“Afternoon, miss.” One fellow touched the brim of his green John Deere cap.
“Lovely weather,” the other said.
Courtney glanced skyward without thinking. Grey, nondescript clouds blotted out the sky. “Yes,” she said. “Lovely.”
Inside the store, crackling speakers spread easy listening through the aisles. The shelves rested in the same color-sapping haze as the rest of the town; they were well-stocked, but devoid of color, like the cornflake boxes and cans of green beans had faded in the sun. If there was any sun in this godforsaken town, Courtney thought. She pulled a cart from a cluster by the door. It rattled free, wobbling on one gimpy wheel.
The clerk, a scrawny woman poking out of a blue Thriftway smock, smiled. “Don’t bother, miss. They’re all a little broken.” The skin covering her skeletal arms was of the same ashen color as everyone else in town.
“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Courtney leaned into the cart, forcing the wonky wheels into a straightish line. The store was small, four aisles of the basics with a tiny meat counter and four freezer cabinets. She filled the cart with only the basics, cereal, bread, some bologna. Hoping for fresh vegetables and fruit, she picked only a handful of bruised red delicious apples and a browning head of iceberg lettuce from the meager selection.
“Most folks just drive into Springdale,” the clerk said when Courtney began unloading her cart. “We sell a lot of milk, last minute stuff like that.” Even her eyes were grey. She started punching keys on the register, ringing up each item by hand.
Courtney tried to say something, but her words stuck in her throat. She wanted the food and she wanted out. She wanted out of the town, away from the permanent haze and the grizzled old men out front. She wanted to forget the town existed. Whatever Zach thought would happen, needed to happen, and soon.
“Have you thought about the hollow field?”
“What?” Courtney bristled, caught off guard by the question.
“That’ll be $23.52, miss.”
“Oh, yes.” Courtney fished out the bills, handed them over, and took the change. The cashier’s hand brushed hers, the waxen, translucent skin warm — just like the men at the house.
“You need some help?”
“No — I’m fine. I can manage, thanks.”
After dropping the bags in the trunk, she drove away from the store, slowing as she approached the church. The marquee facing town was blank — not even one dangling letter. “Now that’s really odd,” she muttered.
She had tired of reading and watching TV, and nothing more interesting waited at the farmhouse, so she guided the Honda next to the curb outside the church. The sidewalk cried for help, too, cracked in places with weeds crawling from the dirt beneath. She only took a few tentative steps inside the front door — unlocked of course, as most places surely were in the Hollow. Stairs to her right led down with a second flight to her right going up. The sanctuary looked like the aftermath of a riot: pews scattered, some bits of trash strewn on the floor, and an overturned altar.
She felt a chill, a little thing kissing the back of her neck, and hurried back to the car.
Zach leaned into the table with hands outstretched as if pouring his will into Courtney. For her part, she sat with legs and arms crossed — a physical sign of her psychological reluctance.
“Listen, Court. It’s perfect. The house is mine. The basement is huge, and I can easily fit it for a studio with some of the cash we make in the land deal. This is my break.”
“What about the apartment, Zach?” She unfolded her arms and seized the sides of her belly with both hands. “What about the baby? Our baby?”
“He’ll be born in Springdale, at the hospital.”
And grow up in this shit-hole? She shook her head, slowly at first as though still weighing her opinion. “I don’t know. I’m not ready for this. A week and a half ago — ”
“I hadn’t thought it through then. I have now. I want to make music, Court. I feel a connection to this place.” He patted the table, calling for her hand. “I want you to be here with me.”
Courtney picked at her fingernails. “I don’t know. This town is kind of freaky. Look, Zach…I stopped by one of those churches today, after the groceries. I just had a weird feeling.”
“Lay off the bible-belt references.”
“No, that’s just it.” She straightened in her chair. “The place was mostly empty. Pews knocked over. A real mess. Isn’t that weird?”
Zach shrugged and left the table for a glass of water.
Courtney took the hint. “What about musicians? Where’s your audience out here…the ladies quilting club?”
Zach took a long drink and returned to the table. “Kansas City is only a few hours drive. I can stay with Jerry or Rick on the weekends.”
She dissected him with her eyes, really studied his face. Even under the bright fluorescent light of the farm house kitchen, he looked pale. A little colorless, like them. Glancing at her own hand to be sure, Courtney stood, moved away from the table, and put physical space between her and Zach. “I’m going, Zach. With or without you. I’ll give you until the weekend — if you want to have a future with me, our baby.”
His head dropped. “Don’t do this Court.”
She roused again that night — the house too silent, waiting for something. Zach had been sleeping in a different room the last two nights — too crowded in the double bed, he had said, but she was still startled at finding herself alone. A small silver wash of light crept into the bedroom from the hallway. Courtney followed it, allowed the glow to lead her from the bedroom into the hallway and living room beyond. He was there again, standing sentinel at the big picture window. The near full moon backlit Zach; he was but a blank, black form. He’d changed — grown distant, like something seeped into his blood since they’d arrived at the house.
“Zach? Come to bed, babe.” Courtney approached, reached out with her fingers and touched his arm. Cold. “Zach?”
He turned, spilling his gaze over one shoulder. “That field, Court. The hollow field. Look, it’s swelling.”
She slid next to him, wrapping her hand around his naked forearm. From the picture window, they had a fine view of the field — a darkling plain of black under the white fragmented moon. In the center of their frame, about fifty yards up from the road, the field did swell, a mild slope maybe, but definitely a lump in the earth that wasn’t there a week ago. Courtney brought her free hand to her stomach and caressed her own swelling.
“You should get some sleep.”
Zach’s head bobbed absently.
Courtney crossed the room in front of him, but stopped at the hallway. He had only budged a few feet from where he previously stood. “Zach?” When he turned, Courtney flinched at the silver-grey wash of his skin. Just the moon, she thought.
“It’s beautiful, really, out here. I went to the field, touched some of that dirt this afternoon. I don’t ever want to leave.”
“Today, Mom. I told him I would leave today, after he meets with the realtor. Either he comes with me, or…” Courtney switched the cell phone to her other ear so she could work the fuel pump. “Sorry, I’m filling the car…no Mom, the gas fumes aren’t going to hurt the baby…love you, too. I’ll call when I — we get home.”
She shook the pump before pulling it from the car, a trick she’d learned from Zach to keep drips from the paint. She screwed the cap in place, snapped the fuel door shut, and gave a slight squeal as she looked up. A man, youngish with a smudged, two-day stubble, stood over her.