The Tin Box E-Book

Kim Fielding

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 328

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

William Lyon's past forced him to become someone he isn't. Conflicted and unable to maintain the charade, he separates from his wife and takes a job as caretaker at a former mental hospital. Jelley's Valley State Insane Asylum was the largest mental hospital in California for well over a century, but it now stands empty. William thinks the decrepit institution is the perfect place to finish his dissertation and wait for his divorce to become final. In town, William meets Colby Anderson, who minds the local store and post office. Unlike William, Colby is cute, upbeat, and flamboyantly out. Although initially put off by Colby's mannerisms, William comes to value their new friendship, and even accepts Colby's offer to ease him into the world of gay sex. William's self-image begins to change when he discovers a tin box, hidden in an asylum wall since the 1940s. It contains letters secretly written by Bill, a patient who was sent to the asylum for being homosexual. The letters hit close to home, and William comes to care about Bill and his fate. With Colby's help, he hopes the words written seventy years ago will give him courage to be his true self.

Leseprobe

By KIM FIELDING

NOVELS

Brute

The Tin Box

Venetian Masks

BONESSERIES

Good Bones

Buried Bones

NOVELLAS

Night Shift

SpeechlessThe Gig

Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Copyright

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SWSte 2, PMB# 279Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Tin Box

Copyright © 2013 by Kim Fielding

Cover Art by Anne Cain   

[email protected]

Cover content is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-62798-169-9

Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-170-5

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

September 2013

One

GRAVEL crunched under the tires of William Lyon’s ancient Toyota. The boxes and bags holding his worldly possessions rattled and shifted. He rolled up the window to avoid the choking cloud of dust kicked up by the Volvo ahead of him, but that left him feeling suffocatingly hot. The AC in his car had died long ago. That had rarely been an issue in the Bay Area, but it was going to be more problematic here in the Sierra foothills.

The road curved around grassy hillocks already gone brown in the late spring heat. Off in the distance he saw a few cows standing placidly in the shade of sprawling live oaks. With mild interest, they watched the cars pass by. The road turned once more as it rose slightly, and William got his first look at his new home.

Jelley’s Valley State Insane Asylum sprawled imposingly across several acres of mostly flat land, with a steep hill rising behind it. The grounds were surrounded by a tall metal fence. The facility comprised several buildings, although he couldn’t take a good inventory of them as he tried to avoid the road’s potholes. But he certainly noticed the largest building, a three-story white stucco monstrosity with a columned front portico and an ornate tower perched in the center of the roof. Even in the glaring sunshine, the building managed to look vaguely sinister. Maybe it was the heavy bars on all the windows, the cracked and peeling paint, or the hollow look common to abandoned buildings.

“Great setting for a horror movie,” he said aloud, then frowned. Talking to himself wasn’t healthy.

The Volvo stopped at a gate in the tall fence. William watched as Dr. Merrick—no, William reminded himself, Jan—got out of her car, pulled out an impressively large set of keys, and unfastened the padlock on the gate. Jan put a little muscle into pushing the gate open, got back into her car, and continued toward the main building as William followed.

The parking lot in front of the main building was paved, although weeds grew lushly through cracks in the asphalt. Jan parked the Volvo at an angle, straddling several spaces, but William pulled in carefully between two faded white lines. He turned off the engine and straightened his tie. He considered donning his suit jacket too, but the mere thought of additional clothing made the sweat drip down his forehead.

Jan was waiting for him by the front steps, a broad smile on her face. She was a tiny woman, almost a foot shorter than him, with her graying hair cut in a practical bob. “Gorgeous building, isn’t it? It’s on the National Historic Register.”

He nodded, hoping his face didn’t look too sour. If the place weren’t historic, he supposed they’d have razed it long ago. In his opinion, just because something was old didn’t mean it was worth keeping, and this heap was a prime example of that. What use was a defunct mental institution in the middle of nowhere? It wasn’t as if people drove by to admire the architecture.

Of course, he didn’t say any of this out loud. Instead, he offered a neutral observation: “It’s big.”

