The First Law of Love by Abbie Williams Read Free Book Online

– jean shorts, a faded black tank top, black flip-flops. Chipped orange toenail polish, zero make-up. My long hair in a sloppy ponytail.
    It ’ s all right, I reassured myself. You ’ re just fine. You ’ ve been on the road. They ’ re hardly judgmental. You may not look it right now, but you ’ re a graduate of Northwestern Law, soon to be employed in a top Chicago firm.
    Just as I formed a mental picture of the impressive main lobby at Turnbull and Hinckley, my eyes drifted up towards the Montana sky, stretching endlessly above the little gas station. I blinked, not quite able to reconcile the sight before my eyes with the one in my brain. The sky was laced with fair-weather clouds as the sun drifted slowly westward, warm with tones of both blue and honey-gold. I felt a breath of wind against my cheek, and the law firm in my mind dissipated.
    You ’ ll have the rest of your life to think about Turnbull and Hinckley, I reminded myself. For now I breathed deeply the scent in the air, something spicy, invigorating. I felt a rush of belonging, oddly, just before the gas pump clunked, signaling that my tank was full.
    No more than ten minutes later I braked on the interstate, seeing the sign for the Jalesville exit, three miles away. My heart took up a rapid thundering, increasing my blood pressure exponentially; I was used to this anxious rush – hadn’t I just spent the last three years in law school? Though this anxiety was tinged with excitement as I slowed the Honda on the exit ramp. Billy Idol was singing on the tape deck and I giggled then, taking the left turn on the road into town to the tune of “Rebel Yell.” Jalesville itself appeared on the horizon moments later as I descended a steep hill, the landscape on either side reminding me of old movies, the kind about wagon trains and outlaws.
    Jalesville, population 823 , I read on the faded sign welcoming visitors, slowing to a crawl as my tires rolled over a pair of train tracks bisecting Main Street. I’d passed the campground that Mathias and Camille had told me about, the one which had already sold out to Capital Overland – Tomlin was that family’s name; I had memorized all two hundred eleven names on my list, mentally dividing it into two separate categories: Sold and Unsold. My eyes roved curiously over the buildings; most were weathered-looking mom-and-pop shops, wood-construction with metal roofs, awnings jutting over the sidewalks. Hanging planters attached to the streetlights, dripping with candy-colored blossoms. A lone stoplight a few blocks down Main, just like Landon, a series of side streets webbing out from this central artery.
    I caught sight of the bar and grill where Mathias and Camille had first met the Rawleys back in 2006, a little place called The Spoke. It appeared busy this evening; I reflected that it was Saturday. In the dusk of approaching evening, Jalesville was quaint, charming. It felt sheltered by the line of low-lying mountains on the western horizon. The air near The Spoke drifted into my open windows and I caught the scent of grease; my stomach groaned in near-pain, as I had been too revved up to eat a thing all day.
    People were standing in the parking lot there, smoking and laughing; I almost pulled over and introduced myself to bum a smoke. There was some foot traffic on the sidewalks, a few curious looks directed my way, as surely people here knew one another’s cars and trucks without exception. The stoplight caught me, and I took the time to covertly study my surroundings. My heart jumped as I spotted a little building on the right side of the street, with wide glass windows announcing Howe & James, Attorneys-at-Law. The sign in the door was flipped to CLOSED, lights inside extinguished for the evening. It was all I could do not to pull over and press my nose to the glass.
    The light changed and the truck behind me gave a couple light beeps on the horn, so I waved