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The past is more comforting than the future. But not always.
Sometimes, when you look ahead, you see things you wish you’d known a week ago. Or a year ago. Before the wheels were in motion. Before the future seemed inevitable.
Sometimes, looking into the past makes the future you’ve seen even more painful.
Cecily knows. But she also can’t help it. Looking is what she does.
Looking is what she is.
She’s parked in a grocery store parking lot on Towns End’s main drag, the one closest to Rio’s church. She doesn’t remember driving there, but she made it. She grabs a tissue and rubs the lipstick from her lips, wipes the mascara from under her eyes.
She looks in the visor mirror, eyes red. Breathes. And remembers.
It was summer in Towns End, hot outside but cool in the library, where Cecily spent her days while Mom was working. Blonde hair in pigtails, she sat curled up in a chair by the window, head bowed over “The Golden Compass.”
A ruckus caught her attention, distant at first but pulling her out of the book’s embrace.
“Cole Lambert! Rio Williams! What do you think y’all are doin’?” said Mrs. Perkins, the library director, her tone hushed even through her outrage.
The sound of boys giggling, chairs scraping, and running feet echoed through the library. Cecily stared as two boys, one of them with shaggy brown hair and blue eyes, both in tanktops and cutoff jean shorts, pounded past her quiet nook and out the door.
Mrs. Perkins stood at the door shaking her head. “That Williams boy has got the devil in him, I tell you. They say preachers’ kids are the worst, but…” Her words faded away as Cecily sank back into her book.
Cecily’s trembling has stopped enough to where she can drive back to work. She goes through the motions, losing herself in shelving books, inhaling the scent of them, relishing the silence.
She pauses at a wood table in the reference section. Faint with sanding, polish and years, she sees, “F-U” and part of a C that rambles off into a crazy scratch etched into the surface. She runs her hand over it and blinks back tears.
…
Rio clomps down the stairs to the basement, trying to cover the sound of feet in heeled shoes running down the aisle and out the church door. But Kiki is already staring at the basement ceiling, head cocked slightly to one side. Rio could swear her ears were pricked up.
“What was that about?” asks Kiki. “You scare her or something? Not that it’s hard to do…”
“Miz Buchanan does seem a mite nervous,” Rio replies, his gaze straying back up the steps.
“That’s puttin’ it mildly,” sniffs Kiki, returning to her work.
“I mean, I can imagine seein’ what’s comin’ would tend to make you a little jumpy,” Rio says. “What’s her name… Cassandra from them Greek stories. She had a bad time.”
Kiki stops and cocks an eyebrow.
“I’ve read some books too, ya know. And not just … that one….” Rio gestures towards the sanctuary.
“Gotta wonder how much of that she brought on herself,” Kiki says, not quite indicating which “she” she means.
Rio drops it, gets up and helps Kiki, losing himself in the rhythm of the task.
And remembers.
The Towns End High School parking lot smelled like hot asphalt, exhaust and bubblegum vape juice, especially back in the redneck section. Not that there was a sign or anything, but these things get passed down in high schools through generations of teenagers.
In that corner, as far away from the school as possible, there were a lot of trucks, some illicit substances waiting to be consumed, and wads of chewing tobacco studding the ground. One of those was way too close to Rio's face right then, his lip leaking blood onto the pavement beside it.
A meaty boy in camo pants and a meshback cap sat astride him, grinding one side of Rio’s face into the asphalt while a circle of teenagers cheered. For what, Rio wondered? Maybe just a break from routine. His current girlfriend, Crystal, puffed on her vape and actually looked bored.
“Take it back, you pussy,” the other kid spat in Rio’s face.
Rio looked at him out of the corner of his eye and sneered, “Why should I take it back when it’s fucking true, you piece of shit?” And then he kneed Travis Graves directly in the nuts.
Travis made a sound like a stuck pig and grabbed his crotch, rolling off of Rio and screaming every swear word in the book. Rio climbed to his feet, wiped the blood off his chin, and kicked Travis in the side for good measure.
Crystal was waiting when Rio turned away. She looked up from her phone at his purpling face. “Gross,” she muttered, then went back to her phone.
At least her ass looks smokin’ hot in them jeans , Rio thought.
