She Cried Wolf

Chapter Eight: Eilidh (aye-lee)

Tolver tells me that the clinic has an opening in ten minutes, so she suggests we drive there soon.

"After the appointment is over, I can show you around town, this is your first time in Stoneridge," though she doesn't phrase it like a question, I nod, and she continues, "Perhaps we can purchase some shoes and clothing of your own, while we're out," I try to protest, try to tell her, again, that I have no money to pay her back with, but she won't listen. I'm coming to learn that Tolver is pretty stubborn. She seems to be the type of person who, when she says something, she expects to receive very little complaint. Sort of what I imagine an army sergeant is like, controlled, serious, and slightly bossy.

As much as I'd like to say I don't need anything, she is right about some things. For example, I don't have any shoes, and Tolver's are, at the very least, two sizes too big for me. Plus, while Tolver's clothes fit me fine, I'd feel extremely guilty living in her home and stealing from her wardrobe. But is it any better taking her money knowing I can't possibly pay it back? I don't know, but thinking about it makes my stomach ache, and my head hurt. So, I decide to just go with the flow. I can always stick to the clearance rack, nothing says she has to buy me something expensive. Plus I don't need THAT much, just the essentials. It's a good plan, but I think if I tell Tolver about my thrifty intentions; she might get upset, so I choose to keep it to myself, at least for now.

Clad in my host's oversized flip-flops, and stumbling slightly right behind her, I follow Tolver outside. I find that the cabin is absolutely surrounded by lush forest, her backyard, an ocean of spongy moss, less ends than is completely consumed by the woods around it. A sea of green upon green. There's a large stump in the middle of the yard, and I figure that's where she must split logs. Next to the cabin (which is, actually, a real-life log structure) is a shed, made of dark planks. Parked directly in front of the shed is a shiny red pick-up truck.

It looks new, or at least, very close to new. The paint is pristine, and if it wasn't for the mud caked on the rims, I would've assumed it's never been driven.

"Nice truck," The comment earns another goofy, too-big, grin from Tolver, which does funny things to my stomach.

"It's my pride and joy, I love this truck," I giggle, and make a big show of crossing my heart.

"Well, I'll try not to scratch it," her laugh is something between a bark and a snort.

"You better not, then I'd have to kill you,"

"That'd be sort of counter-productive, wouldn't it?" I smile at her as she opens the passenger side door for me. She holds out a hand, which I take after a moment of hesitation, needing it as I clamber into the truck. Jesus, does it really need to be raised so high?

"I suppose you're right, though it would save me the trip to the clinic,"

"I told you, I don't need the clinic," I call to her, in a sing-song tone I don't recognize, as she makes her way to the other side of the car.

"I'll let the good doctor be the judge of that," She replies, and I laugh at the challenge in her tone. So serious. There's something else there too, something hard and a little prickly, but I can't decide if I'm just imagining it.

"If you say so," I shrug.

"I do," I just shake my head, smiling.

We spend the ride in, what I hope is, companionable silence. I just can't think of anything to say as I watch the blur of trees outside the truck's windows get broken steadily by larger and larger groups of cabins until, finally, we reach what must be the proper heart of town.