Tasted

The cruelest lies are often told in silence - Robert Louis Stevenson

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

My feet slapped the pavement in time to the beat of the music. My arms pumped at my sides. My thighs were burning, knotted calves numb. My chest heaved with my laboured breathing and my mouth was wide open, dragging in as much cool air as I could. A cold wind blew over me, washing my sweat-drenched skin.

I rounded the corner and came upon a small street of five two-bedroom cottages with a fantastic view of the quey in Haven, Maine. They were all made of grey flagstone with painted lining and a large front garden. There was also a small back garden, kept hidden by the collection of trees buffeting the back of the cottages.

The first belonged to an old man named Cambell Kitt. His wife had died five years ago and he didn't have any family. He was awful friendly though. Spent most of his time either down in the park playing chess or tending to his perfect front garden. At the moment, he was sitting on his front doorstep, his full concentration focused on the hat of the garden gnome he was repainting a bright, Christmassy red. He glanced up as I passed and waved the hand with the tiny paintbrush. I waved back.

The next house belonged to a young couple, Janett and Lawrence Parker. They'd just married last Thursday. They were on their honeymoon at the moment - in Florida I think. They'd asked Cambell to take care of their cat, Ebony. But as I gave the house a curiousy glance, I saw that he'd been taking care of more than that. The Parkers didn't really care about their garden. They would trim it every now and then, and Janett had half-heartedly added a few flowers, but now the garden looked neater and weed-less.

The third house on the street belonged to a woman in her mid-sixties, Andrea Comely. She was one of the main people in Haven. She was on the Haven Council, along with just about all the clubs and classes Haven had to offer. Her particular favourite was the Sewing Machine Class. She'd never missed a Bingo date, either. Whenever there was a local event going on, I would bet fifty dollars that Andrea had her hand in it. Of course, I had to be careful not to run into her whenever I wasn't busy. She would talk my ear off and stuff we with cakes if I ever gave her the chance.

The fourth house belonged to a hermit called Allan Bringe. I'd barely seen him in my two year residence here. He didn't care for his garden at all. He cut it once a year, reducing it to little yellow stumps and patches of mud. Cambell purpously avoids that house. He never really left his house except to get grocery's once a week at the local supermarket. The only time I'd seen him in the willing company of someone else was when a young woman who looks like him visits for a few days once a month. I assumed she was his daughter, but I never asked.

The last house on the street belonged to me. It had been mine for just under two years, but it had felt like home the minute I'd seen it. Mind you, it hadn't been a pretty sight at the time. The previous owners had accidently set the house on fire. The whole kitchen had been ruined, as well as a sizeable portion of the living room and back garden. Before that, the house itself had been neglected. But it felt like home and it was the cheapest I could get here.

I'd gotten professionals in to fix the kitchen and install new appliances and counters. I'd also had professionals floor and wallpaper the house when needed. But other than that, I'd done the rest of the work myself. The furnature inside was all chosen by me, although it was sparse. I had the basics, but I didn't have enough money to buy all the knick-knacks and extras that I wanted. They'd have to wait. I'd painted the lining of the house white and the front door a pale, soft blue. Recently, I'd just been focusing my energies on the back and front gardens.

The back didn't need much done to it. Once I'd let the grass grow a little, then cut it again, it looked mostly normal. It was the perfect little nook for reading - quiet and private. I'd added a small bird feeder and a freshly painted white swing-chair I'd gotten for ten dollars at a yard sale. It was perfect when I just wanted a moment to myself.

I hadn't done much to the front garden, but I had my plans. I'd planted flower beds under the two windows facing the street. The flowers were colourful and enticed all kinds of butterflies and bees. Just the dash of colour made the whole cottage seem more welcoming. The garden was fenced in by a white picket fence, but the paint was sorely lacking. My next plans were to paint them and the gate the same colour as the door, oil the hinges of the gate and perhaps install some kind of path. Maybe oval stones. What can I say, I had high ambitions.

I grabbed my stiny iPod Shuffle out of the waistband of my sports shorts and switched it off as I walked towards the front door. Just as I was about to go inside, I was halted by a regretfully familiar voice.

"Morgan! Morgan, hold on for a moment!" Muttering under my breath, I forced a polite smile and turned. Tottering towards me in nothing but a pink bathrobe and white slippers was Andrea. Her brown hair was trapped in pink curlers, yet she still had her make-up on. She looked like some cliche out of a bad sixties movie. I walked over so that she didn't have to come past the fence.