She laughed. “It is. It once housed more patients than anyplace else in California. Not for many years now, of course. They closed it down completely back in eighty-two.”

“It’s, um, a lot of space.”

“Don’t worry. A grounds crew comes a couple times a month to hack back the biggest vegetation, and there’s really no reason for you to step foot in the smaller buildings. C’mon. Let me give you the nickel tour.”

He didn’t especially want a tour. He’d have preferred to move his things inside and get settled. But he tagged along dutifully as she led him across the parking lot toward an open space that reminded him of a grassy village square or a park. She pointed across the space, at a large house that might once have been a Victorian wonder but was now mostly a pile of weather-beaten lumber. “That was the director’s house. Important visitors used to come from as far away as San Francisco and Sacramento and the directors would host fancy parties there. Some of the patients—the better-behaved ones, I guess—would act as servants. There are pictures in the online archives if you want to take a look.”

“It looks like a fire hazard.”

She chuckled. “The board of directors has been trying to raise enough money to restore the house. We’re not far from our goal.”

“You better hurry up.”

She continued around the side of the stucco building, where there was another entryway, this one considerably less grand. It somehow looked a little secretive to William, as if it had been used to furtively move people in and out. More buildings were visible around the back.

“Those were the shops,” Jan said, pointing at a long, low structure that was newer and uglier than the main one. “Roof’s mostly caved in, so avoid it. There’s nothing worth preserving there. A big water tower used to be right next door, but it was dismantled years ago. Don’t worry, though—you’ll have a modern water system. There’s a well.”

That was a belated relief, because it hadn’t even occurred to him to worry about whether he’d be able to take a decent shower. Then another thought hit him. “There is electricity, right?”

“Of course,” she said with a laugh. “They first ran power out here in the thirties. And there’s satellite TV with Internet. All the mod cons.”

They continued to wander around under the increasingly brutal sun, Jan pointing out features as they went. There were a few more buildings, mostly storage for supplies and vehicles, and a row of little cottages that had once housed some of the more capable inmates. Another falling-down wreck of a building had been apartments for the asylum staff. She told him that one building, in moderately good condition, had originally been the women’s facility but had been put to other uses over the years.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at another open space near the main building, this one surrounded by a low iron fence. The grass and shrubs inside the fence were badly overgrown, and a few lanky trees stretched their limbs out mournfully.

She sighed. “That’s the cemetery.”

“I don’t see any gravestones.”

“There aren’t any. Most of the people here didn’t have anyone to come visit them while they were alive, let alone after they died. The hospital kept some records of who was buried where, but they’re really incomplete. We know this isn’t the only place where they laid people to rest, but we’re not sure where all the graves are. About ten years ago someone was considering buying the property for some kind of resort, but when they did some digging near the edge of the property they ended up unearthing a bunch of skeletons.”

William shuddered. “Ugh.”

“That’s what they thought. They backed out of the deal. Nobody’s been interested since.”

Well, William could certainly understand that. But again he held his tongue, and he was relieved when she took them back to the front of the building. She pulled that enormous key ring out of her purse and handed it to him with a little flourish. “You won’t need most of these. The ones for the front door and gate are marked and there’s a list inside that tells you what the others are for. Mostly they’re for interior doors.”

She let him lead the way to the large and ornate front door. He fumbled with the key a little before he managed to turn the lock. The door made a scraping sound as if the hinges were rusty. It probably didn’t get opened very often.

The entry hall was much grander than he expected, with marble floors and ornate wainscoting. The ceiling soared at least twenty feet. An enormous chandelier hung in the middle, thickly festooned with cobwebs and dust and clearly unused for decades. The room was bright with sunlight that poured in through the large windows set high in the walls, and in more recent years someone had installed a series of ugly but functional lights. The space was bare of furniture, but he could see scuff marks on the floor, and he figured there had once been a reception desk and probably some benches or chairs. He wondered whether new patients had entered this way or through the ugly little door on the side.