Then, everything happened very fast.
A voice, tolling like a bell and yet trembling, cut through the fight’s aftermath.
“There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife!”
Rio turned to see Travis lunging, switchblade in hand. He twitched out of the way, stuck a foot out and tripped the boy, then kicked the knife from his hand.
He looked up. There, on the edge of the parking lot, was a girl, slender, blonde and wearing thick glasses, a book on the ground in front of her. It looked for all the world like white clouds rolled back off her eyes before she grabbed the book and ran for the school gates.
Rio stared after her, wondering what the hell just happened.
“Hello, Reverend Williams…” Kiki snaps her fingers in front of his face. “You here? How is it y’all say, absent from the body but present with the Lord?”
“Oh hey, guess I spaced out for a second. It’s been a long couple days,” Rio says.
Kiki looks dubious. “Need to sit down or somethin’?”
“Nah,” he replies. “Let’s just get this done.”
…
Another church. Maybe I should just stay away from churches , Cecily thinks, methodically mashing the white cake and whiter frosting on her tiny plate into a pulp. Even worse for her mood, she’s there for a wedding, two 19-year-olds, one her second cousin, getting hitched.
At least it’s the reception, held in the linoleum-floored fellowship hall of Boyd’s Creek Missionary Baptist Church. Those tend to be short here in Appalachia. Some cake. Some pink sherbet punch. Tossing the bouquet, then everyone’s done.
“Did you ever go to a wedding when you were up North?” a voice asks from behind her. “I hear they actually get to have booze.”
Cecily jumps, spins, and calms as Archie steadies her with a hand on her elbow.
“Well, seems like you need some, regardless of geographic location,” he says, producing a flask from … somewhere, and pouring a shot in Cecily’s punch.
“Word is they’re leaving town,” Archie nods towards the happy couple as Cecily tries not to gulp her punch. “Got jobs up in Indiana somewhere. Kids just can’t afford to live here anymore.”
“Good,” mutters Cecily, then flinches at Archie’s shocked expression.
“It’s better that way,” she sighs. “It means less of our people will be caught up in what’s coming. They’ll be safe from what’s going to happen here. If I’d known, maybe I’d have stayed away, too.”
“Isn’t that a little defeatist, cousin?”
“Defeatist is my middle name, Archie. Cecily Defeatist Buchanan. Thanks for the booze,” she says, tossing her cake-mush into a trash can.
Her eyes drift back to the newlyweds, thinking of love. She's been there before, even got engaged before she saw… something, his future, and damn near lost her mind.
Now, here she is again, catching feelings when she knows it's hopeless. And his destiny is all tied up with hers, she sees that now. Gently nudged together until the time was right.
Or maybe the time is wrong and always has been. And always will be.
But she thinks about the way it feels when Rio looks at her, and she remembers.
It was nighttime in the park beside Towns End Public Library, the mid-August air balmy. Cecily sat with her back against a tree trunk, enveloped in shadows. It was her last night in Towns End. Tomorrow, she would head up North to college, an early start, but she’d borrowed her mom’s aging Camry tonight to say a last goodbye to her favorite spots in town.
She’d always loved this old park, and not just because it sat by the library. Something about it made her feel… welcome? Loved? Safe? All of those things and somehow less alone.
A stick fell out of the tree and landed in her lap. She held it for a moment, smiled, and tucked it into her bag.
That’s when she heard the engine, a loud, muffler-less, souped-up Corvette roaring down the Towns End main drag. The car’s brakes squealed, and the driver pulled into the park’s parking lot in a spray of gravel. They stopped, facing the park, two spots away from Cecily’s mom’s Camry.
Cecily pressed her back against the tree, frozen in place. The park suddenly seemed to vibrate, like a growl deep in a dog’s throat.
Four young men in their 20's, all on the hooligan side of redneck, piled out of the Corvette, shouting, laughing and cutting up, one stumbling a little as he took a swig from a flask. Two leaned against the car while another grabbed the guy with the flask in a one-armed headlock before snatching the flask from his hand.
He started to run into the park for a game of keep-away, but stopped just before his boots touched grass, peering into the night for an instant, then turning back with a shaky smile and a swig from the flask.