"Morning Andrea," I said nonchalantly.

"Oh! Good morning Morgan. Out jogging again?" She didn't give me a chance to answer, placing her hands on the tie of her bathrobe and looking at me earnestly. "I couldn't do that! Not every morning. Never was much of a runner, mind you. I was more interested in staying inside most days. And I could never give up my lie-ins!"

I refrained from pointing out the fact that it was seven in the morning. Barely. "Can I help you?"

"Oh! Of course. Goodness, I almost forot." All of a sudden, she looked flustered and tired at the same time. "Mind you, I have so much going on. I have to think of a prize to bring to Bingo tomorrow, and I just can't think of anything that I haven't brought before. And then I Catherine came over last night and we got to drinking. Good Lord, that woman can drink me far under the table. And my grandson is coming to stay in a few days! My daughter and her husband are off to some buisness trip in New York. Did I tell you Stan got promoted? So now he's off everywhere, and poor Leane is running herself ragged taking care of little Charlie as well as the house. So he's coming to stay with me for -"

"Andrea," I interrupted. "I'm sorry to rush you, but I have to get to work soon . . ." Lie. I didn't have work until twelve, but she didn't have to know that.

"Right, right. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Tomorrow, after the farmers market, the Haven Council are putting on a little party in the Town Hall. Strictly over eighteens. It's in aid for the school trip to that science centre next month. And I was hoping you could help get the word around. I can give some posters if that'll help . . ."

I held up a hand to stop her from leaving. "Wait a minute. The party is tomorrow? No offence, but wouldn't it have been better to spread the word a bit earlier?"

She blinked. "Oh! Yes, well, there've been posters up for a few weeks now, but I thought this would attract some tourists. Don't you think so?"

"Um, sure. I don't need the posters."

"Good. Thank you so much. Will you be there?"

No. "Um, maybe. We'll see."

With that, she left and I breathed a sigh of releif. Turning, I wiped some hair that had stuck to my sweaty forehead as I unlocked the door and went inside.

There was no hall, just a long, narrow living room. The whole room was neutral colours. The floor was a faded, warm red and the walls cream. At one of the room was a small TV sitting in the corner with a cream suade couch and two matching chairs. There was a small coffee table laden with beer coasters, magazines and tissues. I had a few DVD's in a narrow stack against the wall. The other end of the room was blank, with just a broad fire place and a few knick-knacks on the mantle.

There were four doors across from me. One led to a small green tiled bathroom that barely fit a toilet, sink and shower. I'd wanted a bath/shower, but it wouldn't have fit. The door was by the TV. Next to it was the door to the kitchen, which had a door to the back garden. It was narrow, but quite long, with the same tiles as the bathroom and a plain wooden floor. It was a very nice kitchen. The only thing was, I didn't like cooking. And believe me when I say that cooking didn't like me. The next door led to the guest bedroom, which was in various blue and purple tones. It had a small window on the left side with a small view of the garden and the only furnature I forked out for was a bed. The last door led to my own bedroom. The walls were purple, the carpet a pale blue. There was a wide window at the back, above the wooden double bed that took up most of the available space. The bed was unmade, because I never made it. There was a walk-in closet on the right side of the room and a silver gilted mirror next to the door, across from the bed. There were clothes scattered all over the place.

I walked in and grabbed some of the clothes off the floor, namely a pair of old jeans and a faded Beatles shirt. I tossed the iPod on my bed and went to take a cold shower. After a quick scrub, I dried off, dressed and tied up my long, wet brunette hair into a ponytail. I never blow-dried my hair because it ended up all frizzy and I couldn't be bothered buying whatever hair product it was that prevented it.

When I was presentable, I set to cleaning up a little. I did the laundry and tidied up the living room, carting through the various mugs and small plates. I washed the dishes, dried them and put them all away. But the time I did that, the washing machine had finished so I hauled all the wet clothes into the clothes dryer and set it to go.

With nothing else to do, I grabbed the book sitting on my mantle - The Catcher In The Rye - and went out back to chill out until I had to go to work.