“You’re free to poke around the building all you want,” Jan said. Her voice echoed off the room’s hard surfaces. “It’s mostly just a lot of empty rooms, or jumbles of old furniture and things. The morgue’s pretty interesting. It’s up on the second floor in the west wing. That was the medical wing. The records room is right near your quarters. We’ve archived only a small portion, so if you get bored and want to pitch in, be my guest.”

“I’ll be working on my dissertation.”

“Of course. I’m sure that’ll keep you plenty busy. Fred tells me that you have quite an impressive data set.”

Fred was Fred Ochoa, supervisor of William’s psych dissertation. He was the one who’d found William this job. “It’s perfect!” Dr. Ochoa had enthused one afternoon two weeks earlier. “I know you like to work in peace and quiet and you’ll have plenty of that. And you’ll get a place to live rent-free.” He cleared his throat. “You’re still, er, a little at loose ends, aren’t you?”

If sleeping in his tiny office at the university and showering at the gym meant loose ends, William most certainly was. He hadn’t really wanted Dr. Ochoa to know about the pending divorce and his precarious situation, but the man was nothing if not observant.

“I don’t think I’d make a very good caretaker,” William had protested. “I’m not a fix-it kind of guy.”

“Not a problem. Basically, your job is just to keep an eye on things. Make sure vandals don’t overrun the place, stuff like that. You’ll have an emergency number to call if something important breaks. You’ll have a lot of room to spread out, William, plus they’ll pay you enough to squirrel a little cash away if you want to.”

William hadn’t said yes right away. But after three more days of a sore back from sleeping on the office’s lumpy love seat, and with no good prospects beyond a half-dozen noisy roommates, he’d taken the offer.

Now, Jan watched him with her head slightly cocked. “What’s your research subject, William?”

“The influence of word frequency and item arrangement in serial recall. I have some other independent variables too, like elapsed time and number or complexity of interfering events. It’s a fairly intricate experimental design.”

“Uh-huh. It sounds very interesting,” she added, but without conviction.

It was interesting—to him, anyway. And not only might his study have some intriguing theoretical repercussions, but there were practical applications as well, such as in the courtroom. But he didn’t bother to explain that now.

“Where do I sleep?” he asked. Almost anyplace would be better than his cramped, slightly mildewy office—well, anyplace but the morgue.

She smiled. “We have a nice apartment set up. This way.”

The double doors near where the desk had once stood were unlocked. Beyond them was a long, gloomy corridor with scuffed floors, peeling painted walls, and more utilitarian light fixtures. The corridor was lined with doors, and the far end appeared to meet another hallway that led off to the right and left. Jan opened the first door they came to, an imposing-looking one made of carved dark wood. “This used to be the director’s office,” she explained.

It was a very large room. Built-in bookcases lined two walls from floor to ceiling, the shelves mostly empty apart from a sad little row of ratty paperback spy thrillers. A few brightly colored rugs—incongruously modern in what was otherwise a very antique-looking room—covered parts of the scuffed oak floor. The chandelier matched the one in the entryway, although this one was smaller and dust-free. Heavy tieback curtains let in the light from two large windows, mercifully unbarred. A grand fireplace was centered on one wall, a sizable pile of logs set into place even though William wouldn’t need a fire anytime soon.

The furnishings were solid and comfortable-looking: a bed flanked by a pair of nightstands, a leather couch and matching armchair, a tall dresser, a mirrored armoire, an enormous desk with an equally enormous padded chair. Two wooden chairs hugged a small round table. Mismatched lamps had been placed on the desk, near the bed, and on a shelf near the armchair. The small, old television didn’t bother William; he’d never been much of a TV-watching guy. Three electric fans stood ready to help move the still, hot air. The inside of the building was cooler than outdoors, but not by much.

Still, this was definitely better than his university office, William concluded.

Jan must have noticed his approval, because she grinned. “Not bad, huh? There used to be a private exam room adjacent. We’ve made that into the kitchenette and bathroom. Come see.”