Heck, Cecily thought. This is their party spot for the night.
Decisions. Stay here all night, or make for the car and hope they don’t notice. A breeze shook the leaves in the park, caressing Cecily’s hair.
It’s my last night in Towns End. May as well do something brave for once.
She got up, trying to stay quiet, grabbing her bag and saying a silent farewell to the park, then walked, quickly but not too fast, to her mom’s car. She almost got there.
“Hey!” the voice cut through the night air, heavy with a drink-laden slur.
Cecily froze for a half second and looked up as one of the men pushed himself off of the car. In an instant, he was in front of her.
“Hey, you’re beautiful,” he said.
“And you’re drunk,” she replied.
“And high, but you’re still pretty,” he drawled, rubbing at his nose. “You’re what’s-yer-name, Chasity… Cassidy… come party with us, baby.”
His blue eyes looked down into hers, and she was suddenly very aware of her body. The play of her hair across her neck. The way the tips of her breasts pressed against her shirt. Warmth spreading under her arms and between her legs. And her heart beating hard in her chest, faster than a cornered rabbit.
Wind tossed the park’s trees again.
“No, I’m busy,” she stammered.
The man blinked, then smiled. “Fine, have it your way,” he slurred and sauntered back to his friends.
“Strike out again, Rio?” was the last thing Cecily heard as she slammed the Camry door and locked it.
“Need some more punch?” Archie’s question cuts through Cecliy’s reverie. “I can spike it up again if you want.”
“No thank you,” Cecily replies, setting her cup down and cleaning her glasses. “Archie, you know about… weird stuff. The stuff I see, I don’t know if I can change it. Or if me trying to change it is going to make it happen. And I hate the not-knowing. It’s… it’s like I’m paralyzed. Do you know? Do they cover this in wizard school or whatever it is you did?”
Archie looks at her for a moment, like he’s staring at a lawnmower that won’t quite turn over.
“You know what I think, cousin? You’re overthinking it.”
He taps her forehead with a calloused finger. “There’s your problem,” he smiles, and walks back into the crowd.
…
Saturday morning, late fall, and Rio Williams is strolling around the fae market in Bartlett. No particular goal in mind, just here to see and be seen, to make his presence known to the players in the game.
I’m still alive, you bastards , he thinks as loud as possible. Several entities in the booths he passes blink and look around at him. He smiles and winks.
And immediately bumps into someone.
“Excuse me,” he mutters, bending to pick up the shopping bag the person dropped, then looks up into Cecily Buchanan’s eyes.
She turns pale, then blushes, then stammers, “Reverend Williams…”
Behind her, Rio sees something, like someone took a human-shaped cookie cutter and removed part of the world, matte black but weirdly not scary, its head cocked to one side, peering over Cecily’s shoulder at him.
“I’m so sorry Miz Buchanan,” he says, straightening and holding out the bag. She takes it gingerly, careful not to let their fingers touch.
Her lip trembles, and she looks away.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Rio says, looking at the black figure.
“Oh!” says Cecily, wiping her nose with a hanky. “This is my friend Shade. Shade, this is the Reverend Rio Williams. He has the Tabernacle of the Blessed Deliverer in Towns End.”
Rio extends a hand.
“Ah, thank you friend, but I am a ghost, and you would not find putting your hand in me … ah … pleasant,” drawls Shade.
“Shade comes to the market with me on Saturdays to see and talk about living things,” says Cecily, smiling at the black shape. “They want to learn how to people.”
Rio realizes he hasn’t seen Cecily smile before, not really. It’s lovely.
You’re beautiful.
And you’re drunk.
He winces a little at the memory and then smiles as well.
“Tell you what, y’all don’t wanna miss that place where you can screen print your own t-shirt. You can make one with Dolly on it or whatever. It’s back thataway, want me to show you?”
Shade practically bounces on their toes, then asks placidly who Dolly is, walking off with Rio as Cecily trails behind, reluctantly at first, then her steps quickening to keep up. Her hand twitches towards her bookbag, but clenches into a fist before relaxing at her side.
Past? Future? Maybe she’ll try to enjoy the present. Just this once. Just today.