It was just as well, because any extra money would not have gone towards anything healthy. I’d discovered, without asking, that there were two sources of good weed in New Mills. The first was the asshole who dealt mostly in harder stuff and even if I’d had the funds I wouldn’t have given him my business. The second was a sixteen year old boy; a straight-A high school student. His father was gone, his mother worked two jobs, and he was saving for college. It was a noble goal and one I would have given my whole-hearted support to. If I’d had the funds.

   Because it had been a long time--too long--since I’d been able to float away on a cloud, since the day before I moved in with Jason. When you’re living with a schoolteacher, there are certain things you can’t do, certain things Superintendents and School Boards and Parents frown on. Smoking pot is one of them. And after I moved in with Jason there was no real need for the cloud. Most of the time.

   But I needed it now. Needed something. I had just fifteen bucks in my purse so the Something was supper out. Fifteen bucks would buy me a meal and a beer and an evening away from home. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

   I strolled into Fran’s, with my real destination being the sports bar in the back. People in town called it Zeke’s as though it was a separate entity, because the bartender was a guy named Zeke. He owned the place, too, having inherited it from his mother, Fran, a few years earlier. When she was alive she ran the diner and he managed the bar. Now that she was gone Zeke did it all. Rachel was in her usual place behind the counter, waiting on a customer. He was a rough looking guy in his late thirties with a very hard face. The way he eyed Rachel while she bagged up his order made it obvious that something else was hard, too. And when she looked up at him she smiled, apparently flattered by the attention. I rolled my eyes, walked up to the counter and cleared my throat. It did the trick. She jumped slightly and let out a loud squeal.

   Home: 1. Visitors 1.

   “Oh. It’s just you, Tess.”

   “Hey.”

   She gave the guy a sideways glance then looked back at me and plunged ahead with the introductions. “This is Tim.”

   I gave the pervert a brief nod of acknowledgment. The name sounded familiar but I couldn’t--for the moment--remember why.

   “This is Tess, my brother’s, uh…neighbor.”

   “Neighbor. Gotcha.” He laughed and gave me a slow up-and-down, the kind that made me wish the weather was still cold enough for my bulky winter coat. I glared at him, ready to do battle, but Rachel intervened.

   “What can I get for you tonight, Tess? More raw vegetables?”

   “Actually, I’m going into the bar to eat. But first…” I leaned my elbows against the counter and batted my eyes at her, “I’d like to hear all about how things are going with you. Brian was wondering just yesterday what you’ve been up to, because he hasn’t seen you for awhile. But since I just happened to run into you I can…” I nodded towards her admirer, “…fill him in.”

   She clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes at me. I returned the scowl, undeterred. I had more experience with this than she did. She finally gave up, looked over at Shithead and said, “I guess I’ll see ya later.”

   He looked right at me and said, “Yeah, Rach. You will.” Then he sauntered out the door. I watched through the window until I saw his car pull safely away. Bright red sports car. And that’s when I remembered where I’d heard the name before. Tim. He was the asshole drug dealer; the one who didn’t confine his inventory to just pot.

   I whipped my head around to say something to her, even though I wasn’t quite sure what it should be. A warning? Did I know her well enough for that? Maybe a threat to say something to Brian? But before I could make up my mind she said:

   “It’s not what you think, Tess. Honest. I just like to flirt with some of the customers.” She grinned. “They leave bigger tips that way.”

   I had to laugh at that. I’d worked at a convenience store right after high school, and all it had taken was a snug uniform shirt and a friendly smile for me to get a keep the change out of most of my male customers. But my laughter faded when I remembered all the times I’d brought home more than just a big tip.

   “Rachel, you need to be careful with that guy. Okay?”

   “I will. You won’t…say anything about this to Brian, will you?”

   I mulled it over. Keeping overprotective brothers in the dark was a specialty of mine. But.

   “Well…as long as you promise me you’ll be careful.”

   “Yes, Mommy.”

   “Shut up.”

   “So,” she said, giving me an eyebrow, “what’s Brian been up to?”

   I shrugged. “Work, I guess.”

   “You guess.”

   “Yep.”

   She smirked, but let it go. “Well, I’ll let you go back there so you can eat your supper with the grown ups.”

