Chapter 7 Presentations

Presentations

What? he thought. We just met. What's the significance here?

There was another long snapshot of quietness, then, at that point the one who had spoken held up

what's more, strolled over to Kevin. He slapped him on the back, snatched his hand to shake it, and

pulled him off his seat.

"Congrats, you fortunate S.O.B. Come to sit with us. Melissa, come on finished."

The lady at the bar shut her book and conveyed her plate over to the table. As soon

as Kevin plunked down Elizabeth put a tremendous cut of pie before him. Everything he could think

was that it looked delectable, and he had no clue about the thing anybody was discussing.

"I'm Upton," the man said. "This is my accomplice Travis." The other man gave a bit

wave and a grin. Upton showed the peruser: "Melissa." She grinned timidly. Upton

pointed a fork at the two tables front and center. "Jodie and Ernie—not a couple, clearly. Ha!

What a thought. Paul and Martha," that was the old pair, "unquestionably a couple for what,

fifty years, Martha?"

"52," she said gladly in a profound, scratchy voice.

"Town record, I think," Upton said with an appropriateness air, as though it were his doing that

they had been hitched twice the length he'd been alive.

"I'm befuddled," Kevin said.

"I don't ponder," Upton said. "Elizabeth can have that effect on an individual. On the off chance that she

hadn't vouched for you you'd most likely be lifting yourself up off the ground at this moment

furthermore, tidying off your butt."

"Yet, we just met. What did she mean by—"

Elizabeth showed up unexpectedly at his elbow. "You haven't attempted the pie yet."

Everybody was gazing at him. He got a fork and put a piece of the huckleberry

pie in his mouth. He figured his head would detonate.

"Good gracious," he heaved, "that is the best pie I've at any point had." And he implied it, as well.

Elizabeth radiated at him and strolled once again into the kitchen.

Upon slapped him on the shoulder. "You will fit right in here," he said.

"What?" His originally thought was Hotel California. Yet, his hesitation was that he

had no clue about the thing was going on.

"Would someone be able to clarify what's happening?" Kevin said. "That is to say, I got lost, I followed

the postal worker to this town, I was ravenous so I came in here for lunch—which was marvelous,

incidentally. What's more, presently it seems like I'm being taken on."

"No doubt," Upton said, "or seized, isn't that so? It resembles Hotel California meets

Brigadoon."

Melissa the peruser spoke up interestingly. "At the point when I previously arrived," she said in a

meager yet agreeable voice, "someone disclosed to me that Marmot resembles Brigadoon. You can't discover

it except if you know where it is."

"That is not the genuine name," Ernie the crab said.

"Ernie," Jodie cautioned him.

"Indeed, it's not." He glanced around. "What? All of you know it's not."

"The town isn't called Marmot?" Kevin inquired.

"Not in fact," Jodie said. "We're attempting to unincorporate so we can change the

name."

"A few of us," Upton said. "Not we all. Not so much as a greater part."

"Sixteen percent," she countered.

"Fifteen point fifteen." To Kevin, he clarified, "That is five individuals out of 32."

"At any rate," Ernie said, "the town has effectively been unincorporated. In 1953. Which

was before you were even conceived."

"Not me," both of the elderly folk's individuals tolled in together.

"So what is it called?" Kevin inquired.

Nobody represented a second. Then, at that point, Ernie said, hesitantly, "Kill Marmot."

"What?"

"Better believe it," Upton said. "Awful name, right?"

"Yet, there's a marmot sculpture by the—"

"Obviously there is," Elizabeth said. She was remaining by his elbow once more. "Haven't

you completed that pie yet?" He took another nibble and his head went into space very much like the

first time. "The marmot was the saint of the story, so he gets the sculpture."

Kevin took a gander at Upton, who snickered and said, "Alright, here it is. I got this

directly from my granddad, who got it from his granddad, who was there. It was correct

around 1900. There wasn't a town here then, at that point (not that there's a lot of ones now), it was

simply a logging camp. Bundle of material tents, a channel lavatory, and heaps of old-development logs.

One day the lumberjacks were lounging around eating their snacks when a marmot staggered

into the focal point of camp."

"It was frenzied," Melissa said privately.

