Cackle(16)

Only animals have eyes like that. Innocent voids. I’ve held a baby before; as soon as we’re born, our eyes are filled with want.

The sun reintroduces itself at the end of the path, the shade disappearing at the part of the trees. There’s a large field with rows of white tents with peaks like meringue. There’s a circle of children playing duck, duck, goose on the grass. There are two teenage boys hovering over open guitar cases, playing a song I’ve never heard. They’re the kind of boys I would have had crushes on in high school, angsty musicians in waffle knits with good bone structure and poor hygiene. Except these boys are actually talented. All the guitar players I ever liked were terrible. I taught myself how to play when I was fourteen, thinking it would impress them. I picked it up fast and was, surprisingly, pretty good. But that ended up being a bad thing. None of those guys wanted to date a girl who was better than them at guitar.

It never bothered Sam. He liked when I played.

I drop a dollar into each of their cases.

Sophie said she would be here, but she didn’t say when or where to meet her. She mentioned coffee, so I set off to find coffee.

I walk through an aisle between tents and find vendors selling fresh eggs and milk, selling fish, selling apples and apple cider and apple turnovers, selling jams. I pause in front of the jams. There’s apricot. Sam’s mom used to make cookies with apricot preserves in the middle. They were my favorite.

“Hello,” says a very thin woman with a blunt white-blond bob. She wears giant black sunglasses, the kind that would make anyone else look like an insect, but they make her look chic. She lifts them up to look at me. She wears clumps and clumps of mascara. I’d guess she’s in her sixties.

“Hi,” I say. “Morning.”

“Here, sweetheart. For you,” she says, depositing a sample-sized jar of jam in my hand.

“It’s raspberry,” she says. “Do you like raspberry? You look like a raspberry girl.”

“I like raspberry,” I say.

“Just a little tart,” she says. “Like me.”

I must react, because she laughs, holding a hand over her chest. Her hands are older than the rest of her.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s a bad line.”

“No,” I say, “it’s funny.”

“I’m Rose,” she says. “I sell at Bakery on Main as well. Are you from around here?”

“I just moved.”

“Oh,” she says. “Welcome!”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m Annie.”

“Yes,” she says. “Sophie mentioned you.”

“You know Sophie?”

She puts her sunglasses back on. Then she says, “Everyone knows Sophie.”

“I’m supposed to meet her for coffee,” I say.

“She’ll be around here somewhere. Look for the flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“You’ll see,” she says. She smiles, but it’s weak and fleeting. There’s a hint of tension in her face, in her jaw, like she’s clenching her teeth.

“Well, Rose, thank you for the jam,” I say. “I’m excited to try it.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” she says. “Be sure to tell Sophie I say hello. Tell her I gave you some jam.”

“I will.”

I turn to walk away and almost trip over a little girl in a white dress. Her hair is in intricate braids. She looks up at me, and she’s so cute my body wilts.

“Excuse me,” she says. She’s holding a daisy.

“That’s a pretty flower,” I tell her. “Where’d you get it?”

“Miss Sophie,” she says. She turns around and points, then pivots and skips off past me.

“Convenient,” I say to myself. The universe is leading me to Sophie, leaving me bread crumbs.

I walk down the row of tents and look in both directions.

“Annie!”

Sophie is walking toward me. She’s on a slight hill, and the sun is perched directly above her, like it’s her own personal sun. She’s wearing another long black dress. This one is flowy with dramatic bell sleeves. It’s cinched at her impossibly small waist with a silver chain belt. She carries a bouquet of pale daisies and baby’s breath.

“I’m so happy you came,” she says. “Come, pet. Let’s get you some coffee.”

She takes my hand and begins leading me somewhere. I don’t care where.

“How’s your morning so far?” she asks.

“Good,” I say. “Everyone is really nice here.”

“Ah, yes. That’s because we kill anyone who isn’t nice.” She looks back at me, wearing a smirk like a mink coat. “Don’t worry. It’s very humane.”

“Oh, good,” I say. “I was worried about that.”

She laughs her sweet, musical laugh.

“Here,” she says, stopping in front of a tent. Inside, a tall, handsome man with short silver hair wears an apron and froths milk. Next to him is a much younger version. The kid must be about thirteen or fourteen. He wears some kind of “invisible” braces; I can see the plastic over his teeth as he smiles.

“Good morning, Sophie,” he says, bowing his head to her. Is she royalty? I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.