{_X_}

I worked in a local bookstore, the Book Nook. It was small and cosy and smelled like old books, which was one of my favourite smells. We didn't really stock a lot of new books, mainly old ones. The few times we did get a new book in it was because someone donated it - like that time a guy dumped the whole Twilight series in. When I'd given him a look, he'd mumbled that they were his sisters and he was sick of her talking about them. Yeah, right.

The owner was man in his mid-forties called Garbriel Scott. He had thick black hair peppered with grey and he always wore a shirt, chinos and an . . . interesting tie. He'd owned it for twenty years - he'd taken the place over after his mother had died. He didn't have any brothers or sisters, so he'd taken it. He lived in the apartment above the store on his own. He used be married, about ten years ago, and his daughter, Melanie, stayed with him Sunday through Tuesday. Today, though, she was at some summer camp.

The only other person who worked here was a teenage girl called Haily Jackson. She was only working for the summer. She and I didn't really get along, but whatever. Gabe knew this and tried to put us on different shifts. He was a nice old man.

"Excuse me?"

I looked up from the book I'd brought with me to work. A woman, some tourist, was standing in front of me, clutching a historical romance. I straightened on the stool I was sitting and offered her a polite smile. "Can I help you m'am?" It was around four and my shift didn't finish for another two hours. I'd been reading the entire time though. Monday's are often slow.

"How much is this book?"

I held out my hand and she handed it over. I scanned the stuck on barcode with the beepy thing and the price came up on the little moniter on the cash register. "Three dollars fifty," I said, putting it on the counter between us.

She nodded, then handed over three other books she'd been holding in her other hand. "I'd like these as well."

"Of course," I muttered. I scanned those as well and stacked them neatly all together. "Fifteen dollars in total." She dug in the over-sized bag caught in the crook of her arm. She was muttering about overpriced books and I chose to ignore her. Finall, she dug out her purse and handed over a twenty dollar bill. I pinned it in the register then handed over the change. "Would you like a bag?"

"You'll probably charge me extra," she muttered.

"What was that?" I said brightly, knowing perfectly well what she'd said in the first place. Snooty old cow.

"No," she said loudly. She grabbed the books and struggled to get them into her bag as she walked out. The bell at the door jingled cheerily as she left.

"Have a nice day, ya old bat," I called out. She couldn't hear me - she was already tottering down the sidewalk. I dropped my chin onto my hand. "These people. So damned polite."

"Talking to youself again Morgan?" I grinned. Beads clinked together as Gabe walzed out from the staff room, smelling strongly of coffee and stale aftershave. I turned to him. Today's tie of choice was Christmas themed, completely disregarding the fact that it was June.

"Isn't as if there's anyone else interesting to talk to," I retorted cheekily. He glared at me, jean-blue eyes twinkling.

"Don't you have a date to get to girly?" he snapped. Oh, shit. I wish he hadn't reminded me of that. Because I did, actually. My first date. Not that I'd told Gabe that.

"Shut up," I snapped, whirling back to my book. I'd met the guy five days ago, at Gabe's birthday party. We'd been celebrating in the local bar and I'd been sitting on my own cradling a drink when he'd approached. He'd been there with some friends. He'd asked me out for dinner. He'd seemed really nice. Gabe didn't know him, but Gabe didn't know everyone. He just kept calling Mr Sleeze, because apparently he looked sleezy. I didn't mind. At least, that's what I told myself. Not every guy can be tall, dark and handsome knights from a love story.

Gabe's voice softened. "You can leave early if you want. I don't mind."

"No, it's fine. Still got two hours on my shift."

"That's a request, girly." I looked at him over my shoulder and he had that stubborn look on his face. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Morgan. Leave. Now. You can make up the time on Wednesday."

"But I -"

"Who's the boss?"

"I -"

Completely ignoring me and raising his voice, he repeated, "Who's the boss?" I hate it when he's like this.

I gave in to my urge and rolled my eyes. "You," I mumbled.

"Good girl," he cooed. "Now who's the employee?" I really hate it when he's like this.

"Me. And Hailey."

"Hailey's not here. And anyway, all this means that you do as I say. Correct? And I say go home, make yourself all fancy and go on that date with Mr Sleeze."

"Yes Master." I stuck my tongue out at him. He made to catch it and I sucked it in just in time. He gave me a lecherous grin then went off to sort out some books in the shelves. I grinned at his back, marked my place in my book with an old Walmart receit and headed for the staff room. I stuffed it in my bag, slung it over my shoulder and after stealing a biscuit off the small round table, I left.

