Chapter 1: Crushed Tomatoes and Stolen Soles
The steering wheel felt slick under Lisa’s palms. It had been a long day, the kind that seeped into your bones and left a dull ache behind your eyes. All she wanted was her armchair, a cup of tea, and the gentle murmur of the television. The clock on the dashboard glowed 6:03 PM. Home by 6:30, she thought, a simple, comforting plan.
It was the cat that did it. A flash of ginger streaked across the road just as she was turning onto Elm Street. She swerved, not drastically, but enough. Her front right tire bumped hard off the pavement, and there was a sickening, wet crunch from the other side of the hedge.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she whispered to the empty car.
She pulled over, her heart doing a clumsy tap-dance against her ribs. Getting out, she rounded the hood to see the damage. She’d taken out a section of a rickety wooden fence and, worse, plowed right through a raised bed of what looked like… well, she wasn’t sure what they were. Something green and now very flat.
“Those were my Dragon’s Tongue beans.”
The voice came from the gap in the fence. A woman stood there, wiping her hands on a dirt-smudged apron. She was perhaps Lisa’s age, but where Lisa felt soft and worn, this woman was all sharp angles and keen eyes. Her silver hair was a wild mane escaping a messy bun.
“I am so, so sorry,” Lisa stammered, wringing her hands. “A cat ran out—”
“The Johnson’s tomcat. A menace. But that doesn’t un-squash my beans, does it?” The woman’s gaze was unnervingly direct. “I’m Anna. And you’re going to help me replant them.”
It wasn’t a question. Lisa just nodded, too flustered to argue. The sheer oddity of the situation was overriding her usual caution.
“Alright. Of course. I’ll just… get my purse.” She leaned into the car, grabbing her handbag, clutching it to her chest like a shield.
When she turned back, Anna was right there. Before Lisa could react, Anna’s hand shot out and closed around her forearm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “This way. To the shed.”
Anna didn’t let go, leading her through the broken fence and into a backyard that was less a garden and more a miniature, controlled jungle. Vines clung to everything, and strange, fragrant flowers bloomed in the deepening twilight. The air was thick and sweet.
The shed was dark, smelling of damp earth and fertilizer. Anna finally released her arm, but she didn’t move to get tools. Instead, she turned and looked Lisa up and down, her eyes lingering on her feet.
“Now,” Anna said, her tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. “Let’s get rid of one of your shoes. And one of your sock.”
Lisa blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You crushed my beans. This is the price. I have a foot fetish, you see.”
The words hung in the dusty air, so absurd they barely registered. Lisa stared, her mind utterly blank. This was not happening. This was a strange dream brought on by exhaustion.
Anna didn’t wait for permission. She knelt, and with practiced efficiency, she untied the lace of Lisa’s right sneaker and pulled it off. Then the white athletic sock. The cool evening air hit Lisa’s bare foot. She was too stunned to move, to protest, to do anything but watch.
Anna took Lisa’s foot in her hands, tucking it under her arm like a precious object. Her touch was firm, not gentle. She brought Lisa’s foot up to her face.
She inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed. “Mmm.” Then, her tongue, rough and warm, stroked a slow, deliberate line from the heel to the ball of Lisa’s foot.
A jolt, equal parts revulsion and sheer, unadulterated shock, shot through Lisa. She made a small, strangled sound.
Anna pulled back, a weird, dreamy smile on her face. “Oh, that nail polish. A very subtle pink. Lovely.” She released Lisa’s foot, which dropped back to the cold dirt floor with a thud Lisa felt in her teeth.
Without another word, Anna turned and grabbed a trowel and a small tray of seedlings from a shelf. She thrust them into Lisa’s numb hands. “The beans. The flat patch by the fence. Don’t drown them.”
Then Anna picked up the discarded sneaker and sock, holding them with a kind of reverence, and walked back towards her house without a backward glance.
Lisa stood in the shed for a full minute, her right foot cold and dirty, the gardening tools heavy in her hands. She finally stumbled out into the garden and knelt on the damp grass. The soil was cool and soft between her fingers as she mechanically began to dig small holes, her mind a roaring static.
Through the lit window of the small house, she could see Anna. The older woman was in an armchair, the lamp casting a golden glow. She had Lisa’s sneaker in her hands, turning it over and over. She’d already pulled out the insole. She brought the shoe to her nose, inhaling with a deep, contented sigh. Then she picked up the white sock, rubbing the fabric against her cheek, murmuring something Lisa couldn’t hear.
The sock was already dark and damp in patches.
Lisa looked down at the tiny green seedling in her hand, then back at the window. The clock in her car had said 6:03. It felt like a lifetime ago. A cold dread, mixed with a bizarre thread of curiosity, settled in her stomach. She had no idea how she was going to get her shoe back, or if she even wanted it. All she knew was that 6:30 had come and gone, and home felt very, very far away.