Damselfly Inn

Joss Fuller was daydreaming about his mother’s tomato pie when lightning struck the Damselfly Inn.

He’d watched the storm smudge the horizon on the drive into town, marveled at the tumble of thunderheads sweeping across Lake Champlain towards Thornton, Vermont. By the time he crested the last rise, heading west towards his parents’ farm on County Road, the rain was coming down hard.

Driving into the snaps of electricity in the sky and the deep growls of thunder over the valley of pasture and marsh where he’d grown up, Joss was considering a cold beer  in front of some pre-season football and the difference between one slice of roasted tomatoes, cheddar, basil, and his mother’s ribbon-worthy cornmeal crust or two.

The bolt that took out the huge maple tree in the Damselfly’s side yard took Joss by surprise. His first thought was: shit, that hit the Swifts’ place! His second was to haul his pickup back into the road. Between the distraction and the gusting wind, he’d almost ditched the truck. When the limb that shaded the house’s third floor snapped like a broken bone, leaving a steaming, ragged wound in the tree, Joss realized the lightning hadn’t hit the actual building, but the damage was done. The limb had pushed its way through the old Victorian’s skin, puncturing the roof of what had once been a thoroughly creepy attic.

The rain would likely prevent anything from burning, but there could very well have been guests in that attic room. He’d heard from his Mom that the new owner - the innkeeper - had transformed the attic into a bridal suite. Getting a good look at it was his mother’s new project. The innkeeper had become a favorite customer at the Fuller Dairy since her arrival in the valley earlier that summer. Joss wasn’t sure if his mother was trying to fix him up or whether she just liked the newcomer, but Nan Grady had been a popular topic ever since she arrived in town.

He’d noticed her around. You couldn’t not notice someone new in a town like Thornton. With the college kids mostly gone for the summer, new faces stuck out, and hers was a pretty one. She was on the petite side, too. Not strong enough, he figured, to cope with the mess that was happening to her home that very moment.

He’d figured on making her acquaintance before too long. His best friend Jack and Jack’s sister Kate were the reason she’d relocated to Thornton. It was only a matter of time. He hadn’t figured on the storm intervening.

Joss was already pulling into the Swifts’ driveway - he made another mental note to himself as he passed the understated carved sign announcing the Damselfly Inn: no longer the Swifts’ house - when the lights started snapping on inside the house, marking a trail from the apartment over the garage, down through the kitchen and into the front hall. He was pounding on the front door when the upstairs hall lit up, but the front door was locked, and the rest of the inn stayed dark.

***

Nan Grady was tracing glossy lettering across a misdirected postcard when her house split open.

Greetings from Myrtle Beach S.C.! The card was a vintage-styled one, with each drop-shadowed block letter featuring a scene from the beach. She turned it over to read the note, to mull over the intended recipient. The handwriting was young, full and looping. 

“Danny, it’s not this pretty where we live now, but the beach is awesome. I miss you. Maybe you can come down here some time. It’s warmer than Vermont anyway. Love, Ellie.”

The postcard was addressed to Danny B. (heart, flower, star), 2810 County Road, Thornton Vermont. It had arrived that afternoon, nearly lost in the myriad catalogs, flyers, and bills in the mail. Something about the sender’s bittersweet tone gave Nan pause, and she carried it upstairs to her apartment, meaning to drop it in her purse for her next run into town. She suspected Gary at the Thornton Post Office would know exactly who Danny B. was.