Earthbound Bones Page 7

  “Should we open another?” Again, Winston declined to answer, so Adriel pulled the next box from the pile and slit open the tape. When the flaps came free, she held her breath, just in case.

  Not dirty laundry this time. Nope. This box was filled to the brim with plastic forks; clean, and still in their original boxes. She marked, sealed, and set it aside. There was something addictive about the activity, and with curiosity running rampant, she grabbed a little box from another pile.

  Inside were six smaller boxes labeled Pet Rock. “Pet Rock? I bet the only trick it does is roll over and play dead.” She pulled one of them out to inspect more thoroughly. Nestled in a bed of straw lay a small gray rock attached to a silver chain, and a booklet defining its proper care and feeding. Leafing through the tiny pamphlet, it became clear the whole concept of a pet rock was an attempt at humor.

  She might be one of them now, but without doubt, humans were weird.

  ***

  Lydia’s murder was still the topic of conversation during Adriel’s third ever shift at Just Desserts. Today, though, no one was in a big hurry to leave, not even when the cash register coughed and died for the third time.

  A pro at it now, Adriel reached down to pull the plug while she chatted with the customer.

  Once the tinkling bell quieted, Pam called Adriel into the back where lunch plates waited on the table for them both. “Wiletta, handle the front, please,” she called, and then to Adriel said, “Have you found anything interesting in Craig’s boxes?”

  Half in humor and half in disgust, Adriel answered, “Dirty socks, plastic utensils and Pet Rocks.”

  “Dirty socks?” Pam shook her head then folded her elbows on the table to cradle her face in her hands.

  “Those are the items I found this morning.”

  Behind them, Hamlin, who had been quietly icing cupcakes and listening intently to every word, snorted.

  “Smelly ones.” Adriel added, with the beginnings of a smirk. The absurdity of collecting stinky undergarments in a box had seemed bizarre to her at first; now it was flat out funny. The smirk turned to a smile and then to a small snort of laughter. “I’m beginning to feel like an archaeologist on a dig, uncovering ancient civilizations and trying to guess why they chose this or that shape for their pots.”

  “I wish I could say Uncle Craig only started hoarding when his memory began to fail, but it would be a lie. There are boxes in there with things that probably haven’t seen the light of day in almost thirty years. He always was a bit odd.”

  Now Adriel felt bad for laughing about the socks.

  “Listen, forget about room and board, the cabin is yours for as long as you want it. I’m going to start paying you hourly for your work here, and I’ll even help you with the cleaning and painting in my spare time.” More than embarrassment over the dirty socks motivated Pam. Spending time with Adriel was starting to feel a bit like having a friend. A thing sadly lacking in her life.

  With that settled, Pam’s expression turned uncertain; her eyes met Adriel’s, slid away then back, “May I ask you something personal?”

  “You may, and if I can, I will answer.”

  There was no way to ask delicately, so Pam just blurted out, “You don’t have any other clothes, do you?”

  The question hit Adriel from out of nowhere. She missed how easily she used to change her appearance with nothing more than a thought. Not just hair and eye color, but height, weight, and yes, clothes, too. She had never owned clothing, hence there had been none to leave behind. Nor any to bring along even if she’d gotten advance notice of her change in status.

  “I have no possessions.” Adriel confirmed Pam’s suspicions. “Given the way we met, it must be obvious.”

  “That’s it then.” Pam’s vehemence flipped Adriel’s stomach like a pancake. Was she going to be fired over a lack of alternate wardrobe? “I’m giving you an advance on your pay, and after your shift is over, we’re going shopping.” Pam was already looking forward to it.

  “And the dirty socks? What shall I do with those?”

  “I’ll take them.” Hamlin offered, and when Pam gave him a questioning look, said, “I know the homeless shelters don’t accept used underwear, but there’s no reason I can’t drop a box of clean socks down on Canal Street where those who need them will find them. That way they won’t go to waste.”