The small door off to the left led directly into a tiny kitchen, housing a miniature stove and oven, a microwave, a sink, four feet of counter space, and a pair of cupboards. “You might have trouble cooking a feast for twenty in here,” Jan admitted.

“I’m not much of a cook anyway.”

“Well, if you decide to take up a new hobby, the old kitchens—the big ones that cooked for the whole hospital—are on this floor. I doubt any of the appliances work, though.”

“That’s okay.”

The bathroom was basic. No tub, just a tiled shower stall. The sink looked ancient, but the faucet gleamed and the mirror was in good shape. A stacked washer and dryer stood in the corner.

When William and Jan returned to the main room, she cocked her head at him. “So? What do you think? Is it going to work?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said confidently.

“Good. There’s a binder in the desk full of instructions and maps and things like that. The key list is in there too. Oh, and that phone works.” She pointed at a big black phone that looked like an escapee from an old movie. “Cell coverage can be a little spotty out here.”

Fine with him, as long as he had Internet.

She scratched her head. “Let’s see…. Is there anything else you need to know? There’s no mail delivery out here, but you can pick it up at the post office in town. There’s a general store there too. For bigger shopping you’ll need to drive into Mariposa or Oakhurst, but you can get the basics here. The little Mexican restaurant’s not bad. Try their tamales. And call me if you need anything. It takes me a couple hours to get here, but I can probably help you out long-distance. I stayed here myself as caretaker for six months, back when I was writing my dissertation. It was a lovely experience, although I grew lonely at the end.”

William wasn’t worried about that. He was used to lonely.

He walked her out to the parking lot. “Are there, um, animals around here?” he asked.

“Nothing that will eat you. Actually, the wildlife is quite interesting. I learned to bird-watch when I lived here. There are deer and coyotes nearby, but the fence keeps them out. And of course you’ll have your neighbors, the cows.”

“I’ve never lived so… far from things before.”

“Well, it’s wonderful if you like peace and quiet. Now, can I help you carry in your belongings?”

“No thanks.” He didn’t have that many things anyway, apart from his books and papers. He and Lisa hadn’t been able to afford much in the way of material goods, and she’d kept most of their things after they split. At least she’d had an apartment to keep them in, and he thought she deserved to salvage what she could from the marriage he’d botched.

“Okay, then. I’m going to head back. I’ll lock the gate when I leave.” She put out her hand and he shook it. “Good luck, William.”

“Thanks.”

He watched as she drove off. Even after her car had disappeared around a bend he could see the clouds of dust billowing behind her. That left him alone with his carefully parked car in the otherwise empty lot. He opened the Toyota’s hatch and began to unload his things. “This is good,” he said out loud, and then bit his tongue as he vowed to stop talking to himself.

Two

WILLIAM hung up his sport jacket, took off his tie, and shed his Oxford shirt. The heat felt less oppressive when he wore only an undershirt, and he began to empty his boxes and bags. By the time he found places to put everything, he was hungry, so he delved into the meager supply of groceries he’d brought with him—pasta and sauce, bread, cheese, and apples—and figured out where the cutlery, dishes, and pans were stored. He took his time washing up afterward.

Finally, he booted up his computer to make sure the Internet was functional. He sent an e-mail to Dr. Ochoa to let him know he’d arrived and settled in and to thank him again for the opportunity. After a few moments of indecision, William sent an e-mail to his parents. He told them he had found a temporary place to stay, but he didn’t go into detail. They were still pissed off over the divorce.

After that, there wasn’t anyone left to contact. He had a few grad school friends but wasn’t really that close to them, and in any case, they already knew about his new job. All his other friends had been Lisa’s friends too, and they’d distanced themselves after the breakup.

He got up from the desk, stood in the middle of the room, and surveyed his new quarters. He’d already organized his books and papers, but they didn’t take up much of the ample shelf space. He wondered if the shelves had ever been filled. Maybe the hospital directors had bought books by the case to give the room a look of both wisdom and decorum.

