Dark Hollows

It’s really beautiful. The breeze carries the scent of dead leaves from the forest to the porch. The colors are at their peak. The cotton-ball clouds race through the sky overhead. It’s that perfect temperature where I need a jacket, but not a coat. There’s only a few more days until Halloween, which is The Hollows’ time to shine.

Murphy comes out, pushing open the unlatched screen door with his nose, and plops down with a contented sigh next to my chair.

Rebecca Lowden can take her time.

I’m perfectly fine.

*

Hours later, I’m still on the porch, but I need to get going.

I’m meeting at Groundworks with a rep from Alliance Capital. It’s a company that’s interested in turning Groundworks into a franchise.

Murphy’s still here on the porch with me, thrashing around on his back, trying to get an itch on his spine. He snorts as he writhes back and forth. I decide it’s a great pic, and take out my phone. I get out of my chair and crouch down near his head. Still on his back, he looks at me as if to ask, “What the hell are you doing?”

I get low, right by his nose, and snap a photo. I know right away I can’t use it for the Be Our Guest website because the cottage is framed between his open hind legs. It’s hysterical, but probably not appropriate. Also, as I hit the shutter button, a Ford Focus pulls into frame, and parks next to the cottage. I take another picture, for my own collection, and tuck the phone into my pocket. Murphy rolls over, taking note of the new arrival.

I stand up and move to the steps, ready to greet Rebecca Lowden, but stop. It’s not her. It can’t be. Someone has taken a wrong turn. The woman getting out of the Focus has red hair. Rebecca is a brunette.

Murphy takes off towards her. I follow. He pulls up a few yards short, and strikes a submissive pose. She crouches down, and pats her knees in encouragement.

Wait. I’m wrong. It is Rebecca Lowden. She’s dyed her hair a deep red.

Murphy gets closer and playfully rolls onto his back for a tummy rub. She obliges.

I keep walking forward. Yes, it is indeed Rebecca Lowden. She’s still a knockout, but that red hair isn’t working for her.

“Hi,” she says to me, while patting Murphy’s stomach. “Are you Jacob?”

“Yep. You Rebecca?”

“That’s me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t recognize you with the hair. It’s different from your profile pic.”

She stands. “Yeah. Just something I’m trying.”

Murphy gets up, and spins his hindquarters into her for a butt-scratch.

“And you must be Murphy!” she says in baby talk, running her nails across his hips. Murphy is in heaven. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No, no. You’re not late. You can check in whenever you want. The key is in the lockbox next to the door.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“I’d offer to show you around, but Murphy and I have to run into town for a little business meeting.”

She lightheartedly slaps Murphy’s butt. “No worries.”

“I don’t know what your plans are, but there’s coffee and wine in the cottage, and stuff to make s’mores. If you want to use the fire pit, there are some logs around the back.”

“Great.”

“If there’s anything else you need, you’ve got my number, right?”

“Yep.”

There’s this weird pause where I feel like she’s waiting for me to leave.

“Okay,” I say. “Come on, Murph.”

He hesitates, but then comes to my side, and follows me to the truck. I glance over my shoulder and watch as she goes to the lockbox and punches in the code.

By the time Murphy and I reach the truck, she’s already entering the cottage. She goes in and closes the door.

I open the truck, and Murphy leaps in. He loves car rides. I climb into the cabin and turn the key in the ignition. As the truck roars to life, the light goes on in the cottage.

“Murphy, is it just me or was that a little weird?” I ask.

I look over and see his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

“Oh, yeah. You’re a dog.”

I pop the truck into gear and roll down the driveway. I turn onto Normandy Lane, take one last look at the cottage in the rearview mirror, and head towards town.

*

Groundworks is busy, which is good. Aside from the revenue, I want it busy so the Alliance Capital rep can see that it’s a thriving business.

Heads turn at the sound of the jingling bells on the door when Murphy and I walk in. There are a few regulars I recognize, like Reverend Williams from the Old Stone Church. He usually drops by once a month, but most of the customers are tourists I’ve never seen before. They may not know who I am, but Murphy is the ultimate kryptonite, and everyone is instantly enamored.

I’ll share a little secret with you; at first, I hated this place. From the moment it opened, I regretted staking everything I had on it. I felt like I had thrown all my money away on something I could never get off the ground. Now, I love it. The smell of fresh coffee penetrates every surface. The constant hiss of the cappuccino maker. The perfect view of The Hollows’ main thoroughfare, capped by the Old Stone Church at the end of the street. The location had been expensive, but it paid off.

Sandy is manning the register, while Tom and Sheila, two local high school kids, race back and forth, concocting drinks. The line is sizable, but not unreasonable.

“Hey, Sandy,” I say, stepping behind the counter.

“Hey, boss,” she tosses over her shoulder, and redirects her attention to the man at the counter. “That’ll be $18.47.”

The man hands her a twenty. Sandy makes the change.

Sandy’s a bit younger than me, and has a single-mindedness in her pursuits. She wants to be successful in business, and she will be if I have any say in it. When Groundworks started to take off, it was too much for me. I didn’t know how to keep the momentum going. Sandy did.

“We’ll call your name when it’s ready.”

The man turns, and goes to wait by the creamer station.

“How’s it been today?” I ask.