Crooked Crossroads (Child Lost Series Book 1) by Trinity Crow

Author:Trinity Crow [Crow, Trinity]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Feather Press
Published: 2018-06-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The next day I ignored anything that was remotely occult. I heard Corky bark as I left for work but just kept going. There was a flash of guilt but pushed it away. I couldn't deal with any of it just now. The dark streets suited my mood and I flew through the empty, sleeping town, burning off unwanted energy. I wasn't distracted by the odd line up of cats on the Lebeau's bottle wall, they could come at me if they dared. I barely noticed the new trash sculpture in Mad Dog's, the town hermit, yard. I just pedaled head down, not pleased with the new events in my life. I made it into the bakery in record time and managed to answer the good mornings from the D's without sounding like a total sociopath. Robotically, I churned out my list but seemed unable to clear my head. There was a special order of twenty-five mini loaves of blueberry, banana nut, and orange cranberry bread, some kind of teacher thank you at the junior high. I made a production of it, wrapping and tagging them with more concentration than the job needed. But in spite of my attempt at distraction, my head still buzzed with something close to anxiety. Anxiety was bad. People were only anxious over stuff when they cared. My last hope was an escape to the store, I was actually happy to see a crowd coming in. A quick glance showed me I didn't know them and they didn't know me, perfect. And as a bonus, they were the indecisive kind. It was just what I needed.

Because this was life. This was real. Life was hordes of crappy customers asking for samples of damn near everything in the place, wiping down counters and cases from their unthinking fingerprints and refilling sample trays. Reality was heavy oven mitts up to my elbows as I pulled tray after tray of cookies that smelled like we were baking Jesus himself. It was the ache in my shoulders from the repeated motion and the sense that I wascreating something good in the world, something concrete. I was tired of spooky, of complications, of people invading every part of my life. I was over feelings and intuitions. I wanted to work. Also, I wanted to eat, a lot, and lose myself in a book about something real, like being hungry and hunting for food, surviving a hard winter, hard work, sacrifice, a gritty dystopian story where success depends on you and how you coped. Because I am a cope-er, not a dreamer, and this wishy-washy spirit shit was driving me nuts. I didn't want to deal with other people's emotions or needs. I mean, I didn't even want to deal with my own.

I jumped into the fray and sold baked goods with a willing heart and slightly scary ferocity. A few people flinched from my determined smile, but money was money. I didn't care if they bought biscotti and baklava out of fear or love.

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