"No, it wasn't!" Upton and three others said without a moment's delay. Upton proceeded, "They

thought it was crazy, however, my speculation is that it was plastered."

"Matured huckleberries," Ernie protested. "Happens to the bears constantly."

"Right. So this honest little rat—"

"They gauge ten to fourteen pounds," Jodie protested.

"— a generally little rat," he proceeded, "meandered into town and the lumberjacks

chosen to kill it."

"What's more, they went the entire day attempting," Ernie said.

"Right, however, they proved unable."

"Since they were most likely alcoholic as well."

"It was a wily marmot," Upton said powerfully to quiet him down. "They pursued him all

over, all through the log heaps and the tents until dim, then, at that point they surrendered it—"

"Also, become genuinely inebriated," Ernie said.

"Who's recounting this story?"

"We are!" every other person tolled in. Kevin giggled thus did a portion of local people.

"The following morning they shook off their headaches and glanced around. They had

destroyed the whole camp searching for a rat they won't ever discover. The tents were all

imploded, the gear was tossed all over, the logs were dissipated like getting

sticks.Which my extraordinary incredible granddad thought was some sort of representation, not to

notice so amusing that he passed a kidney stone. So when a town grew up around the old

logging camp, they called it Kill Marmot, out of appreciation for that insane day. I think they were

being unexpected."

Kevin inquired, "So they fabricated a sculpture to the marmot?"

"No," Elizabeth said. She was remaining at his elbow once more. "We did that. Eight years

back, when we repaired the Town Hall. Would you like some espresso?"

"No way."

"Everybody, let this helpless man finish his pie."

They submitted to her and hushed up for the couple of moments it brought him to wolf it down.

At the point when he drove the plate away, there was a perceptible change in the mindset of the room.

Jodie said, "Kevin, inform us concerning yourself. What's your last name?"

"Candela. Uh," he laughed anxiously, "to come clean I'm more acclimated with

posing inquiries than responding to them. We should see. I'm a writer. I've worked for a little

week by week paper in Portland throughout the previous six years, yet with the Internet now… you know.

The paper collapsed last month. So presently I'm en route to the next Portland, in Maine; a

the comparable paper has extended to me a similar sort of employment opportunity."

"What sort of composing do you do?" Upton said.

"I had a section, diverting stories about the nearby scene, you know, and I likewise did

genuine pieces pretty consistently. Insightful stories. Nothing worth a Pulitzer, however, I think

I did my part to assist."

"How could you end up in Marmot?" Melissa inquired.

"Kill Marmot," Ernie murmured, yet everybody disregarded him.

"I got lost. Then, at that point I saw a mail truck and figured possibly the transporter could take care of me,

furthermore, it drove me here."

"Hitched?" Jodie said.

He chuckled anxiously. "No."

"Never?"

"No."

Jodie investigated his head. Kevin turned and saw Elizabeth simply turning to return

into the kitchen.

"How old are you?" Melissa said.

"Uh. 43."

"So what do you think?" Upton asked his accomplice Travis, who hadn't let out the slightest peep so

far.

"His facial hair is messy," Travis said in an astounding baritone. Kevin automatically felt

his facial hair; was a little full however not mountain-man long. Equivalent to it had been intended for ten

a long time. "Else I figure he'll do fine."

"He's right, you know," Upton trusted Kevin. "You ought to get Mary to manage that

up for you."

Kevin felt her quality again and turned upward. Elizabeth was remaining adjacent to him,

scouring her finger all the rage insightfully. She gestured somewhat, which hit him with the

power of a roaring voice from the mountain ridge

Lay of the Land

"The principal house on the right after Cemetery Lane," they'd said, which was so clear

what's more, basic contrasted with the bearings that Kevin had got toward the beginning of today that he didn't confide in

it. Be that as it may, when he strolled up the paver way to the front entryway of the cedar-shingled one-story

house thumped on the entryway, and said, "I comprehend you're the town's hairdresser," the

the lady had moved to one side to give him access without remark.

Mary Wyan was in her mid-thirties, somewhat full, with mid-length hair outlining

a sharp face. Her eyes were shimmering as though she had recently got done with snickering at something

super clever.

