The High Season(7)
“Aw, fuckit,” Doe said. “Really?”
She looked into its shark eye. Anger made her hands shake.
“You idiot bird,” she told it. “Like you’ve never seen a window before?”
What kind of bird was it? If it were a seagull, she could enjoy its misery, considering how many fries she’d lost to them. But this bird was small and brown. Maybe a sparrow? What did she know about birds except they sang?
Doe could stand just about anything. Except the suffering of the stupid.
“Shit.” Doe picked up one of the beach rocks that lined the path to the main house.
“I’m sorry,” she said before she dropped the rock on the bird’s head.
When she looked up, she saw her landlord’s five-year-old twins, Shannon and Shawn, staring at her, their mouths open so far she could see half-chewed cereal. Fifteen-year-old Annie stood behind them, her eyes shining with female-role-model worship.
“You are such a badass!” Annie called.
“Mom!” the kids screamed.
* * *
—
THE DAY HAD kicked off with an early-morning walk with her boss. So right away, morning ruined. Catha Lugner had asked her to meet at 7:30 A.M., a really inappropriate request. When she was at work, she worked. Was she supposed to walk whenever Catha wanted her to? She spent eight hours a day at the museum with Catha leaning over her computer, breathing chai fumes and asking what she was working on, or leaving an article about social media from, like, a newspaper on her desk with a sticky note saying, This is right in your swim lane; let’s put a pin in it! There was a reason everybody loved Ruthie and nobody liked Catha. A person who could put a semicolon on a Post-it was just advertising her smug self.
On the walk it all became clear. Catha had asked her to deliver a basket from Locavoracious in Greenport, leaving it on Ruthie’s porch for Adeline Clay that very morning, as though it weren’t Memorial Day weekend and as though you weren’t supposed to order ahead. Catha had just said, “I totally trust in your ability to facilitate this.”
Here was the thing: Doe had to make sure Ruthie wasn’t there when she delivered it “because we don’t want to bother Ruthie on move-out day.” She had also asked her to post that Romany video to Instagram and told her not to ask Ruthie about it: “Just go ahead, initiative is part of your job description!” Then she told Doe that she was doing an excellent job and Catha had her eye on her. “I set a high bar with my compliments,” she’d said, fixing Doe with her scary tiny eyes, the gaze that nailed itself to your spine. This was her way of letting Doe know that even a compliment was secretly about her own superior standards to the rest of the sorry world.
This would all be perfectly fine, because work sucked no matter where you worked, but Doe had a feeling that it was all bullshit. Catha was doing some down-and-dirty dancing around the board, trying to maneuver herself into Ruthie’s job.
Doe had a work philosophy, and it was this: Don’t shovel bullshit if you’re not a farmer. It was actually a saying of her mother’s. Which meant it was illogical and stupid, but sort of worked occasionally.
After the walk Doe had gone straight to Locavoracious and knocked hard on the door until the owner opened it. Doe had to basically beg her to assemble a basket, but it wasn’t until she dropped Adeline Clay’s name that the door opened wide. She was even offered coffee.
The basket now sat on her kitchen counter. She slipped out the note Catha had given her to tuck inside. Written across the top in puce block type was CATHA SHAND-LUGNER.
Welcome Adeline!
It’s Catha Shand-Lugner, Deputy Director of the Belfry Museum. I just wanted to welcome you to Orient on behalf of the Belfry! Hope you enjoy the (organic) goodies!
CSL
PS. I’m enclosing an invite to our annual welcome-to-summer party, Spork. It’s a fun event and a great way to meet fellow Orient-ers! Hope to see you there!
So much wrong in so little space. Just the word goodies alone…
She grabbed the basket and headed out to her car. Her landlord Tim was in the yard, balancing a mug of coffee and his keys. He frowned when he saw her, and her pulse did a little jump. She smiled and waved as she crossed to her car, giving him all the teeth she could.
“It was a mercy killing!” she called. “Promise!”
“Huh?”
Shit, he didn’t know. “I’m heading out,” she said. “Do you need me to pick up Annie at the farm stand later? I know it’s her first day!”
Keep moving as you toss out the offer. Keep smiling. With every encounter she worried that Tim or Kim would start the ball rolling. Doe, have you found a place, it’s almost June, summer and all, and you’re on winter rates…so these days she had perfected the art of Conversing While Walking Away. Their garage apartment was the cheapest she’d been able to find, and if they kicked her out she’d need to answer “roommate wanted” ads, which was unthinkable, or live in her car, which she’d promised herself she would never, ever do again.
She could tell by the way Tim crinkled his eyes and rocked back on his heels that her question annoyed him as much as it tempted him. When she’d first moved into their rental, Kim and Tim Doyle had gladly taken all her offers to run errands, do chores, and babysit the twins. Kim had left the back door open so that Doe could come in without knocking. Soon Doe was doing things like emptying the dishwasher or setting hamburger meat out to defrost. Doe still remembered the dinner when Kim had taken the last brownie and said, “I know this is rude but you’re family, so there.”