First in Line

Three months later, ash was still settling on the cars at night, cemented on by the morning dew and flaking off as they drove into the city daily, too uneasy to be in the crowds on the train. Their action was quick once they made the decision to leave and they sold almost all they had accumulated in the decade there and moved to a small border town, away from everything but woods and water, black bears, and a moose that haunted their gravel drive at night, picking the leaves off the bushes they were trying to force to accept the climate that far north. 

The town had a reputation for quirkiness which suited both of them. Everyone was friendly and they soon slipped into the rhythm of saying “mornin’” to all who responded and nodding their heads to the rest. It had taken over five years for most of the non-responders to warm to them, even as they would come to their aid on thawing dirt roads that became quagmires to the city drivers unfamiliar with boggy navigation skills,  silently hooking a chain to the undercarriage and pulling them free. 

They learned to make apple pies in thanks for all the help they received that soon became the talk of the town, mostly positive, but with a few naysayers who had been making their grandmas’ recipes for year without change and scoffed at the flavor they called “off putting” while their husbands and brothers devoured them while nodding their heads in faux-agreement. 

The secret was exposed when a clerk at the post office peeked in a package that had been damaged in transit and saw the Five-Spice container as the scent wafted out the tear. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she had said in a conspiratorial whisper when they picked up the package. They hadn’t even known it was a secret and had been asking the local grocer to stock it with the assurance they would make sure it didn’t sit on the shelf until it went stale, but he hadn’t been bold enough to make the order yet. By the time the next October rolled around though, the apple festival recipe contest was full of new variations of the classics, smelling of star anise and pepper as the clerk had kept her secret for less time than it had taken them to get home from the post office that day.

In the twenty or so years they had lived there, there had been four national elections and they participated in all of them, adhering to the local ritual of showing up at the polling place at midnight along with the other nineteen registered voters within the town limits, casting their ballots, watching them being silently counted, with the results being phoned into the capital by 12:15 a.m. The state legislature authorized a few small communities to open at midnight and close as soon as everyone had voted, giving the state a feeling of importance on the national stage when their first vote totals were announced on the networks as the rest of the country was just stirring on election morning. Kent and Margaret, the election supervisors, made hot chocolate and cookies and Stan McCutcheon mingled through the line, dispensing cheer from a silver flask into the cups of all who held them out. It was a tradition they had learned to adore the first time they took part and had taken over the cheer portion of the proceeding when Stan passed away.

So, when he showed up alone just before midnight and walked the line, the questions began: “Where’s your beloved?” 

“Is she ok?” 

“Did you tie her up so she wouldn’t be able to vote for that scalawag?”  

He smiled and demurred the best he could. “She’ll be along shortly. Said she needed a few extra minutes to think this year.”  

They all nodded their heads at that. “Yep. Difficult choice we have this time around.” 

“Trying to choose the lesser of two evils.” 

“More like the evil of two lessers,” one piped in as he received a dram poured into his cup. 

After casting his vote and emptying the flask, he made assurances he would get her there as soon as he could, walked back to the truck and drove home. The first snow had fallen the night before, but had melted away by early afternoon, leaving puddles along his route that he drove carefully. He pulled up to the house and sat in the dark for a moment, reflecting on everything and nothing all at once before a vision of her crossed his mind, making him smile as he turned off the engine and walked up on the porch. 

She rolled over as he entered the room. “How’d it go?”

“Just fine. Everyone is waiting for you. They won’t be able to close until you show up to vote.”

“Mmmmmm. I know. I’m going to wait for a little bit though.”

“Why?”

“Well, if the vote statewide is close later, I can tell if my vote is going to make a difference and cast it accordingly. If it’s a blowout, I can vote for the crazy lady who gets on the ballot every four years in good conscience.”

“That makes sense, but I know who you’re going to vote for no matter what” he said as he took off his clothes and crawled into bed beside her.

“Oh, do you” she replied as she nestled into his body, chilly from being outside, her heat soaking into him.

‘I make a habit of studying you.” He pulled her more tightly into his chest, his arms wrapped around her with his hands massaging her back.

“Mmmm. That’s why I love you, you big dumb,” she said as his hands began to match her heat and her body began to respond.

He put his left hand on her hip and rubbed it with intention. “I’m glad we moved up here.”

She opened her eyes and tilted her head up. “Me too. It is beautiful and quiet.”

“Yes, it is. I loved the city, but it dulled me sometimes: the noise, the soot, the people, all the damn people. Up here, it is so peaceful and you’re even more beautiful than you were then.”

“Ha. You’re sweet, but that was a long time ago. I was hot back then.”

He smiled at that. “You’re even hotter now, butterbean.”

Her hands moved over his shoulders and the top of the quilt fell down slowly, exposing her skin inch by inch.

“Well,” he said with that grin that always made her swoon a bit when it appeared anytime she walked into a room that he was already in.

“Isn’t this much better than me going to vote right now,” she asked as she kissed his chest.

“One hundred percent on that,” he said with a quiet growl.

As they lay together, her phone began to ring and she knew it was Margaret. She threw her hand at the phone on the nightstand, knocking it off and silencing the ring with the deftest of flails. “They’ll be knocking at the door soon, babe. Let’s enjoy the current administration one more time before they get here.”

“You’ve got my vote,” he replied as the town settled into the dark peace of the night, waiting along with the rest of the country for the sun to rise.