"I'm the stylist on the off chance that you need a hairdresser," she said in a delicate voice. "Or then again a beautician on the off chance that you

need that. Impromptu I'd say that you need a stylist at this moment. That facial hair… "

He followed her into the rear of the house, which was bigger than it looked from the

outside. The receiving area appeared to be extremely lived in, with worn, open to looking rockers

what's more, the couch and a jigsaw puzzle of a European palace are half-done on the larger than average end table.

The room she took him to was altogether different: little, painted a dull plum, with a few

unassuming tables and cupboards around the dividers. A beautician's seat stood holding up in the middle

of a dim elastic mat that contacted the cupboards on one or the other side. This room had likely

been assigned "Nook" on the development diagrams.

"Sit down," Mary said. She put a hairdresser's cape around his neck.

"You know, nobody has at any point scrutinized my facial hair before today," he said.

"You should have exceptionally affable companions." She contacted his hair delicately to a great extent. "I

can accomplish something with your hairstyle assuming you need," she said, "yet I believe you're fine for

an additional fourteen days."

"Simply the facial hair, then, at that point," he said. "Yet, don't cut it off."

"Simply a trim," she concurred.

At the point when she began in with scissors and brush, he said—being extremely mindful so as not to move

his jaw more than needed—"Would you care if I inquire: what's the issue with climbers

around here?"

Mary giggled. "It's not all-inclusive. A few local people disapprove of individuals meandering

in from the forest, lost as a Girl Scout on the Moon, wearing their Gore-Tex shorts,

wool shirts, downy vests, and $300 boots, and whining about the absence of a good

latte. I never disapproved of myself, not that any of them at any point went through any cash in here. Be that as it may, they

help the economy a few. I guess you've met Ernie?"

"Indeed, at the bistro."

"Town whiner. He and a couple of others requested that Elizabeth change her lunch breaks to

debilitate strays from swarming out local people. She asked individuals their opinion, and

nobody truly disapproved, so she did. It's entertaining: it moved most people groups' dinnertime from

around 6:00 to 7:30."

"Didn't that hurt her business?"

"Not a chance. Local people who'd been remaining away compensated for any shortfall. A great deal of us eat there

consistently. You may have seen that her costs are sensible."

He took a gander at her in the tall mirror hanging before him. She stopped at her work.

"Sensible? They're silly. The wrap I had for lunch was perhaps the most

delightful things I've at any point eaten and it would have cost multiple times that much in Portland."

"Ok. Portland. Pleasant city, yet we don't go there regularly. Supply runs, for the most part."

Somebody thumped on the front entryway. "Pardon me a second," Mary said and left the

room. Kevin glanced around while he paused. There were no banners for hair items or

styles on the dividers; he didn't think he'd at any point been in a salon without them. Obviously, this

was certainly not a genuine salon; it was a little room off the kitchen in a cabin. There were a few

outlined pictures of three normal-looking kids going from center school to high

young.

"Sorry," Mary said when she returned. "I needed to finish the paperwork for a bundle."

"UPS returns here?"

"No, it was Jeremy." When she understood he had no clue about who she was discussing,

she said, "The nearby postal carrier. Adie's nephew."

"I followed him in here," Kevin said. "That is the means by which I discovered this spot."

"It should be your day of reckoning." She worked peacefully briefly. "Programming

engineer?" she said finally.

"Columnist. What you said previously—does UPS convey to Marmot?"

"Not that I'm mindful of."

"FedEx?"

"Probably not."

"How would you get bundles, then, at that point?"

"Mail center, ordinarily. Or then again Mike's shop."

"I haven't seen that one yet."

"You should look at it. It's catty-corners from the bistro."

"Alright, I will. Um… about the bistro. What's the story with Elizabeth?"

She laughed. "It would take fifteen hairstyles for me to try and begin on that story.

Furthermore, you're finished."

She gave him a hand-held mirror. He needed to concede that they'd been correct: the facial hair

looked much better short.

"It looks incredible," he said.

"I believe it's a superior fit to your face and your hairstyle."

"What do I owe you?"

"Ten."

"You're kidding."

"To an extreme?"

He gave her fifteen dollars, which is the thing that he would have repaid home without the

tip, and wouldn't make any change.

"Much obliged," he said.

