"Detour"

Published in the These Guns for Hire Anthology, Bleak House Books, 2006

Excerpt

I wasn't expecting a hit that hot August morning. I was barreling east on a stretch of Ninety-four between Indiana and Michigan that just begs you to floor it. Newly paved, with two wide lanes, it's practically uninhabited at six in the morning. Compared to Ninety-six, or even Sixty-nine, you feel like you're about to take off, like the frigging crows on the power lines at the side of the road. At least the ones that haven't been dropped by West Nile.

I'd headed out from the Michigan shores before dawn. I hadn't slept much—Christ—I hadn't even changed my clothes. I was still trying to figure out what the old lady was up to. I hadn't seen her—or the place—in ten years. Why did she invite me back? I'd been living in the Motor City, trying to keep a low profile, when all of a sudden the phone rings, and there she is with that high-class way of talking. You know, the kind that reminds you of your fourth grade teacher. Asking could I please do her the honor of visiting?

The honor?

It'd been too long, she said, with just a trace of regret. We needed to catch up. I could stay overnight. She'd put me up in the guest cottage, she said, and we could bond. What was I, Elmer's Glue?

So I met her yesterday afternoon for tea. Tea, for Christ's sake. So bitter that even with sugar and cream it sucks out the insides of your cheeks. She had those stupid little sandwiches and biscuits. Scones, she called them—all arranged on a silver tray you only see at weddings. She also had this thick white stuff in a bowl. Clotted cream, she smiled. "You'll like it. It's sweet."

All content © Libby Fischer Hellmann.