  Pam made a quick phone call to arrange for a trash company to drop off a portable dumpster at the cabin for items like the plastic cutlery no one would ever want to use. Everything else, she decided, could be sorted and donated, or sold.

  Adriel spent the rest of the day trying to find an excuse to call off the shopping expedition.

  ***

  “We don’t have to do this. I can just wash these garments each night. It’s been working for me so far. They’re perfectly serviceable.” Okay, maybe the underwear pinched a little when the standard outfit for this persona had gone from being corporeal to physical—there were worse things to endure.

  “You can’t come to work in the same clothes every day. People will talk.”

  “About my clothes?” Why on earth would anyone care about that? “Surely there are better topics of conversation.”

  “You would think.” A wry smile twisted the corners of Pam’s mouth. The shadow passing through her eyes told Adriel the other woman had experience with being the target of gossip. “And yet, they will.”

  No matter how hard Adriel tried to fit into her new life, she doubted she would ever understand this particular aspect of humans. The fascination with judging people from the outside-in seemed ridiculous to her. In the past, she had taken on many forms in order to better communicate with her charges. Yet, under each of those various guises, the person inside remained the same. The angel Galmadriel. Nothing more, nothing less. The outer package was nothing more than window dressing for the soul inside.

  “Besides,” Pam continued, giving Adriel a head to toe appraisal, “You’re already bringing me in some new clientele—of the male persuasion—once word gets around town, more of them will show up to check you out. They’ll look, and they’ll buy donuts, and sandwiches, and coffee. I figure it’s an investment in my business.”

  Seeing herself beaten, Adriel gave in. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice, anyway. When Pam made up her mind, she was hard to dissuade. That didn’t mean Adriel was looking forward to the experience. Pam was, though. With a grin like she’d found a fourteenth donut in her bakers dozen, she dragged Adriel to the car and started reciting a laundry list of needed items. By the time they got to the mall, Adriel’s head was starting to pound. From the sounds of things, Pam was about to turn her into a real life Barbie doll. Adriel sensed Pam hadn’t had a lot of friends growing up, and was trying hard to make up for lost time.

  Once in the mall, Pam was like a steamroller on a mission, and Adriel had to step lively to keep up with her.

  “First stop, Underlings.” Pam appraised the body before her shrewdly. “We’ll get you a bra fitting.”

  Had Adriel known what one would entail, she would have fought tooth and nail to keep from being pulled through the shop door. Two steps inside, she fell into the clutches of a woman named Rona, who reminded her of a dark-haired Marilyn Monroe. At first, Adriel made the mistake of underestimating Rona. A soft spoken order to follow her into the back, while she plucked a series of undergarments from various racks along the way had Adriel thinking this whole experience might not be so bad. Once parked in front of a three way mirror, though, everything changed. Rona went from sweet shop mistress to drill sergeant at roughly half the speed of light, and before Adriel could utter the first word of protest, she was buck naked to the waist. With no sense of propriety whatsoever, Rona reached around Adriel from the back and buckled her into what looked like a torture device of a bra. It had wires in it, for crying out loud.

  “Bend over and shake the girls into place.” Rona ordered.

  “Girls?” At first Adriel didn’t realize Rona
meant her breasts. Once she had shimmied and jiggled to Rona’s satisfaction, she was mortified when the proprietor proceeded to further adjust the fit of the garment—by reaching right into the bra to handle the girls like she owned them. Shock silenced any rebuke Adriel could dredge up.

  “There. It looks great.” A tweak to one of the straps. “How does it feel?”

  It was the first time being allowed any input, and Adriel couldn’t form a single sentence. There she was, decked out in a lace-edged, tartan-print bra that felt surprisingly comfortable despite the garish colors and wires; mouth hanging open, and facing her wide-eyed reflection staring back from three different directions. Rona gave her a little nudge.

  “Move around a little, tell me if it binds anywhere.” Scarlet-tipped hands guided Adriel through a series of movements designed to test the fit.

  “I…it feels fine. Does it come in something less…vivid?” Adriel fingered the lace edge that was already starting to itch. “Maybe without the lace?”