"No, much obliged. Do you think you'll remain around long?"

"I was intending to take off around evening time. I have a long outing in front of me."

She tipped her head and contemplated his face. However, she remained silent, just grinned and

driven him back to the front entryway.

"Return at some point," she said. "In case you're not kidding."

He said thanks to her again and shook his head as he strolled down the way to the street. Far

off to one side, he saw a youngish man in a blue uniform, with a generous material sack

thrown across his body, simply firing up the carport to another house.

He remained on the road briefly. To his right were the Town Hall and his vehicle. He

truly had zero excuses to remain here; the climb he'd been arranging was a failure and he didn't

need to postpone getting to Maine. Yet, his arrangement had been to return to White Salmon this evening

also, stay at the Inn prior to taking off toward the beginning of the day. It wouldn't damage to investigate a bit,

since he had the opportunity. It was soon after 4:00.

He checked his telephone and wasn't actually shocked that there was no sign. He hadn't

seen a cell tower in some time, and the wide lush slope behind the Town Hall rose steeply

for many feet over the town. It was almost a precipice. The sun planned to set behind

it in one more hour or something like that. It happened to him that evenings should be exceptionally short here in the

winter.

He walked around down Little Fish Street, away from the Town Hall. The town was

settled straight facing the foot of that rambling slope, between the ledge and the

lake. In that tenable strip, there were many little slopes. The Town Hall remained on one of

them, and essentially the remainder had houses roosted on them. The remainder of the houses involved

the delicate inclines of the slopes, while the cleared streets followed the swales between them.

There were no remains between Mary's place and the go across the road where the bistro stood—

Marmot Lane, he reviewed when he saw the sign. Three houses on the left, three divided

then again on the right—and what was that? He strolled a couple of feet off the street into weeds

furthermore, found the establishment for a genuinely enormous structure, yet it didn't appear as though one that

had tumbled down. There was no sign that anything had at any point been based on that establishment.

There were little trees and bushes outgrowing the breaks in the substantial, yet no trash

by any means.

At the crossing point of Little Fish Street and Marmot Lane, Elizabeth's bistro was at the

extreme left corner, the disintegrated house he'd seen before was at the close to the left corner, and a

building bigger than the bistro was on the close to right. A draping sign out front, done in the

the same style as the bistro's said "Mike's Shop." There was nothing at the extreme right corner;

nothing would fit, in light of the fact that the roads met up at too little a point on that side.

Kevin bantered briefly returning to the bistro, yet he didn't have the foggiest idea what he would

say on the off chance that she asked him what he needed; he pondered taking Mary's recommendation and

looking at Mike's, yet he wasn't actually intrigued. So he turned right and strolled down

Marmot Lane.

Past Mike's this road was only tumbled down houses. He included six

different conditions of rot, from a simple listing rooftop with flawless windows to a heap of

amble with plant maples outgrowing it. Fifty-year-old firs developed near the contorting

street. At the point when he came around a last right-hand twist the street augmented into a circular drive, at

the finish of which was a flawless structure with another hanging sign: "Marmot Bar." The

woods packed in not far behind the structure, which had dim cedar siding and a blue

metal rooftop.

How is it possible that a would a town of 32 individuals supports a bistro, a shop, and a bar? Also, the

The city center was as yet a secret. Kevin went to return into town and saw Elizabeth

strolling around that last bend, head down as though somewhere down in idea. She turned upward and saw

him and burst into a grin that he was certain was giving him burn from the sun.

She motioned at the bar. "It's a decent spot to eat," she said, "in case you're still here at

dinnertime."

"It's opposition, right?"

"No. I'm just open for breakfast and lunch. Jodie's just open for supper."

"This is Jodie's bar?" She gestured. "So both of you have a cartel."

"It's a tiny cartel. Value fixing is wild, however."

"Perhaps I'll attempt it this evening."

"Will be you leaving after that?"

"Most likely. I must be out and about tomorrow first thing."

She gestured. "Have you seen the remainder of the town?"

"Not actually. Uh… might you want to show me?"

She grinned and turned around. He fell in adjacent to her and they began back toward the

bistro.

