Outer Cape Echo
1 hour ago
LOCAL WOMAN BITES GUEST: Last week cops were called to a local woman’s bed and breakfast after she bit a customer for complaining about the cold coffee at breakfast. The local woman, who cannot be named for legal reasons, apparently latched on to the guest’s shoulder and bit down after he told her the coffee had gone cold. “It was the craziest thing. All I asked was could we get some warm coffee, and she came at me like a rabid dog.” The guest from Florida continued, “It’s no way to treat a paying customer. She won’t be getting a good review from me.”
The woman was arrested at the scene and later released on bail.
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Patty Wold: My nephew got bit by a kid at school just yesterday. And I heard someone down the street got bit by their husband. Maybe there’s some biting disease going around?
Dolores Cab: Idiot. Patty, the only disease going around is stupid and I’m pretty sure you have it. Not your fault, you caught it from your parents.
Molly Price: I think there’s something going around too. My cousin got bit by one of her customers when she was doing her hair this morning. Why isn’t anyone looking into this? I think we need some help in Provincetown.
Dolores Cab: Why don’t you quit whining, Molly? Might not help you, but we’d sure feel better. Failing that, I hear putting your head in boiling tar is a definite cure to this biting disease.
Molly Price: Stop trolling me, Dolores. I will report you.
Moderator: Dolores Cab. Do we have to put you in another time out?
Dolores Cab: [deleted by poster]
* * *
Lane tried not to think about her conversation with the waitress. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and making it to the art supply shop. She would buy things, go to the beach, and paint. Once she started painting, everything would become clearer. She’d be calm. It was always like that when she painted.
Lane was so focused on getting to the art shop she almost walked straight into a little girl.
“Shit, sorry.” She cringed at the swear word. She wasn’t used to kids. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear. Please don’t repeat that word—it’s not nice.”
Then she really looked at the kid. She was young. Much too young to be out by herself. Lane crouched down in front of her. “Hi. My name is Lane. What’s yours?”
“Lois.”
The little girl still had to look up to meet Lane’s eyes. “Where’s your mummy, Lois? Or your daddy?”
“My mommy is sick. You talk funny.”
Lane smiled. “I’m from England. Does your mummy know you’re out by yourself?”
Lois shook her head. “I have to go to school. I’m late.”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be seven in December.”
“So you’re six?”
“No. I’m seven in December.” Lois’s little brow furrowed.
“But that means you’re six now,” Lane said. Why was she arguing with a child?
“But I am seven in December.” Lois enunciated each word as though she was speaking to someone very slow.
“Okay, fine. But the point is you probably aren’t allowed out by yourself.”
“I don’t want to be late for school. Mrs. Shaw will be mad. Excuse me, I need to go now.” Lois started to walk off.
Lane gently took her shoulders to stop her leaving. “Lois, I think we should take you back home to your mum. She’s going to be worried. And you really shouldn’t be wandering about by yourself.” Or talking to strangers. But she figured she shouldn’t mention that right now.
“I’m not wandering by myself, I’m going to school.”
“Who usually takes you to school?”
“Mommy.”
“But she’s sick?”
Lois nodded.
“Then we should take you home and maybe your mum can call someone to take you.”
“But I’ll be late.” Lois crossed her little arms.
This was unravelling. Lane just wanted to get her art stuff and go to the beach. “I know. Mrs. Shaw will understand. Your mum can tell her it’s not your fault.”
“Then she won’t be mad?”
“No, she won’t be mad. Well, maybe she’ll be mad at your mum.”
“I don’t want her to be mad at my mom.”
“Your mum can handle it—don’t worry. Shall we go?” Lane stood and held out her hand. Lois seemed to consider the possibilities for a second, and then, to Lane’s relief, took her hand.
“Okay, but you have to tell Mrs. Shaw why I’m late. Then she can be mad at you.”
“Fine. Where do you live?”
Lois pointed to a side street.
“Just down there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s go then.”
Lane briefly wondered if Lois was a ploy for muggers. Lead her down a dark alley and rob her. No, she was just being paranoid. But it was dark down there. The whole sky was dark, in fact, like an early winter evening. It was strange.
* * *
Meg knocked on Joanne’s front door. After a minute, she heard footsteps coming down the hall, and then the door opened.
For a second, Meg couldn’t breathe. She blinked. Blinked again. She tried to get her throat to work.
“Lane.”
For her part, Lane looked equally stunned. “Meg.”
“What are you doing here?” The last place Meg expected to find Lane Boyd was at Joanne’s house. Her being in Provincetown was weird enough, but at Joanne’s?
