Finding normal in a new town wasn't easy. After a lifetime in Bon Temps adjusting to new scenery isn't natural. Trading the swamps of Louisiana for the Appalachian Mountains has been culture shock indeed. But the people of East Tennessee aren't so different, even the accent is similar to the one I will never shake. I could never go back to the life I lived before, the one that ended when Eric Northman married the Queen of Oklahoma.

Heartbreak is never an easy dish to consume; the loss of someone you thought was your soul mate is a true shit pie. There was no staying in the only home I had ever really known. Everywhere I'd looked there had been the ghost of my great love affair. No place in the old homestead had gone un-christened. Every throw pillow was tainted by memory, every corner haunted by the suggestion of Eric.

I had literally put my finger on a map of the eastern United States and had picked Newport, Tennessee as my new home. I'd hired a moving company with the last of my funds from my foray in Dallas. Rent was cheap in East B.F.E. and I'd found a waitressing job at a little restaurant called The Grease Rack on my second day in town. It was a nice place, popular with the locals and I was adjusting. Sharon was my boss and while she was no Sam Merlotte she was nice enough to work for. I'd found a fast friend in a girl named Kelley. She was nothing like anyone else I ever worked with, genuine and funny as hell. She'll be the first one I reveal my little disability to if I choose to tell anyone at all. I make good tips and am already getting regulars. I get a little nervous about the fact that we serve mixed drinks in what is supposed to be a dry county but Sharon assures me that in the 35 years they've been open there has never been a problem.

My new place is much smaller than Gran's house had been so much of my furniture went into storage. I like the little board and batten house on 9th street hill. It doesn't faze me that the town's cemetery is situated in my back yard. It's nothing that I haven't experienced before. The dead don't cause problems; it's the undead you have to guard against.

Newport could be any little town in any state. It doesn't seem that much has really changed over the years here; it's almost like a living time capsule. Newport has its quirks; there is a white cross on the cliff overlooking the Pigeon River that some say commemorates an ill-fated young couple who were denied permission to marry and decided to leap into the swirling waters below. I know that it's actually to memorialize a young boy who was hit by a train; I was curious enough to research the cross in my spare time. I guess the idea of star crossed lovers is easier to swallow than childhood tragedy so that's the legend that sticks with the people here.

I would have to say that if there are two major things that make Newport and all of surrounding Cocke County stand out they are the colossal amount of marijuana and moonshine that are produced and sold here. I can't say much about the weed personally, I've been told that Cocke County is the marijuana capitol of the Eastern U.S., I know for a fact that homemade liquor is still a major cash crop in this area. One of the most popular drinks served at The Grease Rack is called a Drunk Hillbilly and it's made with moonshine. It's aptly named because drinking more than one will produce exactly that. I've never personally seen the weekly shipment come in but I know that it's always delivered at night and with good reason. Moonshining is still illegal, even in East By-God Tennessee.

My phone ringing snaps me out of my daydream and makes me realize that I have been brushing my hair for twenty minutes straight. I lay the brush on the vanity top and answer my cell.

"Hello?"

"Sookie, its Sharon, listen I have a hell of a favor to ask you, doll baby."

"Okay…" I reply hesitantly. I've never forgotten how doing favors for people has gotten me bruised, beaten, and bitten in the past.

"I need you to come in for a little while tonight, not to wait tables but to wait for a delivery. Merle is down in his back again, he's real bad and needs me to drive him to Knoxville to get it checked. I know I've told you this a million times but you just don't go to the doctors here in Newport or anywhere you can get to in less than an hour."

She doesn't need to tell me what delivery. I know it's the moonshine and I am not happy about it. My plan along with this relocation was to stay above the seedy side of life, to toe the line, to be a model citizen and to not ever need to drive over an hour to the hospital. Funny that I never used to believe that I was psychic but these coincidences are becoming more frequent. How freaky is it that I was just thinking about it and here Sharon calls with a favor. My silence must be echoing my reticence because she speaks again, her voice pleading.

"I wouldn't ask sweetie but I'm stuck. Kelley has that thing at the private school for her kid tonight and every other person I could depend on is working the shift. I really, really need this…"

I sigh because I know that I can't refuse her and also because somehow I know this is going to come back and bite me in the ass.

"You got it Sharon. How long is this going to take? I had plans for tonight," I'm lying and I'm pretty sure Sharon knows it but I really want her to know how put upon I feel.

"It never takes more than an hour to get the shipment in the door, all you have to do is count the jars with Howard and give Forrest the money. I'll have the envelope laying on the desk for you."

"Okay Sharon," I say petulantly.

"And Sookie, um, just watch yourself, I've never had any trouble from the Bondurants but they are a… peculiar sort. Just count the jars and hand over the envelope, that's all I need you to do."

I hang up and wonder what the hell I've just got myself in to.