"I can't get over the difference," he said, pointing at the tumbled down houses, "between

the remains and the int

First Morning

Tuesday, August 17

Kevin woke up without an alert around 8:30. The water pressure in the shower was

amazing, which was a decent beginning to the day. At the point when he was prepared he left the condo.

There was a lock on the entryway yet he was unable to track down a key anyplace, so he left it unbolted.

Toward the finish of the corridor was a lift, yet he scorned that and strolled back to the

steps in the focal point of the structure, leaving the remainder of the second floor neglected until

the visit Adie had guaranteed him. He passed her office in transit out, yet the entryway was

shut.

It was bright and as of now warm outside. He walked around the slope, grinning to himself,

anticipating breakfast and to seeing Elizabeth once more. Kelly, Adie had said.

Elizabeth Kelly.

The screen entryway squeaked a little as he opened it. There were just two others

inside, finding a seat at adjoining tables: Jodie the bar proprietor, and a lady in her mid-thirties

that he hadn't met at this point, who was grinning as she went to take a gander at him. There was a brown

retriever or the like lying across her feet under the table; the canine raised its head and

considered him as though he may be valuable later.

The old German shepherd he'd seen yesterday was all the while lying toward the shelf

toward the finish of the room. Indeed it didn't try ascending by any stretch of the imagination, yet this time its eyes

followed him as he crossed the room.

"Good day, Jodie," he said.

"Morning, Kevin. This is Wanda," highlighting the other lady, "our occupant craftsman."

"Truly?" he said. "What sort of work do you do?"

"Painting generally," she said, "however a little blended media. Dream craftsmanship."

"Mythical serpents and pixies, something like that?"

"Precisely."

"I'd prefer to see your work at some point. I love that stuff."

"Stop by my home any time."

He gestured and she grinned once more. Elizabeth emerged from the kitchen and met him at

the bar. He plunked down and they took a gander at one another discreetly. He thought he heard the other

ladies laughing behind him, yet he wasn't going to look away to discover.

At last, she said, "You seem as though an egg man. Over hard?"

"Indeed," he said without the smallest astonishment.

"What sort of toast?"

"Do you have any scones today?"

"Chocolate chip and cranberry."

"How could I pick between those? You pick one for me."

"OK. Espresso coming straight up."

"She makes incredible espresso," Jodie said.

It was well after 9:00, which may clarify why scarcely any individuals were here in the bistro.

Or on the other hand, maybe fewer individuals had breakfast here than lunch. However, regardless of whether everybody around ate

here double a day, how was Elizabeth ready to get by with a potential client base

of just 31 individuals? Or on the other hand, Jodi either, so far as that is concerned? Something odd was going

on with the financial matters of this little village.

At the point when Elizabeth returned with a dark cup of espresso, she said, "Did you rest soundly

last evening?"

"Indeed, much obliged," he said as he added cream and sugar. "It's an agreeable loft.

More pleasant than any spot I remained in school." He tasted; it was acceptable espresso. As though it very well maybe

whatever else.

"Where did you contemplate?"

"UO, in Eugene."

"Ok. Ducks."

He giggled. "I can't trust you realize that."

"We live in a small town," she said, "not on another planet." She returned into the

kitchen and was clearly cooking his eggs, yet he could, in any case, see her through the pass-through.

"Did you know," he said, "that the Fighting Duck is truly Donald Duck? From

Disney?"

"Goodness, would you say you are one of those individuals that incline toward Donald Duck to Mickey Mouse?"

"100%. Mickey creeps me out."

"Since he's a mouse?"

"In view of the noisy voice. Which Walt did himself, until his chain-smoking

destroyed his vocal lines."

"OK, educate me concerning the duck."

He knew that Jodie and Wanda were tuning in, yet he couldn't have cared less.

"It was in the forties, I don't recall precisely when. The athletic chief, Leo

Harris, knew Walt some way or another, and Walt consented to allow him to utilize the duck as the school

mascot sovereignty free on a handshake bargain. At the point when Walt passed on—uh, 1966 I think—his jerk

beneficiaries acknowledged there was no composed agreement and they attempted to sue for copyright

encroachment or something faltering like that. They two or multiple times before they at long last

surrendered and composed a permit understanding in 1973, in light of the fact that the college had an image of

Walt and Leo standing together wearing coordinating with Duck coats."