As he stood on a red-and-blue rug, thinking about why anyone would want to run a mental hospital in the middle of nowhere, he heard weird noises. Small creaks mostly, but occasionally a muffled pop or groan. It was a little creepy. But being a practical sort, William realized the sounds were nothing but a poorly kept old building slowly falling apart. Broken bits of something rattling in the evening breeze. Maybe mice or squirrels or birds.

By then night had fallen and, he hoped, the temperature had dropped. After considerable huffing and puffing, he managed to pry open one of the windows and put the largest fan in front of it. The whir of the blades drowned out a lot of the background noises, and the evening air cooled the room a little.

He turned on the desk light and spent some time shuffling papers restlessly, reading a few journal articles and some of his old notes. He knew he should get some serious work done, but he felt too unsettled. New places tended to do that to him. He shut off the computer and picked up a novel—A Light in August—but even in paperback it felt too heavy, and he put it back down. He glanced at the TV and almost turned it on. He knew there would be nothing worth watching, however, so didn’t bother trying.

He was tired, and it suddenly occurred to him that he could go to sleep if he wanted to. He allowed himself a wicked smile at the prospect. Because of Lisa’s late working hours, and then because of night classes in his building at the university, he rarely turned in before midnight. And here it was, barely past nine and no one around to notice or care.

Yes, he decided, early to bed. He’d wake up early, refreshed and eager to plug away at his data.

Folded and stacked on the bed was his one set of sheets, a $4.99 purchase from a really depressing discount store. They were printed with blurry stripes in muddy colors, they were pilled and scratchy, and even after a couple of washes they still smelled like plastic. But at least they had fit the love seat in his office. They were much too small for the bed here, which looked big enough to host a Roman orgy, but he spread them out as best as he could and decided he’d shop for bedding soon.

He opened the dresser drawer but paused before grabbing his pajamas. He always slept in pajamas: flannel in the winter and cotton in warmer weather. Always had. Lisa used to tease him about it, yet sometimes bought him a new pair for his birthday. Probably the practicality of the gift had appealed to her. Even on nights when they were supposed to have sex he’d start out in his pajamas, and he’d pull them on again after they’d cleaned up.

But… even with the fans going, the room was awfully warm. The little bit of moving air would probably feel nice over bare skin. And there was nobody but cows for miles around.

The wicked smile returned as William shoved the drawer closed and stripped to his boxers. He hung his pants carefully in the armoire before padding into the bathroom, where he placed the dirty socks and undershirt in the washing machine. His evening ablutions took very little time. He wasn’t the type to linger, and there wasn’t much to look at in the mirror anyway. His nose was too long and too sharp, his lips too thin, his eyes muddy brown, his straight sandy hair unremarkable. The rest of him wasn’t so great either. Lisa had always told him he could pack on some muscle if he tried—she was a physical therapist and considered herself an expert on the subject. But his few attempts at working out had ended quickly. He didn’t really enjoy focusing so much on his body and had accepted the fact that he was tall and slightly scrawny.

Back in the main room, he debated whether to close the window. Leaving it open left him feeling exposed, even though he knew nobody was out there. But if he closed it he’d lose access to the bit of cooling air. He ended up with a half-assed compromise, pulling the drapes partway shut so that they billowed slightly in the breeze.

Oh man, the bed was comfortable, even with the terrible sheets. For the first time in weeks he could really stretch out, and he did, starfishing himself across the mattress so that the fan dried the sweat on his chest and legs. He had never slept in such an enormous bed before. It would never have fit in the bedroom of their cramped Oakland apartment. Whatever else came of his time in Jelley’s Valley, at least he’d get a decent night’s sleep.

HEWOKEto the sound of birds calling raucously outside his window. Tangled in the loose sheets, he was a little disoriented at first. But by the time he freed himself, he had remembered where he was. He glanced at his small alarm clock on the nightstand and discovered with a shock that it was 9:13. There went his intentions for an early start.

