Читать книгу Out of Eden - Beth Ciotta - Страница 11

ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE.

Hell would have been preferable.

As was his routine for the past seven years, Travis Martin rose at 6:00 a.m. He showered—using bargain-brand soap, shampoo and shaving cream. He dressed in Lee Dungarees Carpenter Jeans, a plaid shirt and beige work boots. Breakfast consisted of oatmeal, white toast and a cup of Folgers. He scanned the local newspaper while he ate. The only upset in this routine was the absence of his wife. She’d died three months earlier. Life had been difficult before. Now it was painful.

Still, Travis stayed the course.

At 7:00 a.m. he pinned on his name tag and tugged on a cap embroidered with his employer’s logo: Hank’s Hardware.

At 7:05 he was out the door of his run-down farmhouse and behind the wheel of his 1995 Chevy pickup. The truck, like his clothes, was nondescript. He blended with the male population of Eden. He was just another hardworking, blue collar stiff who occasionally attended church on Sunday mornings—not that he got anything out of the preacher’s sermons. Now and then he dropped by Kerri’s Confections where he indulged in doughnuts and coffee. What he really wanted was a cannoli and espresso, not that he ever asked. Once in a while, like most of the men in these parts, he made an appearance at Boone’s Bar and Grill, where he tossed back a couple of beers. Last night he’d been sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a bottle of Pabst and craving a glass of Chianti, when Kylie McGraw, who was typically as unassuming as himself, went a little oobatz. Unlike anyone else in Boone’s, Travis had empathized.

Like Kylie, he despised the tedium of this Midwestern mom-and-pop town.

Unlike Kylie, he had no intention of shaking things up. He’d flirted with danger a month earlier, a moment of weakness. A mistake he’d quickly rectified. Drawing attention to himself was not an option.

Or was it?

At 7:40, Travis parked his pickup in the alley behind the hardware store. He entered through the back door, traded greetings with his boss and two coworkers. He tidied his work station and skimmed new orders. He did everything exactly as he always did, only this morning, like that one unfortunate night, he couldn’t calm his inner self. His true self.

At 8:00 a.m., his boss opened for business and Travis struggled to maintain his composure, his wife’s last request ringing in his ears. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Unfortunately, as his loneliness and frustration escalated, the warning packed less punch.