Borderlines (23 page)

“Maybe they were. The fact they showed for the meeting in the first place shows how uncomfortable they are th all this.” “Are you uncomfortable?” She smiled. “Me? A little-I’m mostly curious. And I have too uch time on my hands. Dangerous thing for a woman, they say.”

I ignored the oneliner. “But you must have thoughts about this.” “Sure I do. I think people have a right to do what they want if they n’t hurt other people. But I don’t know if that’s what’s happening re.” “What about Greta?” She made a face. “I think Greta’s full of it. She runs a lousy siness, and now she’s losing money. It’s her own fault. If they’d ened a McDonald’s, she would have been in the same fix.” I found myself laughing at the image of Greta bringing in Gorman rid Gannet of the Golden Arches. I felt my earlier ill humor slipping ay.

Looking at Laura, smiling, I was suddenly grateful that she’d been ere to lift my spirits. “You had dinner yet?” “No, I was about to head home and put something on. You terested?” Something in her tone prompted me to be cautious. “No, let me at you. Your choice.” She hesitated, “Well, there’s ‘ ‘ ”’ She stopped and gave me a ‘schievous look. “How about the Kingdom Restaurant?” My astonishment showed.

“Is that all right?” She looked suddenly doubtful. “It’s fine. I’m just surprised. I would have thought you’d never set in the place.” She grinned. “I haven’t.” %152 The Kingdom Restaurant was, to the average tourist eye, quite charming.

The interior contained lots of wood-beams, rafters, exposed floors-and plenty of greenery, plants hung from almost every available overhead spot. There was a fire crackling in a large hearth, surrounded by a semicircle of comfortable-looking rocking chairs. The lighting was muted, mostly supplied by candles, including one at each of the gingham-covered tables-a city dweller’s dream come true.

Not that there were too many tourists there. The timing was lousy for them, or for anyone else outside a twenty-mile radius: It was too cold but with no compensating snow; it was fall but the colorful leaves were gone. Of New England’s many unofficial seasons, “T’Aint Season, this pause-before-the-snow-flies, was a general bust, except, of course, for the huiiters. There were three of them in “Day-Glo” dress parked at a table near the front window.

Laura was obviously impressed. “Wow.” “See? You might even like their filet of materialist flambe.” “Not funny. There sure are a lot of them here.” That was true. A dozen or so men, women and children in quilted pseudo-army garb were sprinkled behind the bar counter, around the kitchen door, and about the fire. Apparently, the Kingdom Restaurant doubled as a hangout for its owners.

One of the women approached us, smiling pleasantly, and led us to a booth off to the side. Walking in her wake, I noticed an odd but not wholly unpleasant scent wafting behind her, some complex mixture of things herbal and animal, including a subtle dollop of old-fashioned body odor. Laura followed me so closely, she stepped on my heels. The waitress indicated a small slate on the table, with elegant chalk writing on it, propped against the wall. “That is your menu. Our meals are made from our own products, grown or raised on our own land, and prepared daily. I’ll give you a few minutes to get settled; would you like anything non-alcoholic from the bar in the meantime? We have a wide variety of fruit juices, natural sodas, and sparkling and nonsparkling waters.” I looked at Laura, who was slowly peeling off her down windbreaker like a reluctant warrior shedding his armor in the face of the enemy. “Want anything?” She looked from the waitress to me.

“Coke?” %153 “I’m sorry, we don’t carry Coke, but we do have something like “Okay,” she said doubtfully, and slid into the booth. “I’ll have one, too,” I said as I took off my coat and hung it on e hook by the booth. The waitress went off to fulfill our order. “So far so good.

They haven’t asked us to step into a huge stew yet.” She gave me an exasperated look. “All right, I’m a little nervous.” I reached out and patted her hand. “I’m glad you suggested this.

occurred to me I was criticizing the people at Gorman’s meeting for getting to know the Order, when I was guilty of the same thing.” She looked around. “It is a nice looking place.” She was wearing ery pretty, close-fitting, V-necked blouse. Her throat was bare and r smooth, pale skin ran uninterrupted to the edges of her collar, to ere the first button rested like a medal on her chest. It was startling realize that this was the first relaxed, social moment I’d had since rrived in Gannet.