Despite getting nearly twelve hours of sleep, he felt a little muzzy-headed as he used the bathroom and heated a pot of water for tea. He preferred coffee but hated instant and had no way to brew the decent stuff he’d brought with him. He needed to buy a coffeemaker when he went sheet shopping.

Darjeeling tea and dry toast were enough to get his brain functioning again. He had to stoop a little to fit in the shower, but at least the water pressure was decent. He was running low on soap and shampoo. He decided midway through rinsing that instead of settling down in front of his laptop right away, he’d take a drive into town. He could get some groceries and make sure the post office knew he existed. He was a little doubtful whether he’d find all the items on his growing shopping list, but at least he could give it a try.

He shaved and dressed. He felt a little daring in going tieless, but he could already tell it was going to be another hot day, and the thought of that strip of fabric strangling him in his stifling car was just too much. He even considered leaving the sport jacket behind, but in the end he threw it onto the passenger seat. He needed to look at least somewhat professional.

The ritual of unlocking and then relocking the gate was going to get tedious, he predicted. And the key ring Jan had given him was too heavy to keep in his pocket. He ended up stuffing it in his glove box instead and hoped nobody broke into his car when he was in town.

Hawks circled high overhead, and the cows watched as he bumped down the long road to the highway.

The town of Jelley’s Valley was so tiny he nearly sped through it. A long, low building with a white-gravel parking lot housed the post office and general store. The square building next door was Dos Hermanos restaurant. An ancient gas station across the highway completed the business section. There were houses too, maybe a hundred of them, all very modest and set well away from the road. A larger building with a flag out front was nestled at the base of a hill. Judging by the adjacent play structures, it was the area’s elementary school.

William pulled in next to the only other vehicle in the lot, a battered old pickup. Two men in bicyclists’ gear sat at a picnic table near the post office end of the building. Their bikes leaned against a nearby tree, and one of the men guzzled a sports drink while the other massaged his own thighs. Neither gave William more than a quick glance as he emerged from the car and slipped his jacket on. Even the cows had found him more interesting than these two men did.

Fliers were stapled to the exterior of the building beside the post office door. Free kittens. An upcoming yard sale. A barbecue to raise money for someone named Patty, although why Patty needed the cash was not explained. A person with horrible spelling and worse handwriting was offering to do yard work or light repairs, “Price Negoshible.”

William pulled open the door and stepped inside.

He saw at once that the post office and store shared one big room. The postal part had a wooden counter with locked boxes in front and a grid of cubbyholes behind. The walls in that portion of the room sported more homemade advertisements as well as a couple of faded posters for commemorative stamps. There was nobody behind the counter.

In fact, the only two people he could see were in the larger portion of the room, the general store. Several low shelves were packed with boxes, jars, and cans. A large older woman in lavender sweatpants and matching sweatshirt stood near the cash register, chatting loudly with the clerk, who was mostly hidden by the bulk of her body. “Delmer says we shouldn’t give her a penny more, not even if she is my niece, because she’s just going to squander it. But it’s her kids I’m worrying about. The littlest one, he has to have some kind of expensive eyeglasses or he can’t hardly see, and the middle one told me they’ve been eating nothing but sandwiches for dinner. Honestly, Colby, I just don’t know what to do.” She shook her head mournfully.

“Family can break your heart, Mrs. Barrett.”

“They sure can, Colby. They sure can. I just toss and turn all night thinking of those children. If I were ten years younger I’d take them in myself, I surely would.”

“And I bet you’d do a real good job with them. You raised your own really well.”

Mrs. Barrett nodded before digging in her purse. The cash register jingled merrily—it was an old-fashioned one, not the modern variety that beeped impudently.

“Need some help out to your car today?” asked Colby.

“Thank you, but I think I can still manage one bag by myself. I’m not ready for the scrap heap yet!”

“Nah, you have a lot of miles left in you.”

Clerk and customer laughed. The plastic sack rustled as Mrs. Barrett gathered the handles. She turned away from the counter and hobbled to the door without glancing William’s way.