  “Of course. This whole line is on clearance with a BOGO. I’ll bring you some more options. Meantime, try this one,” she tossed a satin number at Adriel’s head and bustled out of the curtained enclosure. To keep the manhandling to a minimum, Adriel hurriedly shrugged into the second bra and adjusted everything before Rona returned.

  “Those are nice, which one is clearance and which is BOGO?” To her credit, the buxom shop owner never cracked a smile when she explained Adriel could get two bras for the price of one, and at a reduced price. Adriel launched a short war of the wills over narrowing her choices to two, in subdued colors most suited to her sensibilities, then exited the changing room to find Pam brandishing a handful of something called thongs in the air.

  “What do you think? Sexy, right?”

  Adriel’s confusion must have been written clearly on her face, because Pam dropped the rest and held one up the way it was meant to be worn.

  “That’s indecent. If I’m seeing this correctly, the strap is going to go right between…” a rush of blood stained Adriel’s cheeks with embarrassed red. She had already experienced the annoyance of the wedgie phenomenon, and had no intention of willingly subjecting herself to it again. Besides, she had no use for being sexy.

  “You won’t feel a thing. They’re very comfortable.”

  She treated Rona’s statement with the scorn it deserved, and put her foot firmly down on the whole topic of a handful of straps doubling as panties.

  The next store Pam dragged her into had better be less traumatizing, or she was out of there. Moving along in Pam’s wake, Adriel caught the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Instinctively, her nose turned toward the dark, rich miasma and the rest of her followed it right up to the counter where she got the chance to place an order for something called a Macchiato before Pam noticed her absence. Amused, Adriel watched Pam backtrack, her feet tapping out a staccato on the tile floors.

  “Sorry, I needed sustenance.”

  Pam arched an eyebrow. “It’ll take more than that to keep up with me. We’d better hit the food court first.”

  “Food court? Is that where Burger King rules?”

  “That’s not even a little bit funny.”

  “Then why are you smiling?”

  “Because you’re ridiculous.” Compliment or insult? At times, Adriel had trouble knowing the difference.

  “No more underwear.” It was a warning and an order gloved in a smile.

  Pam held up her hands in a gesture of surrender about as genuine as a silicone implant. It, combined with the gleam of amusement in her eye, inspired zero trust in the purity of her motives. Adriel decided to turn the tables.

  “Maybe you could do with a wardrobe spruce. I’m sure Rona has time to give you a fitting.” That wiped the smile off Pam’s face. “Give your girls a lift.” Revealing a talent for mimicry she nailed Rona’s breathy vocal delivery.

  “A dress. Let’s go pick you out something pretty.” With a speed borne of practice, Pam swept the empty coffee containers from the elevated bistro table. Several doors down they passed a shop advertising brand name clothing at discounted prices. When Pam would have passed right by, Adriel redirected her inside.

  Modestly dressed herself, Pam’s choices for Adriel were anything but. Cotton sundresses that bared arms, shoulders, and legs were not Adriel’s style. Fifteen minutes flew past while Adriel established parameters for what she considered acceptable.

  “What’s wrong with this?” Pam held up a floral number featuring a fitted bodice with a deep V neck. “See, no spaghetti straps.” She fingered the narrow-cut shoulder.

  “It’s not decent.”

  “I’d wear it if I had the bod. On me it would look like a sack draped over a pile of potatoes.”

  “It would not. You have lovely, strong shoulders.” Adriel turned it back on Pam, “You’re a young woman still. Why don’t you try a little color in your wardrobe. Drab gray doesn’t fit your nature.”

  “Hah, lot you know. I’m forty-three. That’s middle aged, not young.”

  “Forty is the new thirty.” Adriel intoned. She’d read it on the cover of a magazine and not really understood what it meant until now.

  Two exhausting hours later, the pair stumbled back out carrying several bags between them. Adriel now owned the basics of a mix and match wardrobe. What’s more, she had even managed to talk Pam into buying a few things for herself.