“I found her daughter wandering around outside. I brought her home. I…Wow, this is not how I wanted you to find out I was here.”
What did that mean? Lane came to Provincetown to see her? Or she was here and knew Meg was and didn’t want her to find out from someone else? What the hell was going on?
“I’m sorry, you’ve got me at a disadvantage,” Meg said.
“I know. I know I have. Look, can we talk? Not here. But later. Joanne is really ill. I think she needs a doctor, but she won’t let me call one.”
Meg pushed past Lane and tried to ignore how her belly tightened as she brushed against her. Lane was still hot.
“Let me see her.”
Meg almost gagged at the smell in Joanne’s bedroom. It was sweet and rotten—like fruit gone off. “Joanne?”
Joanne lay beneath the covers unmoving. “Joanne? It’s Meg.” Meg took a few steps further inside the room and tried not to throw up. The only explanation Meg could think of for that smell was a festering wound or something equally gross. “Joanne, honey, I’m going to call an ambulance. I think that cut you got is infected.”
Joanne rolled over and blinked up at Meg. “I told that other woman I’m okay. Just sick. I have a really bad cold.”
“I think it’s more than that. I wish you’d let us call you a doctor,” Lane said. She moved up right behind Meg, and Meg could feel her warmth. “You smell awful.”
“Lane!” Meg said.
“What? It smells like something went off in here. I’m sorry, Joanne, but it does. And Lois was wandering about by herself outside. I really think you need a doctor. Probably a hospital.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll call a doctor. I think you’re right. I’m sorry about Lois. I’ll get my sister to take her.” Joanne struggled into a sitting position. She really did look terrible.
“You want us to do it?” Meg asked.
“No, no, you’ve both done enough. I should get up and air this place out anyway. I think I left something out in the kitchen. I think that’s the smell. I promise—I’ll call a doctor.”
Meg wasn’t convinced the smell was coming from the kitchen, but she didn’t know Joanne that well, and she didn’t want to push. “Okay, listen, we’ll go. I’m going to drop by later to see how you are, though. Call if you need anything.”
“I will. I promise. Thank you,” Joanne said. “And I’ll call my sister right now.”
* * *
Meg dragged in deep lungfuls of air once they were back outside. Lane was doing the same beside her. She felt uneasy about leaving Joanne, but what could she do? Joanne wouldn’t let her call a doctor or an ambulance. She’d check back later, and if Joanne was the same, she would call regardless of what Joanne wanted.
Right now, she had to deal with the other issue in front of her. Lane.
“So, you’re in Provincetown,” Meg said, pathetically stating the obvious.
“Yeah.” Lane kicked at a loose stone.
“Why?” Meg watched as Lane looked off somewhere past her shoulder and took a deep breath.
“For you. I came for you.”
“Why?” Meg blurted out and then regretted it when she saw Lane wince.
“Look, can we go for a walk? Talk?” Lane asked.
“I can’t. I have to be at work soon.”
“Later, then? When you’ve finished?” Lane said.
“I don’t finish until after one a.m. We’re short-staffed,” Meg said, painfully aware of how weak that sounded. Lane had come all the way from London for her, so the least she could do was hear her out. In all honesty, she was floored. She didn’t think Lane had been that bothered about their break-up—if you could even call it that. They’d never really been together in the first place.
“Fine.” Lane nodded and sighed. “Is there any day this week when you might be free?”
“What for, Lane? What is this about? Are you seriously telling me you came all the way from London to get me back? We weren’t even together, not really. It was a holiday romance. Fun. Nothing more.”
Lane looked at her then, dead in the eyes, and Meg could see she’d hurt her. “It was more than that for me. I…I mean I think I’m—”
“No. Don’t say it, Lane. Jesus. Look, I have to go to work. You still have the same cell number?”
Lane nodded.
“I’ll call you. I will. Just…I need to get to work.”
Before Lane could answer, Meg pushed past her and almost ran out of the alley. This was beyond crazy. Never in a million years would she have thought Lane would come all the way from London for her. It was the last thing Meg wanted. Even though part of her thrilled at the idea. She was just flattered, though, right? It wasn’t anything more than that. It couldn’t be. She didn’t have time for sleep, let alone a relationship. And certainly not one with Lane.
Lane was childish and aimless and selfish. But she was sweet and funny and generous too. And hot. Meg had forgotten how hot she was. Damn it, it was just hormones and flattery and she had to get to work, and she most definitely didn’t have time to think about Lane and how she’d almost told Meg she loved her.