“Can I help you?” asked Colby.

William got a good look at the clerk and winced. Colby was maybe twenty-two, a good ten years younger than William. The original color of his hair was unclear; right now it was streaked with varying unnatural shades of blond and sculpted into elaborate waves and spikes. He was rather short and there was an elfin quality to him, with his slightly pointed chin and his clear blue eyes set a little obliquely. Those tilted eyes were traced with black eyeliner. His full lips were so red that William wondered if he was wearing lipstick. He wore a tight black tank top that revealed wiry arms and a compactly muscled chest. TOTAL DANCE WHORE was written across the front in sparkly silver letters.

He smiled at William and tilted his head a bit. “Help you?” he repeated.

“Um… I need to talk to someone at the, um, post office.”

“Oh! That’d be me.”

William backed up a couple of steps as Colby skipped down the aisle in his direction. Colby grinned, seemingly thrilled to be helping out. Instead of unlatching the gate to the post office counter, he vaulted right over and landed gracefully on the other side.

“What can I get you? Stamps? I’ve got some nice ones.”

“You work here?”

Colby apparently wasn’t put off by the question. “Yep. Why? Don’t I look like I know what I’m doing? I can demonstrate my awesome mastery of ZIP codes if you want.”

“That’s not exactly a regulation postal uniform.”

Colby glanced down at his shirt. He was wearing jeans too, skinny ones that showed off his trim physique, and a pair of red flip-flops. He looked back up at William and shrugged. “Who wants to wear pale blue all the time? And those dorky shorts with the stripe? So not flattering. Anyway, I have an in with the postmaster.” He winked and stage-whispered, “She’s my aunt.”

William didn’t like being winked at, but managed to keep his voice neutral. “May I speak with her?”

“Not now. She leaves me all cooped up inside while she does the rural deliveries. She claims it’s ’cause she likes the fresh air, but the real attraction is Bob Samuels. His ranch is the last stop on her route and she’s having a fling with him. Well, if you can call something a fling when it’s been going on for almost a decade.”

“A decade?” William echoed weakly.

“Something like that. Since a year or two after Bob’s wife passed away. I keep telling Aunt Deedee she ought to just move in with the old guy, but she says neither of them is fit to live with anyone else and they’re both happier this way. I dunno. If I had someone steady I’d want to wake up next to him every morning, but maybe that’s just me.”

With considerable effort, William managed not to shudder.

If Colby noticed his discomfort, he didn’t let it show. His smile still hadn’t faded. “Whatever your postal needs, I can help.”

“I’m, uh, I just got this job at the—”

“Hey! You’re the new guy at the loony bin! Jeez, I should’ve figured that out already. Sorry. I’m Colby Anderson, mailman and grocer.” He stuck his hand out.

William shook it just twice before pulling his own hand back. His skin tingled uncomfortably. “William Lyon. I wanted to let you know in case I get any mail.”

“Great! Anything comes in for Bill Lyon, we’ll make sure you get it.”

“It’s William.”

Colby went on as if William hadn’t spoken. “Now, Aunt Deedee doesn’t deliver to the nuthatch, at least not usually. You expecting a lot of mail?”

“No.” In fact, he was expecting very little.

“Cool. Then you can just collect it yourself whenever you’re in the mood. Or if you give me your phone number, I can call you if anything important-looking arrives. You know, save you the trip if it’s just catalogs or something.”

William blinked at him. “You’ll call me?”

“Sure. I got a couple of other customers I do that for. One of ’em has a mailing address here but spends most of his time at a cabin way up in the mountains. I let him know when his checks arrive.”

Although he was uncomfortable at the thought of this man scrutinizing his mail, William couldn’t think of any way to avoid it. And it would be nice to be notified right away when essential mail arrived. Lisa’s lawyer would probably be sending the divorce papers soon. It had been an easy split, no-contest, with hardly anything in the way of assets to worry about. William would have given her everything even if they’d had more.

“Okay,” he said to Colby.

“Take out your phone.”

