“Extra weird.”
I shake my head and make a conscious decision not to worry about this whole division-of-town thing. For all I know, it’s just in Jessie’s head. Maybe it is as simple as a high school rivalry taken a little too seriously by some. Whatever it is, it doesn’t involve me, so I’m not going to worry about it. I have more personally important items to think about.
My heart beats a little faster as I cross another street and turn a corner. A large, grey, stone building housing the county records office looms in front of me. I take a deep breath and climb the steps.
Inside, the building is warm, and the people smile as they walk by. I check a sign on the wall and then head toward the desk that looks to be the right one.
“Name?” the woman behind the counter says.
“Cherice Bay.”
“Your address, please.”
As soon as I tell her my street name, she stops writing and looks up at me, eyes narrowed.
“You’re in the wrong county,” she says abruptly. “You need to go to the clerk’s office on Poplar Avenue.”
“I know I live in that county,” I say, “but the records I have are from—”
“What records?” As she interrupts me, she reaches into her desk and grabs a piece of chewing gum. She pops it into her mouth without making eye contact with me.
I grit my teeth and pull a form out of the envelope in my backpack, pretending I don’t notice her rudeness. She barely glances at my paperwork before handing it right back to me.
“It’s from this county,” I say again. “If you could just tell me if I’m in the right office, that would help out a lot.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but those types of documents are sealed, and we can’t give you access to sealed documents.”
“But I’m the one on the documents!”
“Even if I could verify that, it doesn’t make any difference. The records are sealed. They can’t be accessed unless you have a court order.”
“How do I get that?”
“You’d have to petition the court, but you can’t do that until you’re in the right county.”
“But this is the county of record.”
“But it’s not your county.” She stands up and walks away from the desk, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open.
I make my way to multiple agencies in the area with similar results. As soon as people find out I live on the other side of town, they refuse to even talk to me anymore.
“This is positively bizarre!”
“I’m sorry, miss?”
“You didn’t even look at my records!”
“You don’t belong here,” he says simply. “Go to your own county.”
“You’re talking about a few blocks from here!”
He shrugs and goes back to typing on his computer, ignoring me completely.
“Ugh!”
Before my anger can turn into tears, I stomp out of the office, fist tightened around my envelope of documents. I should have known none of this would be easy, but I expected to gain at least a little ground. By the time I gave up on one side of town and headed back east, the county office had closed for the weekend. I’d spent all day trying to get information, and I’ve come away with nothing.
When I arrive back at my apartment, I toss the envelope onto the kitchen table and violently yank the refrigerator door open. I should have bought myself something alcoholic when I went to the grocery store—I could really use a drink about now.
I end up pouring myself a glass of water and staring out the kitchen window as I drink it. I have a fabulous view of a drainage ditch but quickly get bored with watching the leaves blow by.
“What is wrong with people around here?”
Considering everything Jessie had said about Westsiders, I really thought she was just a tad paranoid, but now I’m not so sure. As soon as I revealed where I lived, the Westsiders refused to help me even though all my documentation noted the county on the west side, and when I called, they gave me the west side office’s address.
I sigh heavily, toss my water cup into the sink, and decide it’s time to think about something else. At this point, there’s nothing I can do until Monday, and I have the whole weekend ahead of me.
“Maybe I should go out and try to be social.”
Except I don’t have a social life. Since Aunt Ginny died, I haven’t even heard from any of the people who attended my high school, and they only showed up at the funeral because it was expected of them.
“The whole point of coming here is to start a new life,” I remind myself. “Part of that is making an effort to meet people and make friends.”
Having been in Cascade Falls for a whopping five days, I’ve only managed to get my apartment in order and meet one neighbor. I haven’t started doing all the other tasks on my list like finding a job and friends.
“How would you feel about sharing a bottle of wine with me?” I ask Vee, but she doesn’t seem interested. “Well, I could go out and get one for myself, but drinking alone sounds like the path to alcoholism.”
I chuckle. Other than wine, I really don’t have a lot of experience with alcohol. The only time I even drank to the point of being tipsy was my twenty-first birthday. Aunt Ginny decided a celebration was in order, and we split a bottle of wine she’d been saving.
“You need to get yourself some motivation.”
I’ve heard people say talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, but I have to wholeheartedly disagree. I’ve always talked to myself. I learn much better when I hear how to do something rather than
