obvious thing is that they are both worksheets. The other thing they have in common is that they are not simple worksheets. They are not for small children. They were both made for adults. Or maybe a really smart teenager who enjoys a puzzle challenge.

I don't have the other one, it's at home on the kitchen counter, so I can't try and solve it. And that one seems like a long project, what with all the different languages involved.

But I feel like I could solve this one. The equations are mostly simple. They start out that way, at least. It's not 2+2 or anything that easy, but more like x + 5 = 21. Which looks special because of the x, but all it's really asking is what is twenty-one minus five.

"Sixteen," I mutter, my finger tracing down the key at the bottom of the page. And sure enough, there's a number sixteen there and it comes with instructions: Turn right.

I turn right in the maze until I bump into another equation. It's much the same, just slightly more difficult. Still, it's solvable with half a minute of figuring. This time, the answer tells me to continue straight. I keep going, solving the equations and tracing my pencil through the maze, until I realize that the line I'm drawing has nothing to do with getting to the center of the maze, because this little pathway is turning into a picture.

A cross, to be specific.

I stop solving and take a breath, a sinking feeling suddenly flooding through my body.

What is going on here?

Do I have a stalker?

As soon as this idea hits my brain, I know it's true.

I look around. There's no one in here. It's Monday. They're always slow. So there's just the echo of the teenagers in some far corner of the back storeroom to break the silence and nothing else.

Who would be stalking me though?

Immediately I rack my brain trying to think if anyone has been paying me more attention than usual. Or if someone new has popped into my life all of a sudden.

My heart actually thumps when Amon Parrish's face pops into my head.

No.

Could it be?

But why?

No.

Except he is the only new person in my life. Period. There is no alternative possibility. And hasn't he kinda been not-so-secretly stalking me? When I came out of the Busybody last week, there he was. When I came out of my house on Friday night, there he was. Sure, he was stuck in traffic, but what are the odds of that? He asked me to go bowling with him, and I said no, of course. Then on Saturday he came into the Revival, interrupting everything, and asked me about why I was telling him no. And today he just happened to wander in to the Revenant diner on the one morning a week when I work there?

Suddenly, my cheeks are hot with anger and I go for my phone, ready to press his contact and give him a piece of my mind. If he wants to court me and ask me out, that's fine. But this… this stalking and letter-writing campaign is a tick too much. It's not right. Especially coming from a man like Amon Parrish, who has been all over the world for the past dozen years doing God knows what. Something dangerous, that's for sure. And something illegal, since everyone knows about those congressional hearings.

It's wrong, and it's scary, and I am angry.

But calling him up and yelling at him because I've figured it out might just be playing right into his hands. He's trying to get my attention, obviously. And if I give it to him, then he wins. It doesn't matter if I'm angry, or happy, or scared. The emotion is beside the point.

A man who acts this way just wants to be noticed. He doesn't care how he gets that attention. It's sick. And I'm actually a little bit shocked that Amon Parrish has turned out this way.

I spend the rest of the afternoon absently shuffling through photographs and making new entries in Lowyn's catalogs, but I'm watching the clock the entire time. And at five-thirty I tell the teenagers to show me what they've done. They've been busy all afternoon, which is a good thing for me because my head is filled with questions and I don't actually have the capacity to function outside my own thoughts.

But the day is over now, the girls did a good job arranging things, the storeroom has been cleared out a bit, and the boys are proud as punch that they scored some points today and all four of them are meeting up at the ice cream shop on the corner of Walnut and Fourth.

Good for them. I smile, wave, and lock up after they've gone.

Then I leave by the back door, lock up, and drive home.

Since I've had several days in a row filled with nothing but disappointing mom moments when it comes to my son, I don't expect him to be there. I expect the house to be empty, and for the phone to ring, and for him to tell me he's got such-and-such plans that do not involve his mother.

But I am very pleasantly surprised to not only find him home, but waiting on me with dinner. It makes me so happy I want to cry. But I don't.

Instead, I beam a smile and say, "What's all this?"

Cross is also smiling. "Well, I've been kind of ignoring you. And I saw the leftover spaghetti when I got home yesterday, so I felt bad for missing dinner."

I touch my hand to his cheek, wondering how he got so big. "Oh, you don't have to feel bad, Cross. Everyone knows that spaghetti is better two days left over than it is served fresh."

"I know. So that's what we're having tonight. You don't have to cook. You don't have to do anything but sit down. I even picked up fresh bread from the bakery."

My son. The angel. The most perfect thing ever to grace this world.

I forget all about Amon Parrish and his stalker business and instead, I count my blessings.

The next morning is a Bishop day. Which always puts me in a good mood because I just love my little pied-à-terre, and choosing a fancy dress to wear on Tuesdays and Wednesdays might not be the highlight of my week, but it runs close.

I choose one with a bright pink and yellow pattern and spend an entire hour getting ready. This whole thing I do here with the Busybody is kinda stupid and wasteful because almost no one ever comes into my little shop, so the only people who see my dress are the townsfolk and the odd tour group that prefers Tuesday and Wednesday mornings for their historical learning time.

But people seeing me isn't really the point of what happens in Bishop. It just makes me happy. So that's what I am when I open my store, raise the blinds, and take myself over to my writing desk to think up what I want my little paper to say this week.

Tuesdays are my writing days and Wednesdays are my printing days. I have an old-fashioned press, which is a time-consuming pain in the ass, but my paper is so small, it only takes a couple of hours to set up. I don't print them all that way. Just the original, which I save for myself and put into a book filled with all the other editions inside page protectors. The rest get printed on vintage-looking copy paper at the copy shop just outside the historical district.

But today is a writing day, so I get to sit at my desk and think up stories. To imagine one could make a living doing this. Though I don't actually make a living, I am acutely aware that I am insanely lucky that anyone buys anything I write and I enjoy every bit of this process.

After one last look in the mirror, I leave the cottage and head to the shop. When I get there I open the shutters to let the sunshine in and then scoop up the mail from the little slot attached to the door and take it over to my desk to look through.

Sometimes I get real ads. People send them in to me because I print the address of the paper on every edition of the Busybody and I don't charge for them. Today it's mostly junk mail, but as I sort, I see a familiar envelope.

Oh, my God. Another one! He sent one here too!

I rip it open and sure enough, there's another worksheet. This time, it's a word search. But, of course, it's not that simple because it's not for kids. There is no word bank at the bottom of the search, so there's no way to know what words you're looking for.

But just a moment of staring reveals the pattern to me.

Cross.

Cross. Cross. Cross. Cross. Cross.

It's everywhere, all through the puzzle.

I stand up, breathing hard. Why the hell would Amon Parrish do something like this? It's not cute. Not at all.

It's creepy and I want him to stop.