William fumbled in his pocket as he complied. Then he obediently punched in the numbers that the other man gave him. Colby’s back pocket began to play a song—“It’s Raining Men,” for pity’s sake—and Colby pulled out his phone with a flourish. “Hey,” he said into the device.

Feeling silly, William just stood there. He was relieved when Colby chuckled and poked at the screen. “Gotcha. Now you’re in my contacts, Will Lyon.”

“It’s William.” It always had been, even when he’d been very small. Never Bill or Will or, God forbid, Willy.

Colby tucked his phone away. From what William had seen of his very tight jeans, it was a minor miracle that the guy could manage to fit anything in the pocket.

“So now that we have your communication needs under control, is there anything else I can help you with? Stamps?” He winked again.

“I, um, could use some groceries.”

“Sure thing.” Colby scooted over the counter. He didn’t quite brush against William as he passed by, but he came close. Much too close for William’s comfort. Maybe calling Colby’s gait skipping was overdoing things, but his steps were too light and bouncy to be called walking. He looked like someone having fun at a party, or maybe making his way into a club. Not a man passing between aisles of canned vegetables and Kotex.

When he was almost at the cash register, he whirled around to face William. “Before you point it out, yes, this isn’t regulation store clerk wear either. But I also have an in with the guy who owns the place. He’s my grandpa.”

“Are you related to everyone here?”

“Nope. Just everyone who matters,” Colby answered with a laugh. “The district fire chief is my uncle. I guess I could have got a job as a fireman but I’m not butch enough, and Christ, those uniforms are like ovens in the summer.” He bent down and retrieved a wire basket, which he held out to William. “Please. Feel free to peruse our bounteous selection.”

William took the basket with a small nod of thanks. He felt Colby’s gaze on him as he walked slowly down the shelves. The place was stocked about as well as a good-sized convenience store. The basic staples, mostly. Nothing fancy and not much selection. Certainly no coffeemakers or sheets. But William picked out some lunch meat, a carton of milk, some beans and rice, a bar of soap, and a few other items. Then he set the basket on the scarred wooden counter next to the cash register. “No fresh fruit, huh?”

Colby shook his head. “No, sorry. But that’s okay, ’cause if you drive about three miles down the highway you’ll come to a really great produce stand. They can set you up with anything you need, fruit- and veggie-wise.” He waggled his brows. “My cousins run the place.”

When William rolled his eyes, Colby laughed. He began to ring up the items in the basket, then paused. “Oh, man. Almost forgot. Now that you’re a local I get to show you the other main attraction in beautiful downtown Jelley’s Valley. Follow me.”

William didn’t really want to follow this creature anywhere, but he didn’t want to be rude. So he trailed along obediently to the back wall, where a narrow door was set between the refrigerator cases. Private, read the slightly crooked sign. Colby turned the knob, opened the door, and ushered William forward with a small flourish. “Welcome to the Jelley’s Valley cultural center.”

It had probably been a small storeroom originally, and the walls were still lined with shelves. But instead of extra cans and boxes, these shelves were stuffed full of books. Paperbacks, mostly, almost all of them showing signs of wear. There was also a crowded magazine holder and, in the corner, a small table with a big, battered ledger.

Colby looked around the room with the same pleased smile someone might give a grubby but well-loved child. “When my grandpa took over the store—back in the late forties—he decided the good citizens of Jelley’s Valley needed literature. So he brought in a book rack and filled it up. Only hardly anyone bought the books. They’d just stand there and read them. Nobody ’round here had much extra spending money back then. Most still don’t. Finally Grandpa just started letting people take the books home for free, long as they promised to bring ’em back. And after a while, folks started bringing their own books too, when they were done with them. Finally Grandpa set up this room. Our collection grows a little bit every year.”

“So it’s… a library.”

“Yep. Only nobody’s ever bothered with a card catalog and they’re not really shelved in any particular order. Folks are supposed to write down what they’ve borrowed in that book there, but most don’t bother.”

“Then how do you know if they’ve returned the books?”