* * *
Well, that went just about as badly as Lane could have imagined. Meg wouldn’t even meet with her to talk—don’t call me, I’ll call you. Add to that the fact Lane tried to tell Meg she loved her, and Meg wouldn’t even let her say it. She didn’t need to when the look of horror on Meg’s face said it all. Lane was humiliated. Utterly humiliated.
What would she do now? She’d only come here for Meg, and it was quite clear Meg didn’t want her. The waitress was right. Lane looked desperate. Pathetic. And it was too early for a drink. Fucking hell.
Lane walked aimlessly down Commercial. Shops were just starting to open, though the streets were still quiet. She felt empty and crushed and so, so foolish. She wanted to go home, but a bigger part of her wanted to stay. To convince Meg to give her a chance. And that was even more pathetic. Meg had been very clear. She did not want Lane, so why did a small part of Lane still hold out hope?
Lane found herself standing outside a place called Whalers Wharf. It seemed to be a small shopping arcade. There were boards out the front advertising shops inside. One was for tarot, or psychic mumbo jumbo, to use its proper title. But Lane had nothing else to do, and who knew? Maybe the tarot reader would have some answers for her.
She walked down a short hall with shops lining either side. The building was open at the back with a view of the sea. Lane hesitated for a moment, still unsure about whether to go through with the tarot reading. She stepped outside and leaned against the railings.
Lane felt strange, discombobulated and slightly hopeless. She sighed. The sea was rough and grey and reflected her mood. Lane glanced to the left and squinted. In the distance she could see a sand dune, which should be underwater at this time of day. There was a man on it. Or at least she thought it was a man. He was tall and blueish in tone. Weird. On second thoughts, it couldn’t be a person. Not out there. Not in this weather. It was probably a buoy or a rock. Sometimes your mind played tricks on you and made things look like something else. Lane turned and walked back inside.
Alice didn’t look like a tarot reader. She was in her late thirties and had short brown ringlets. With her bright red floral print dress, chunky jewellery, and carefully manicured red nails she looked more like a sexy fifties housewife. She also wore a key around her neck, which intrigued Lane.
“Come in and sit down.”
Lane did as she was told. Alice’s shop was really just a small room, one flight up, by the balcony. Inside were two chairs and a low table. There was a door at the back which Lane guessed went to a bathroom and maybe an office.
“You’re lucky you caught me. I’m heading out of town for a couple weeks today. I nearly didn’t open the store,” Alice said.
Lane wasn’t sure how to respond. “I suppose it’s fate?”
Alice laughed and it lit her face. “Or I had way too much red wine last night and decided not to drive until this afternoon.”
Lane smiled. “Yeah, or that. So, what’s the key around your neck? Some kind of tarot talisman?”
Alice laughed. “Not at all. It’s a key to the bathrooms on the first floor. All the store owners have them. They used to be open to the public, but they aren’t in great shape. Instead of fixing them, they shut them off. Now only store owners can use them.”
Lane felt a bit silly. Key to a toilet. “I see. Sorry, I just thought…never mind.”
“Don’t worry about it. So, do you have a question in mind? For the cards?” Alice sat opposite Lane and picked up a deck of cards from the table.
“I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t done this before.”
“That’s okay. May I ask what brought you here today?” Alice asked.
Lane sighed deeply. “Well, there’s this woman.”
“Oh, honey, there always is,” Alice said.
Something about Alice’s tone made Lane laugh. “Fuck, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” Lane buried her head in her hands.
“Not at all.” Alice tapped Lane’s hands, and she took them away from her face. “If it’s not a woman, then it’s careers, kids, finances. We like to think we’re unique, but really, we’re all basically the same. Same hopes, same fears, same dreams.”
“Yeah?” Lane asked. Alice’s words made her feel a little less alone.
“Truly. So tell me about this woman.” Alice sat back in her chair.
“Don’t I need to shuffle the cards or something first?” Lane asked.
“We’ll get to that. First, tell me about the woman.”
* * *
Meg used her ass to close the front door. She had two heavy bags of shopping in each hand, and she was dead on her feet. Lane had texted earlier to say she was on her way over to Meg’s place. She’d promised to cook and tidy up, but Meg wasn’t counting on it. Lane had offered before, and when Meg got home, Lane had been sitting on the sofa with cans of soda and open bags of chips scattered around her.
Meg didn’t smell dinner this time either and guessed it would be the same situation—Lane camped out on the couch with an apologetic smile on her face. Meg braced herself.
