“Yeah, I figured that might be the case. From what you’ve told me... I was kind of expecting it. I thought you were too.”
“I was. I was maybe even steering toward it. But it’s still a breakup. There’s history, doubt, guilt, questioning... you know, all the mental merriment.”
“Sarcasm noted. You’re a good guy, Bo. Don’t forget that. You’ll be back with someone sooner than you think. All the girls here love you.” She shrugged. “I know that’s not your thing, but it does demonstrate the power of that smile.”
“You’re very kind, Sandy. Thanks for saying that.”
“So... when?”
“This morning.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. He decided he wanted to share my lovely smile with a third. A third he’d already been smiling with on the side.”
“You know, I’m not one to judge how people live their lives,” Sandy said. “But it seems to me that something like that should be broached at the beginning of a relationship, not a few years in.”
“I feel the same. And not as a means to salvage it either. When my head clears, I think my biggest regret is going to be not getting out of it sooner.”
“Would it make you feel better if I said he’s a fucking asshole?”
“Yes, it would. But two-timing cocksucker would probably be more appropriate.”
“How about a two-timing, cock-sucking, mother-fucking asshole? No offense,” she added.
Bo flashed her a big grin. “None taken. And I feel better already. Where can I find nail gun refills?”
“Aisle thirteen. Have a good weekend, hon. Be careful with the storm. I’ll be thinking about you.”
“Thanks, Sandy. My best to Mitch and the boys.”
He strolled down the main thoroughfare between the registers and the numbered aisles. When he reached thirteen, he turned, and a little way down he found what he was looking for on his left.
When he returned to the thoroughfare, he headed back a few aisles to the center. He wasn’t sure where the sander refills would be, but he assumed near paint. Of course, there were no attendants in sight. His biggest gripe about the store was that there were always folks at the door and registers, but when you needed one elsewhere—poof, gone.
He made a turn down the next aisle and quickly realized he was in the wrong place; however, something caught his eye—air mattresses, several styles. One sported a picture-label of a super thick base with a plush topper that resembled a legitimate mattress.
I’ve got an air compressor,he thought. Wouldn’t take long to inflate that sucker.
He had planned on getting a sleeping bag at Wal-Mart or Dick’s, but if he splurged here, not only would he sleep more comfortably, but he might have one less stop along the way.
It sure beats sleeping on the floor.
He lifted the weighty box and looked at the back. There were three valve adapters pictured, one that he was certain would work with his compressor.
“Sold,” he said to himself.
His phone rang. The caller ID readRalph Forrester.
He answered. “Hey, Ralph.”
“Hey, Bo. How’re things up on Joey Drive?” Bo caught the slight trace of a southern accent on the last word of the question, almost as if it were two syllables. Where was it Ralph had told him he was from originally... North Carolina?
“Things are good,” Bo said. “On schedule. I think we’re looking at another week. Maybe a few days more, depending on the windows.”
“They’re ordered and scheduled to install next week—pending, I guess, whether this storm sets them back.”
Storm? Sandy had also said something about a storm.
