Instinct by Jason Hough (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

in his back. “Tempting, but what I really need is some sleep. Rain check?”

“Hell yeah. Holding you to that.”

“You’d better. See ya.”

He hangs up.

As I drive, my thoughts drift back to what he’d said about the climate messing with the bear’s behavior. My brain went to Johnny when he’d said that. Why? Something about staying indoors, or hibernation? “Climate,” I mutter. “Maybe not so crazy after all, huh, Mary?” I chew on my lip, lost in thought.

The movement in front of me barely registers in time. Someone’s stepping off the curb not fifteen feet ahead. I slam on the brakes. Tires shudder. My body heaves forward, the snap of the seat belt locking makes me grunt.

The Dodge lurches, rocks, stops. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m pretty sure I just ran someone over, and it takes a second before I can even look and see.

I raise my eyes to find Geezer standing at the nose of my cruiser, not a foot from the bumper, with a quizzical look on his wizened face. He’s got his palms resting on his walking cane and sort of a glare in his eyes. In fact, he’s scowling. I’ve never seen him scowl.

I step halfway out of my car. “Willy? What are you doing?!”

“Eh?” he asks. “Taking a walk. That a crime all the sudden?”

“I… Jesus, Willy, I almost killed you. Why’d you step in front of the cruiser like that?”

He glances down at the car as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen it. He scratches at his ear. “Well, I don’t… uh…” Suddenly the confusion is gone. His scowl returns. “Pedestrians have the right-of-way in this state, Officer. Best remember that!”

Then he harrumphs and continues across the street, not bothering to look in either direction.

For a good ten seconds I just stand there, dumbfounded. Adrenaline pounds at my temples, slowly receding as the old man ambles away. Had I just come inches from killing someone? God, how that would go down. Vehicular manslaughter, distracted driving. I feel so tired my eyes itch. What if he’d waved at me, signaled his intent to cross, and I’d just totally missed it?

I need rest and I need it now, before I make an unforgivable mistake.

My fault or not, part of me wonders if Willy has any family here. Someone to take care of him if, or when, his facilities start to fail. That day might come sooner rather than later, if this little incident is any indication.

I make a mental note to ask Greg—damn it, make that Clara—to look into whether Willy has any relatives we can contact who might be able to help. Or at least what kind of care options are available.

Later, though. Right now I need a giant wad of carbohydrates in my belly, preferably in the form of pizza, plus maybe a glass or three of wine, followed by the sweet embrace of a good night’s sleep.

“Welcome to Silvertown. What can I getcha?”

“Hmm? Oh. Uhhh… nothing. I’m waiting for someone.”

“That’s cool. No problem. What happened to your nose?”

“I… tripped. Um, can I use your phone?”

“Isn’t that your cell phone on the bar.”

“The battery’s dead.”

“Screen’s on.”

“What? Oh. Yeah. I mean the reception. No signal.”

“The screen’s on because it’s ringing, actually.”

“…”

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“Hello? Yes. No I can’t find—Yes. Understood. Yes, ma’am. Bye.”

“Who was that?”

“None of your business. I’ll be going.”

“What about the person you’re waiting for?”

“Huh?”

“You said you were waiting for… Hey, I’m talking to you—Okay, bye then, stranger. Thanks for visiting Silvertown. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out. F’ing weirdo.”

When you want pizza in Silvertown there’s really only one option: the gas station. When I discovered this I very nearly declined the job, as I practically live off the stuff (it is, to me, the one and only superfood). But, as it turns out, they make a surprisingly good pie.

“A large this time, Kenny,” I say. “But you’d better make it cheese in case she’s vegetarian.”

“She who?”

“Long story. Ask your brother.”

“Ah, Kyle’s bangin’ some new chick? Wait, are you buyin’ her pizza because he broke her poor widdle heart?”

I’m about to correct him, but decide neither my sparkling reputation nor Kyle’s slightly-less-so needs any additional attention just now. “Nothing like that,” I call to him from the row of coolers. “Got a hiker at the station. She had a run-in with a bear this morning.”

“No shit? Mauled?”

“No shit. And no, she’s okay. It’s her boyfriend the bear went after.”

“She a vegan?”

I get on my tippy toes and make eye contact with him over bags of Doritos. His face shines red as he leans over heated rollers where shriveled hot dogs tumble infinitely. Kenny’s the greasy, wiry version of his brother, Kyle. Today he looks even thinner than usual. Almost sickly. “Bears don’t like vegans?” I ask.

“The cheese,” he says, nodding at the pie in the big metal oven.

“Oh. Right. Crap. I didn’t ask. If she is… more for me, I guess.”

Kenny clucks his tongue. I may not have a reputation in Silvertown for one-night stands, or even for being a member of the police force, but Kenny knows my metabolism. Since about age ten I could eat just about anything and the weight doesn’t stick. Even dressed for duty, armored vest and all, people say I’m too thin, that I could stand to put on a few pounds. I sure as hell do try, honest.

A freakish metabolism is something Kenny and I have in common.

“You know, I saw a black bear up at Two-Shits about four years back,” Kenny’s saying as he tends to the oven. I mumble my familiarity with this tale, but he goes on. How the beast had made eye contact with him across the placid waters of Lake Forgotten, and then Kenny had reached for his hunting knife, and the bear, clearly impressed by