The waitress returned with a couple of glasses and two cans of bert Corr’s Cola. I quickly glanced at the menu and ordered the least re thing I could find, chili, with a side order of ketchup. Laura settled lemon chicken.

After the waitress left again, Laura looked at her drink suspiusly.

“It’s a national brand. I’ve seen it around.” She sipped gingerly.

“So?” “Not bad.” I decided to ply her for a little more information about the Order. hat was it like when they first came to town?” I indicated the people ound us with my eyes.

“Kind of exciting, in a way. Sarris made a point of being friendly.

ey paid top dollar for the buildings and the farm. People were saying might be a good thing, give the town a shot in the arm, but that was wishful thinking. I remember Greta saying she’d benefit from the siness this restaurant pulled in. Overflow, she called it. Can you agine that? She must’ve been dreaming. No one in their right mind uld come to this town to eat at the Rocky River, especially the tlanders.” I already knew that the backbone of the Kingdom Restaurant was mailorder business. With that as an extra source of income, Greta’s ancial outlook looked doubly doomed. “Did anyone try to roll out e welcome mat for the Order?” She shook her head. “People talk about it now, but no one really %154 went out of their way. I don’t think it would have worked anyway.

Sarris brought his group up here to get away from the locals. The Northeast Kingdom isn’t exactly famous for its hospitality, and I think that suited him.” “Where do they grow their food?” “North of town.

There’s a dirt road called McCallister’s Road. It leads to an old farm-” “Which used to be called McCallister’s Farm. I remember.” She laughed.

“Right. It was abandoned when they bought it, but they’ve done a lot with it. It’s in full production now, or so everyone says.” “Who’s ‘everyone’?” “Oh, other farmers around. Early on, the Order asked surrounding farmers how to work the land. They wanted to know how Vermont farming differed from down south. They paid well, so people were happy to help.

But there’s been less contact lately, now that they know what they’re doing. In fact, they have several advantages over the local farmers.”

“How so?” “Well, they don’t use any middlemen, the mortgage is paid on the farm, they don’t use any power machinery, and the farm hands work for free and there’re a lot of them, too.” “Any resentment from the locals?” “Some, I guess. It’s not really the same market-these people avoid the mainstream-but still, some of them feel the cult’s setting a bad example. Same as with the townspeople; at first, they were well paid, then the money handouts stopped.” She took a swallow of her drink.

During the pause in conversation, I thought I could hear sounds from the seashore, mixed with rain. I looked around, trying to locate the source, and found it leaking from a loudspeaker high in one corner-“natural” Muzak.

“How do you know so much about this?” “My father and father-in-law are farmers,” she said shortly. I watched her swirling the ice cubes around ill her glass, her eyes on the tiny whirlpool. Her tone had revealed as much as her brevity on the subject.

Their life was not to be hers. Apparently, however, that’s where her determination had run out; she knew what she didn’t want but had no alternatives. Our waitress returned bearing our meals, her smile still in place. I focused on her more carefully as she placed the dishes before us. “That was fast.” “Well, we’re not too busy, and a lot of the ingredients are prepared ahead of time.” %155 “You work in the restaurant full-time, or do you do other ings?” She looked at me closely then, her smile fading just around the ges.

“We all work at everything: It’s a sharing community where all e equal.”

“So you all get to know each other pretty well, I guess.” She looked at me as if I’d suddenly lapsed into Arabic. “You ever meet Julie Wingate?” She looked over her shoulder nervously. A man at the bar, watchus, came over to our table. The waitress faded away as he drew up.

an I help you?” The tone of voice was neutral, but I found the uence unsettling.

“No, not really.” “I got the impression you were asking your waitress questions she uldn’t answer.” “I don’t know if she could or not; she didn’t.” “That could be because she knows who you are, Mr. Gunther.”

“Ah, very flattering.” “I’m glad you think so. Well, if there’s nothing I can do, I’ll let u enjoy your meal.” “You know, we’re trying to protect you as much as anyone else; don’t want to see any more of you hurt or killed.” He smiled. “What you want is irrelevant to us.” He turned his ck and returned to the bar. There was a prolonged silence after he left. “Maybe this was a bad a,” Laura finally said.