  Exiting from the cool mall atmosphere, the blast of hot, humid air felt like walking into a sauna. Tendrils of hair plastered themselves to Adriel’s neck and face. The walk to the Jeep took them close enough to hear an argument in process. Voices raised to a strident level echoed off the partially enclosed parking structure’s walls. Pam signaled for Adriel to stop. Adriel’s keen hearing picked up the conversation from where she stood.

  “Don’t threaten me; I know where all your skeletons are buried, too. Or did you tell your wife about your night with…” the rest was a bit garbled, but it sounded like he said Miss Terry Dancing Pants.

  “Leave my wife out of it. If I had any proof of what you did, I’d…”

  “You’d do well to be careful about threatening me.”

  The two men passed out of hearing range.

  “Those voices sounded familiar,” Pam kept playing the conversation back in her head. “With the echo in here, I can’t be certain.”

  “It’s a big mall, it could have been anyone from anywhere. It’s none of our business,” But Adriel filed the sounds away in her memory.

  Chapter 7

  Through slow and steady progress, the number of boxes in the cabin had been reduced by a quarter—not counting the boxes on the far side of the porch. Hamlin’s dirty socks count continued to increase. So far, he had cleaned three trash bags full and dropped them off where they would be found and used by folks who needed them.

  Trying to see the glass as half full, Adriel decided she was glad the man had not collected dirty underpants the same way he did his dirty socks. Two boxes of blankets and a box of coats, though, were happily accepted by Hamlin’s friend and distributed to the shelter. Craig’s castoffs were going to good use.

  Over the last couple of days, though, box sorting had slowed down in favor of getting certain outside projects done. Using Callum’s trick, Adriel replaced every broken shingle on the outside of the little cabin. After sweeping down more cobwebs than she had ever seen in one place, she sorted through the contents of the small attached shed behind the cabin to find rakes, hoes, a scythe, and an old-fashioned, rotary push mower.

  Pushing the beast a mere two feet through overgrown grass was enough to send Adriel back to the shed for the scythe. Oiled and sharpened before it had been stored, it’s blade snicked and sliced with each swing until her upper arms burned and she was forced to take a break. After half an hour of hard slog, she despaired over having cleared hardly any of the area she intended to mow.

  Adriel rotated her shoulders to ease the ache, then lifted the long, curling mass of hair
off her neck to let the light breeze brush damp sweat into coolness. This whole mowing business needed a rethink. At this rate, it would take weeks to get the lawn into shape. Her scalp felt tender from the sun’s burning heat, and when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she realized her nose and cheeks had also reddened from its fiery touch.

  Sunblock. There had been a tube of it in the medicine cabinet, and now she remembered reading what it was for. SPF-50 still seemed like another language to her, but she slathered it liberally on her face and arms. The idea of rubbing the slightly greasy cream into her hair caused a shudder. No way. Too messy.

  Working quickly, she plaited the mass into a single braid, then with a sigh pulled the top off the box of hats waiting in the corner for Hamlin, and pulled out a ball cap with I’d rather be sleeping embroidered across the front.

  Actually, the saying seemed most appropriate.

  Half an hour later, she had gotten into a rhythm with the scythe, and found a way to swing it less taxing on her shoulders. With body occupied, her mind was free to wander.

  And where it wandered was the one place she had been doing her best not to think about. Home. Just as the aching sadness began to fill her, a sound floated across the air; one she had heard before.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  A playing card flicking past each spoke of a bicycle wheel.

  She looked up to see the towheaded boy who had ridden by on the day of Lydia’s accident. This time when he got close enough, Adriel waved.

  The boy’s hand came up to wave back and with eyes wide, he dumped his bike right at the end of her driveway. She raced to his side.

  Before she could reach down to help him, he scrambled to his feet and pointed at her. “You waved to me,” he accused.

  “Yes, was I not supposed to?” Mortals had so many rules.

  “And now you’re talking to me.”

  “Sorry. I had no idea there was a rule against speaking to children.”