Nothing But Bones

3: Beaverdell

It takes a while for her to get things ready in the way she was supposed to: canvas duffel bag packed with everything she could possibly need, ray gun packaged like a toy just in case, Kepler found at the edge of the golf course, hiding under a bush and eating berries that would definitely be poisonous to a normal rat.

Then that period of preparation and anticipation is over. There's no more hiding from it. There's the 2003 Honda Accord they're making her drive, and there's the drive to the border. They taunt her from the infinite worry about how crossing the border is supposed to work.

God, she hates driving.

Two hours to the border, then an hour and fifteen-ish minutes until she gets to where she needs to be. It isn't the worst drive in the world. At least she isn't in Kansas again. She would take mountain roads over tornados any day.

There's a part of her that considers stopping at Denny's to break into her car and take some of her CDs, but Tiff figures that the singular one she packed will probably be more than enough. It's fine. She's just wigging out for no reason when what she needs to do is skedaddle.

It's a blur when she tries to think about it. It's almost funny that she didn't say goodbye to anyone, just like it's almost funny that Kepler tries to take the wheel at one point and she has to scold him back into the passenger's seat. The border isn't as much of a terror as she thought it would be, though she doesn't quite remember it. Not breathing the entire time you're in a place will do that to your memories of it.

Then she's there. Three and a half hours of listening to the same few songs over and over again, nervously drumming her hands on the wheel to Bratmobile and Skating Polly, and she's there. Beaverdell, British Columbia. The only things she really knows about this place come from half-hearted Wikipedia searches conducted while filling up the gas tank of this stupid car. (She misses her bike. This Honda doesn't compare.)

She thinks Beaverdell might be the kind of town Lake Wonder is: somewhere immensely quaint until you're familiar with it, with beautiful scenery and a whole host of interesting little buildings. She supposes most places in and against the mountains are like that. If you can hike there and you have a lake, there are bound to be similarities.

Unfortunately, she isn't there to hike. She's there to look at a haunted house.

The first step is to take her shit to the inn; the second is to find somewhere neutral and start asking questions. Parked outside the one hotel in this town, she pops open the door of the car to mountain air and sunshine.

She pauses and points at Kepler. "Stay for a second. I need to find your leash."

He frowns and plays with the door handle.

"I'm not the one who stole a golf cart and got us in this mess," she points out, not even looking at him. Standing on the asphalt in front of the Beaverdell Hotel, she pops open the back driver's-side door and pulls out her jacket and her duffel bag. "That was all you, Kep."

Whatever rude gestures he's making, she doesn't see it.

She hoists her bag over her shoulder. "Yeah, whatever. Come on. Let's go inside."

[here]

The Beaverdell Hotel, recently rebuilt after the 2011 fire, stands against the mountain backdrop in its fresh coating of gleaming white paint. The former-oldest building in town welcomes Tiff with its small town charm and certainly friendly handyman giving her and Kepler a look. She gives him a wave and ducks her head.

Immediately inside, the scents of wood polish and perfume assault her nose. The interior is pretty much what she expected: wood, wood, old pictures of the town and the former building, furniture both new and incredibly-outdated, and more wood.

An older woman, clearly the culprit of the offending perfume, pans her scrutinizing gaze from her work to Tiff and ultimately to Kepler. Her face does not hide the confusion at the rat's appearance. "Pets are not allowed here, dear. Is that a dog?"

"Yeah," she answers, without thinking. "I'll sleep in my car."

This was a stupid idea. She turns on her heel and heads for the door she came through.

The woman sighs and moves out from behind the counter.

"Now, we can't have you doing that. I doubt Sheriff Whimbley would appreciate an out-of-towner slumming it in their car."

"It's a Honda," she says, like that's a defense. "It's not slumming it."

The woman ignores that, watching Kepler scramble around for bits he can greedily palm into his big rat grabbers instead. "Is.. it a service animal?"

Fuck. Was the paperwork even real? The only thing Tiff can think to say, like it's a response at all, is, "Shit, I don't know."

The employee shifts her gaze up to Tiff, frowning. "Darling, you either know or you don't. I'm trying to help you here."

"Shit. I don't know. Legally yes or maybe, but I really do think I'm just going to sleep in my car. Uh— Bye." She can't think of anything else, so she does finger-guns and tries to open the door with her hip. The door, of course, does not work like that.

With a shake of her head, the woman watches Tiff struggle with the door. She also watches Tiff give up.

"Look, we really can't have you sleeping in your car."

"Oh, we probably can, it isn't the worst thing—"

"If you have papers for your dog, then I am happy to get you into a room. If not, then there is the campground and we sell tents over at Johnny's. But wouldn't you prefer a comfy bed?"

This is why Tiff doesn't do things by herself. Now she's all in her head and there's no way to get out of it. Sure, a bed sounds nice, and there's really no reason she shouldn't be here, since she has the actual paperwork— but this feels like fraud. It feels wrong.

She's fine with camping, right? She loves camping. She wishes someone would just make a decision for her.

Somewhere in all of that, she freezes for a second. It takes another to snap herself out of it. "I, uh— I guess so?"

The woman looks at her expectantly.

Tiff stammers, "And I— I— I do have paperwork, but this is all so nowv— fuck, novel. New. I'm having an American moment."

Yeah, sure. That's what it is. She definitely isn't losing her shit here.

"See, that wasn't so hard." The woman nods, as if in understanding, and makes her way back to behind the counter. She gives Tiff a friendly, lipstick-toothed smile. "Now, let's get you settled!"