   I nodded, said a quick goodbye and headed down the hallway. My first trip through the double doors. It was a typical bar: dimly lit, dark wood paneling, New England sports memorabilia clinging to the walls. The bar stools were all empty, but the chairs that surrounded ten big, round tables were filled with sweaty guys and their dates. Most of them were watching the Red Sox game on the large screen television that hung on the far wall.

   I took a stool and nodded at the bartender. I knew it was Zeke without having to ask. I’d never laid eyes on him before, but I recognized him from the description Gossip had given me. He was about my age, tall and thin, with short brown hair and soft brown eyes. He was nice-looking, and single to boot, but he was unavailable just the same. Not just to me; to any woman. Apparently it was a favorite pastime for some of the local girls to come in and flirt with him. They had aspirations of ‘turning him.’ I could have told them that their mission was in vain, but who was I to get in the way of their dreams?

   He grinned and said, “What can I do for you tonight, Tess?”

   Apparently Gossip had given him an accurate description of me, too. I grinned right back and said, “Well, for starters you can tell me something. Is your name really Zeke?”

   He looked surprised at the question. “Yes it is.”

   “Really? It’s Zeke?”

   “Yeah. Short for Ezekiel. I was named after my great grandfather. Why?”

   “It’s just that it’s a really cool name, so naturally the moment I heard it I figured you made it up and that your real name was Ralph or Joe or something boring like that.”

   He laughed. “I’m afraid not. So…can I get you a beer?”

   “Yeah. And a green salad. No dressing.” My snack cake pounds were finally gone and I needed to keep it that way.

   He gave me my beer, hollered my order back to the kitchen, then came back over to me with a big smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going be rude and bring up business.”

   “I don’t mind.”

   “I’d like to hire you to clean my house. Once a week if you have room in your schedule.”

   “I have room.”

   “Good. I would’ve called you earlier but I was waiting to see what gossip had to say about your abilities.”

   “I take it gossip approves? I’m not used to that.”

   “The receptionist from Dr. Stephens’ office was impressed that you cleaned in between the keys of her keyboard. I have to be honest, that impressed me, too.”

   “Q-Tips are amazing things.”

   “I’ll remember that. And Brian told me you’re a clean freak.”

   “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

   “Well, I think he meant it as one. People tend to admire qualities in others that they themselves don’t possess.”

   I laughed. “Where’d you get that boatload of crap from?”

   “Fortune cookie. Anyway, I don’t have time to keep my place clean, since I’m here all the time, so how about it?”

   “Sounds good.” We made arrangements for an estimate then he brought me my supper. I ate silently for a few minutes while he dealt with a rowdy table. When he came back he watched me shovel a few forkfuls into my mouth, then said, “If you don’t like celery you could have ordered the salad without it.”

   I looked at my plate. “Oh, it’s not that. It’s my favorite part so I always save it for last.”

   He laughed. “Whatever works.”

   I barely heard the words over a sudden explosion of noise from my fellow patrons. Their drunken eyes were glued to the set and several voices--none of them in sync or in harmony--were chanting the batter’s name amid banging fists and clanking beer mugs. I turned to watch the action. Bottom of the eighth. We were down by one run, but the bases were loaded with only one out. We held our collective breath as Our Guy took a swing…

   And grounded into a double play. The banging and clanking stopped, but not the voices.

   “I coulda hit that fucking thing!”

   “Give me a million dollars a year and I’ll get a man home.”

   “That useless shit gets fifteen million a year.”

   I shook my head, remembering that the useless shit had hit over forty homeruns last season, and turned back to my salad. Just celery now. I ate it slowly because I wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. Because once I got home I’d have to walk past Brian’s apartment. Past his window. His door. While he was in there, wide awake and waiting for me to get home.

   I’d lied to Rachel. I knew exactly how Brian was doing, because we watched his cop shows together almost every night now. We took turns; his place, my place. We talked and joked and laughed. And flirted. Just the night before we’d sat on his couch as close as we could without touching, just like a couple of idiot teenagers. I sat there with my heart thumping in my throat, knowing that I could reach for him without having to worry about getting a no. But I didn’t. Because I knew what it would mean if I did. And I knew it was time I figured out what the hell I was going to do about it…

   I was startled out of my meditations by a voice that asked, “Can I buy you a beer?”