“Hey, babe. Is that you?” Lane called out.
“Yep.” Meg walked into the living room. Just as she thought.
“Sorry, I didn’t get round to dinner. I thought we could go out. My treat. We can grab some food and maybe a few drinks in town. What do you think?” Lane said without looking away from the TV.
Meg could feel the frustration bubbling up inside her. The place was a mess. She’d just worked a twelve-hour shift. She’d given Lane a key to her place, and now she bitterly regretted it. Who gave someone they were casually dating a key, anyway? Someone who was getting into a relationship, that’s who. Something she had been avoiding for years. And now she knew why.
“Not tonight. I’m tired. I went shopping, so I’ll cook,” Meg said and tried to keep her temper. She reminded herself that this was Lane.
“Come on. It’ll be fun.” Lane tilted her head back and pursed her lips for a kiss.
“No, Lane. I’m tired. I’ve done a long shift, and I want to sit on the couch for half an hour then go to bed.”
Lane turned fully on the couch. “Okay. I’ll get takeaway. What do you fancy?”
“I don’t want takeaway. It’s expensive, and there’s food in the house.” Meg kicked off her shoes, rounded the couch, and started picking up the crap Lane had left scattered about.
“Leave it—I’ll tidy up.”
“You will? You were supposed to tidy up before, but I can see a pile of dirty washing from here that’s mostly yours anyway. You were supposed to cook, but instead you’ve set up camp on the couch and made even more mess.” Meg picked up a T-shirt. “Why do you have so much stuff here anyway?”
When had Lane pretty much moved in? And why hadn’t Meg noticed before? Well, she was noticing now. It was her mom and dad all over again before he walked out on them.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I know I said I would, but I got sidetracked.” Lane laughed.
Meg lost it. “From what? You don’t work. Don’t do much of anything, from what I can tell. You certainly don’t clean up after yourself. Jesus, Lane. This was supposed to be fun, but it’s not fun any more. It’s hard work. You’re hard work.”
“Because you’re always at work. You’re always too tired to do anything.” Lane jumped up off the couch. “Let’s go out. Call in sick tomorrow or something.”
Meg’s anger died. This was how it would be, she realized. Lane was a child. It wasn’t her fault exactly. She was offering Meg the same kind of life—Lane could easily afford to support them both on her allowance. But this was how it would always be between them. Meg being the sensible one. Meg cleaning up. Meg making sure there was food in the house. Lane was immature and didn’t want to change. Meg didn’t blame her. She wasn’t a bad person at all—she was wonderful, in fact—if you wanted that life too. And Meg didn’t. She wanted something she’d built with her own hard work. Something she could be proud of.
Meg realized it was over. Whatever it was she and Lane were doing wasn’t working, and it had to stop. It had already gone much further than she intended.
Meg sighed. Lane was looking at her like a puppy that knew it had done something wrong but wasn’t sure what. And that summed up their relationship. This thing needed to end.
* * *
Meg let herself into the Squealing Pig and was surprised to find it empty. Usually Callie, their cook, was already at work and getting ready for the day. But the place was dark, made darker still by the strange weather, and the normal sounds of clanging and cursing from the kitchen were absent.
Meg had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She checked the machine and saw a dreaded red blinking light. She hit play, and sure enough, there was a message from Callie telling Meg she wouldn’t be in today. In fairness, she sounded pretty terrible on her voicemail. But that didn’t help Meg. She’d have to call Fran, the owner. There was no way Meg could run the bar and the kitchen by herself. It also meant another late finish. Callie was going away to college in the fall, and she sometimes worked extra shifts behind the bar after the night cook came on.
Meg had been hoping Callie would cover for her tonight. She’d handled the whole Lane thing terribly. On the way over, she’d decided to meet up with Lane and talk things over. She’d flown all the way over here and Meg owed her something. She couldn’t give Lane what she came for, but that didn’t mean she had to be obnoxious about it.
It didn’t look like that was going to happen, though. Meg sighed and rubbed her eyes. There weren’t enough hours in the damn day. She still wanted to go over to Joanne’s to check on her. And she remembered she’d promised Wendy she’d go see the exhibition in the library too. On her day off. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but Wendy was so excited about it, and she was a good customer. Actually, that could work out well. Maybe she could invite Lane to the exhibition, and they could go for a coffee and talk after.
Meg decided to text Lane. She was pretty sure she’d kept her number after they broke up. But if not, it wouldn’t be too hard to find out where she was staying and get a message to her there.
Meg picked up her cell phone and started making calls.