I poured ketchup into the chili, crumbled some crackers over the p, and stirred it all together. It tasted pretty bland-Tabasco might ve helped. “Hell with ‘em-food’s good.” She looked doubtful, but cut off a piece of chicken and ate. “Good?” She stared at my bowl. I was adding salt and pepper. “Mine’s fine.

hat are you doing?” “Spicing it up a bit.” She had the kindness to keep quiet. I didn’t really mind; my eating bits were legendary in some circles and I’d already survived a lifetime harassment. More important, it had taken Laura’s mind off her dden discomfort at being here.

“So,” I said after a few spoonfuls, “have you decided what to do out you and Tommy?” She chewed a while longer before answering. Then she put down r fork. “I don’t think I have your courage.” “Courage?” I was disturbed by her choice of words. Her view of %156 me, I’d come to realize, needed a good dose of reality, something a l,e’l”5c’n llkp Gail we1in be 9n e’soI’ert at alm1’riisteri”I~~ “You can live alone; you can come up here and do this job, with people you don’t know; you can handle yourself in tough situations and not have it faze you. I don’t think I could be that way.” “That probably makes me callous, not courageous.”

She reached out and grabbed my hand. It was a perfectly natural gesture, but the sentimentality of it made me uncomfortable: It spoke too well of her need to make me the solution to her problems. “I don’t think so. It’s not callous to be strong enough to not care what other people think.” I shook my head. “You’re making me sound too good to be true.” “You are good.” It was a painful signpost of her inexperience-or my skepticism. I turned my hand so that I held hers in mine. “What I am is a crusty old cop. Some of what you’re talking about comes from my just not giving a damn anymore. And the rest is flat out wrong. I care about what people think; I have concerns about coming across well and not looking like a fool. Everyone does. I want you to like me, for instance, but that’s just a normal thing for men and women to do-for anyone to do.” Her face softened. “I do like you. I think I liked you before we even met, just from what I heard from Buster. And now that we have met, I know I was right.” I was angry at myself. Subconsciously, I’d been playing her up, encouraging her. I’d been enjoying the attention, using it to soothe my frazzled ego.

“Laura, you don’t really know me. I live alone for good reasons.

I’m narrow-minded in a lot of ways and I’m selfish as hell-can’t share worth a damn. Don’t look to me for examples of how to run your life; look to yourself and find out what it is you want out of life. Like you said, you’ve got no kids, nothing really to tie you down. If leaving Tommy is what’s best, then do it, but if you think the two of you still have a chance, then maybe it’s worth fixing up.” “I don’t know if I’d be good at that,” she muttered, staring at her plate.

“Come on. You said you lacked courage. That’s baloney-you beat your alcoholism, didn’t you?” “For the moment.” “Did Tommy help at all?” “Not much. Tommy doesn’t do anything much.” Her face became hard.

“I’d try to make it work if he was interested. Hell, I’d make it %157

rk if anyone was interested.” With that, like quicksilver, she was king softly into my eyes.

I felt like a tugboat pushing an ocean liner away from the rocks.

Tommy’s not the man for you, Laura, then find someone who is. don’t tie yourself into knots for the first nice guy who comes along. at’Il bite you in the nose in the long run.” “Do you like me?” I was getting a little frustrated with this. “Of course I like you, but set in my ways.

You’re stuck on me because you’re unhappy with mmy.” I’d been harsher than I’d intended. Indeed, even as I spoke them, alf-regretted my own words. To a guy my age, the palpable yearning an attractive younger woman was a seductive proposition, as pleasto my vanity as it was foolish and misguided to my inner moral pass. In any case, I had pricked whatever bubble had been swelling ween us. She took her hand back and began finishing her meal. I took her cue and attacked my chili again, but the taste had gone of it somehow. After a couple of mouthfuls, I put down my spoon quit. As I looked up, I saw Edward Sarris staring at me from across room.

Moments later, he walked up to the table. “Enjoying your meal?” Laura froze in midbite. Sarris smiled. “Please, continue.” She did, though obviously with limited enthusiasm. I gestured to seat beside me. “Join us?” “No, thank you.” He leaned against the table opposite us instead, hands in his pants pockets, his ankles crossed the perfect picture leisure.