Elizabeth came out with a plate of eggs, a large portion of an orange cut into a kind of blossom,

also, a chocolate chip scone.

"That looks great!"

"Is that the finish of your duck story?"

"That is not the finish of the story, but rather the rest is really exhausting."

"Then, at that point have your morning meal." She returned to the kitchen.

He did. The eggs were great, and the scone was fantastic.

"In this way, Kevin," Jodie said from behind him. He half-turned and gestured to recognize

her. "You're still here. Also, you rested in the Mayor's condo last evening."

Then, at that point, he turned right on his stool. "Indeed."

"I thought you were expected in Maine."

"It can stand by a couple of days."

"Well." She held up. "See you at lunch, Elizabeth," she called.

Elizabeth came out with the espresso pot. "Bye, Jodie." She bested up Kevin's and

Wanda's mugs.

Wanda didn't follow Jodie out. She was distinctly not taking a gander at either Kevin or

Elizabeth.

"What are your arrangements for now?" Elizabeth asked him.

"Adie will show me around the Town Hall. From that point forward, I figured I would check

out Mike's shop, and possibly Wanda's studio."

"Sure," Wanda said. She was all the while grinning. Kevin got the feeling that she did that

a ton. "I'll associate with the entire day."

"And afterward?" Elizabeth said.

"That is it. I've run out of thoughts."

"Perhaps we might eat," Elizabeth said.

Kevin got the feeling that it was taking Wanda's entire existence not to lean

towards them. He said, "All things considered, you've cooked for me twice. What about on the off chance that I cook for you

around evening time?"

"That sounds awesome. Your place or mine?"

"Uh." It wasn't actually his, however… "Mine?"

"What time?"

"7:30?"

"I'll carry something to drink. Dim lager, right?"

He just gestured. Elizabeth grinned at him and he did whatever it takes not to tumble off his stool. When

she returned into the kitchen, he needed to ascertain the tip multiple times to be certain he wasn't

stiffing her, which would send an exceptionally negative message, or over-tipping, which may send

one comparably awful.

City center

As Kevin passed the marmot sculpture it appeared to be that it was peering down at him. He

might have sworn it was looking into yesterday. It was an odd assertion for a town to

make: most places may have an equestrian sculpture of a nearby kid who turned into a general

also, won a heavenly fight, however, this town had a sculpture of a rat that won a fight just

by not being killed; and the town lost that fight. It was similar to New Rumley, Ohio

setting up a sculpture to George Custer in which he was encircled by the Lakota and

Cheyenne who had killed him.

Kevin pulled open one of the tall entryways and strolled in with the odd inclination that he

was intruding by one way or another, in spite of the way that it was public structure. Adie's entryway was

half-open as it had been the point at which he'd initially met her. Before he got an opportunity to thump, she

said, "Enter, Kevin."

He opened the entryway. She was dealing with a PC—a costly one—confronting ceaselessly

from the entryway, however, went to take a gander at him. They're more likely than not been some odd articulation on

his face, since she just snickered.

"There's no black magic around here," she said. "It's not Brigadoon, regardless

anybody says. In the event that you drove away, you could discover it again effectively on the off chance that you recall the turns.

Elizabeth can't guess what you might be thinking, and I can't see around dividers." He ventured into the room.

"Marble passage," she clarified. "Echoes like a gulch. I could hear you open the

outside entryway, I could hear each progression you took, and furthermore, that stop that individuals make

before they summon the nerve to meddle with a semi-shut entryway. Which, coincidentally,

intensifies the sound more than if I just left it open."

"How could you realize it was me?"

"I might have just found that it presumably was you, yet actually I know the

strides of each spirit around here, and yours were new. I'd have been told at this point if

there was another outsider around, so in the event that I hear more bizarre's strides, I accept that it's the

more unusual I know."

"OK, I accept that. However, there is sorcery here, you know."

She stood up and grinned comprehensively. Her wrinkles demonstrated that she had spent a lifetime

doing that. "I've never heard a more genuine word. How about we view, will we?"

He ventured back external her office and she followed him and astounded him by taking

his arm. "Start to finish suit you?"

"Sure."