The Haunted

She was glad they’d bought the house. Just being able to walk to and from work made a huge difference, and she felt more a part of Jardine now than she had even as a child. Over the past few weeks, she’d actually made the acquaintance of some of the newer business owners, people whose establishments she’d driven by in the past and scarcely noticed. Downtown felt more like a community to her now rather than just a work destination, and if nothing else, their new home had helped integrate her more fully into the professional life of the town, which she hoped would pay dividends in increased business down the road.

The phone rang, a woman with questions about sexual harassment, and while discussing it would have counted as a consultation back in Los Angeles—and would have required Claire to meet with the woman in person and charge for the time—things were more informal here in Jardine, and she answered questions over the phone (though as vaguely as possible), hoping the woman would retain her services. She hung up having received neither a promise nor a commitment. But she had a good feeling, which was something, at least.

Claire glanced up at the clock. Fifteen more minutes. She looked outside again. The day was nice, and though she’d originally intended to drive to the restaurant, which was several streets over, she decided to walk. If she went down to the end of the block and cut across the park, it would probably be just as fast as sitting through all of those crowded stoplights and left-turn lanes as everyone took their lunch hours. Besides, she’d get some exercise and fresh air.

She turned off her computer, switched her phone so it went to voice mail on the second ring, picked up her purse and locked up the office. Outside, she waved to David across the street, shouted a hello to Pam Lowry, who was sweeping the sidewalk in front of her Cool Kids Clothing boutique, then headed down the street toward the park.

There was a rally on the field next to the playground, an angry middle-aged man with a megaphone railing against both high taxes and the president to a group of overweight men and women wearing slogan-festooned T-shirts. Claire was tempted to point out that taxes for lower-middle-class people like them had gone down under the current president, but they looked like a humorless bunch, and she was sure the irony would be lost on them. She recalled, a few years back, seeing on the news a self-contradicting placard stating, KEEP YOUR GOVERNMENT HANDS OFF MY MEDICARE! The thought of it made her smile even now, and she passed by the edge of the crowd, keeping a wide berth around a red-faced older woman who was shaking her fist in the air and shouting, “I want my country back!”

When did people get so angry? Claire wondered.

Maybe they’d always been angry. Maybe her perception that things used to be calmer and more civilized was just plain wrong. But it seemed to her that people these days, even in small towns, perhaps especially in small towns, had lost whatever sense of tolerance had enabled America to forge a unified nation out of the diverse peoples that coexisted within its borders.

The man with the megaphone was now talking about changing the Constitution so that immigrant babies born in the United States would not automatically be citizens.

“Yeah!” a man shouted.

Claire hurried through the park.

She got to the restaurant before her sister and her friend, who were both late, and got a table. Fazio’s was not only the most popular Italian restaurant in Jardine, but since the introduction of the Express Meal (“At Your Table in Five Minutes or It’s Free!”), it had become the town’s most popular lunch spot, period. The crowds were already starting to arrive, and Claire was lucky she got there when she did, because by the time Diane arrived, and then Janet, several minutes later, all of the tables were taken and the waiting area near the front door was filled.

They ordered—iced teas all around, small salads and different types of pasta for each of them—and while they snacked on bread and waited for their food to arrive, Diane mentioned that she’d driven by the rally in the park on her way over. “What was that all about?” she asked. “I didn’t hear anything about it.”

“Political rally,” Claire told her sister. “Patriots who want to take back our country.”

“Oh, shit.” Diane rolled her eyes. “Was it that anti-Mexican group?”

“I’m sure they were there.”

“How can they stand to live in this state?” Diane wondered. “This is America. And they’re in New Mexico? That has to drive them crazy.”

“There’s a lot of anti-immigrant sentiment out there,” Claire agreed.

“Anti-illegal immigrant sentiment,” Janet clarified.