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In town, I make my usual rounds: to the feedstore, the post office, the grocery store. These are all places where I easily blend in with other silver-haired women, all of us bundled up in our winter jackets and scarves. Like them, I seldom draw a glance of interest. Old age confers anonymity, which makes it the most effective disguise of all.
Over the sixteen years since my retirement, I’ve slowly let down my guard. Now I’m so accustomed to being a small-town chicken farmer that I’ve started to believe that’s all I am. The way Ben’s just a retired salesman for hotel supplies, and Declan’s just a retired history professor. We know the truth, but we keep each other’s secrets, because we each have our own to guard. There’s safety in mutual blackmail.
Gossip was the currency of our former lives, before we found our way to this quiet corner of Maine. Ben Diamond was the first to plant a flag here, nine years ago. He’d retired early to take care of his ailing wife, and his search for the perfect town pointed him here, to the village of Purity. It had everything he required: a bookstore, a decent town library, a coffee shop that served espresso, and no nearby nuclear targets.
There were occasions when he actually did meet a client, when he did tell the truth, and that one-out-of-ten occurrence was what always confused me. If he lied all the time, at least I’d have some measure of certainty in life. It’s the possibility of a better outcome that screws with your mind, that breeds hope, which ultimately leads to disappointment.