   I looked up from my celery. I hadn’t noticed that a man had taken a stool a few seats over from me. He was about forty or so. Good-looking but arrogant. He’d done the bar a favor by walking in and the stool an even greater one by sitting his precious ass down on in. And now he was about to do me the greatest honor of all. The kind of guy who I knew, from bitter and disappointing experience, would be shitty in the sack. Then there was another thing. The insignia on his baseball cap. Even in my present mood, even if there was no Brian dancing in the back of my mind, the man would never have stood a chance.

   I hid a smirk. “No thanks. I’m all set.”

   “Just one?”

   “Seriously. No thanks. I’m heading home in a minute.”

   “Not all alone, I hope?” He let his eyes slip down a little farther south than they should have and let them linger there too long.

   “If the alternative is going home with you, then I’m better off alone.”

   He rolled his eyes. “You don’t think you’re getting a little too old to be so picky?”

   New in town. First time at Zeke’s. Business to consider. Didn’t matter. He had pushed every single one of my hot buttons, and all in less than a minute. I sat up straighter in my stool and looked him squarely in the eye.

   “Yep, I’m wicked old now. And I’ll admit that life’s been rough. So rough that it’s left me with only two rules when it comes to men. One: I don’t fuck Yankee fans. Two: I don’t fuck assholes. I’m afraid you’re disqualified on both counts.”

   He reached for his wallet, put a bill on the bar next to his untouched beer, gave his stool a kick and stormed out. Zeke, who had been watching the scene from the other side of the bar, came over to me with a hearty grin. “Good work.”

   I shrugged. “Who the hell was that?”

   “Ted...something or other. He’s from New York, as you could see, but his wife grew up around here.”

   “Wife? Wow, he really is an asshole.”

   “Yeah. She’s nice though. Her father died a few months ago and left them a house on the lake. Ted came up here to sell it.”

   “I’ll have my people go put a bid on it tomorrow.”

   “Too late. He closed on it today. Half a million.”

   I stared at him, open mouthed. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

   “Nope. Some couple from Connecticut bought it.”

   I shook my head and finished my last mouthful of celery. Zeke put my plate in a plastic tub, then gave me another grin. I groaned out loud, because I knew exactly what was coming. The general topic, anyway. He knew I knew it, but he said it anyway.

   “You know, Brian’s not an asshole. Or a Yankee fan.”

   “I know he’s not. He’s a great guy. He’s…” I sighed. “He’s a great guy.”

   “You said that already.”

   I laughed. “I know. I...I’m just...”

   I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just scared I guess.”

   It was a stupid thing to say to a guy I’d just met, but he only smiled and said, “Had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”

   I nodded. “Coming out of it, though.”

   “Good to hear.”

   “So,” I said, grabbing my purse and trying for nonchalant, “what else did he say about me? Other than the whole anal clean freak thing.”

   He pulled out a dishcloth and wiped the counter--just like bartenders are supposed to do--and seemed to consider his answer. Then he looked up at me and said, “He says he has to fight to get more than two words in row out of you, but that it’s worth it when he finally can, so he’s gonna keep right on fighting. He’s trying to figure out why you like to stare at the trees beside the house, and someday soon he’s gonna break down and ask you about it. And…he said you have the prettiest smile he’s ever seen.”

   I stared at him long enough for his face to blur before I finally remembered to blink. And then all I could think of to say was, “Oh.”

   He tossed the dishcloth aside and smiled. “Can I get you anything else?”

   “Uh…nope. I’m all set.” I plunked down my fifteen bucks and told him to keep the change. Even though it wasn’t much. And I made a mental note to leave a bigger tip next time.

   When I got home I stared at the orchard again through the glare of the headlights. It was still to early for leaves or flowers. The trees hadn’t even started to bud. But I could see the blossoms there, clinging to the bare limbs, just like I had that first day. Even against the black, starry sky. Even if it was only in my mind.

   Brian’s living room light was on, but I didn’t linger by his door. I rushed over to my own, ran up the fourteen stairs, and rescued my easel from the living room closet. I’d been waiting for some signs of life from the orchard before I put it on canvas, something real to tell me that I’d been right about it; but I couldn’t wait for the leaves or the blossoms. It had to be tonight. If I waited, for even one more day, it would be gone; whatever it was that had whispered to me.

   Gone forever. I knew it. Even though I didn’t know why.