Ten minutes later, I was home. I had ages until my date, so I settled down to watch some TV for a while. I put in some Rogers and Hammerstein, made myself some tea and was all set.

When I only had an hour until my date with 'Mr Sleeze' I switched off the movie and got ready. After undressing, I stood for the longest time in my closet conemplating what to wear. I wasn't used to this. I didn't normally care about what clothes I wore or how I presented myself, but this was a date. I had to look good.

After a while, I finally decided on a white summer dress that flounced around my calves. It had a modest square neckline and seemed apropriate. I didn't have any flats, so I settled for some pale pink sandles with a small heel. I didn't bother with a cardigan. It was warm enough I wouldn't need one. When I'd dressed, I went over to the mirror and made myself look more . . . feminine. I released my wavy, slightly curling brown hair and brushed it out. It reached just below my elbows and was a pleasant warmth on the bare skin of my back. I outlined my blue-grey eyes in black and added some mascara. I had really short eyelashes, so I took extra care to make them look bigger. I decided against anything for my lips because it would just rub off anyway.

I was ready. God, I'm so not ready.

I put my cell, keys and purse in a small white bag, slung it over my shoulder and left. Sitting on the sidewalk outside my house was my Chevy. It was a faded Robin's Egg blue. I didn't use it often, because I had no need to, but my date was at a restraunt called Victoria's, in the next town which was just over twenty miles away. So I climbed in, started the engine and off I went. An old Script CD started playing and I sung along absentmindedly.

By the time I reached Victoria's, my stomach was growling ferousciously. I patted it absently as I looked through the restraunt's windows, trying to catch a glimpse of David Boatmann before I went inside. No such luck.

Crossing my fingers, I left my Chevy and entered the restraunt. There was no hostess at the podium and I searched the white covered tables for David. Eventually, I caught sight of a crisp white shirt, short mousy brown hair and a cleft chin. I watched him for a moment, analysing the way his shirt was tucked into his cream chinos, his very hairy arms, his beer belly and the slight stains under his arms. I grimaced. Okay, so he wasn't my dream guy, but he wasn't that bad. He had a nice smile, and clear blue eyes and . . . he'd found me attractive. That was enough for me.

Taking a deep breath, I spread my lips in a bright smile and walked up. He looked up at me as I approached, wiping his hands nervously on his thighs. I decided not to shake his hand based on that gesture and instead sat down across from him, tucking my hair behind one ear nervously. "Hi," I said. "How are you?"

He nodded, eyes wandering to something over my head as he licked his lips. "I'm good. What about you? Did you have fun at that party?"

"Um, fine. Just fine. And the party was great. Gabe loved it. Which, you know, was the whole point." Wow, this was awkward. I cleared my throat and fiddled with the edge of the table cloth. I glanced up to see David twirling a half empty glass of water. I watched under my now-longer-lashes in slight confusion as he moved in jerky, nervous movements. He'd seemed so confident in the bar, confident and flirty. But then, his friends had been egging him on. And he'd probably been drunk. Maybe I was only now seeing the real David Boatmann. It was not an encouraging thought.

A moment later, our awkward silence broke as the waitress took our orders. After she left, David started talking to me, that useless small talk that strangers say when they need to fill up the silence. You know, weather, sports. Not that I know anything about sports. Except for running, of course.

On impulse, I glanced down at his left hand which lay palm down on the table. It was just a randon glance. Maybe it was bad luck. Or maybe I'd had the sneaking suspcion since I'd met him. Whatever the reason, I caught sight of the tan line on his ring finger that boasted of a thick wedding ring recently removed.

Oh, God. You had to be kidding me.

Remebering Gabe's nickname for him, I smirked at the irony. I felt like crying. And hitting him. And laughing until tears ran from my eyes. Instead, I calmly opened my purse, counted out enough money to pay for what I'd ordered, but not eaten, and laid it on the table. I closed my purse with a sharp click, put it in my bag and held the strap in the crook of my arm. He watched my careful movements, brows furrowing in confusion. He smiled, as if it were some joke and he was waiting for the butt of it.

I stood up and looked down at him, disgust showing plainly on my face. "Your wife would be ashamed of you." I turned before I could see his reaction. I walked until I reached the middle of the room, then shot a finger over my shoulder and said, "And you can forget about a second date."

Bastard.