“Hi, sir…” I say, nodding my head toward Tom as he sweeps the floor of the produce aisle near the door. “I realized I forgot to leave these with you earlier.” I hold up the beers. “Sorry.”Nailed it.
“It’s okay, I figured you’d be back. You left without your groceries,” Tom says, leaning the broom against the wall and brushing his hands against the sides of his jeans. He takes half a step, then stops abruptly, his head tilting as his eyes narrow on my face. “You okay, son?”
I clear my throat, forcing a smile. “Ah, yeah, I’m fine. Long day.”
He walks around the back of the room, then appears behind the counter. “Well, we really appreciate the help. I hope it didn’t take too much out of you.” He places my basket from this morning onto the counter, and I do the same with the pack of beer.
“No, no…” I smile again, nodding in reassurance. “All good.”
“Prue seems to be almost done back there, thanks to you. My wife’s having a quiet day too, so that’s helped. Hopefully she can be painting again soon.” He grins absently, typing in the cost of two dozen eggs. “How are things looking at the brewery today?”
“Good.” I nod, despite feeling like I’m lying. “Yeah, real good.”
“Is it still set to open…When was it again?”
“Last weekend of October,” I answer. “And yeah, it should be.” I rock back on my heels, admiring the giant wooden arrow above the cash register that seems like an original feature. It was painted a bold shade of red and readspay herein yellow vintage cursive. Looking past it, I notice a bolt loose in the ceiling, and the chicken wire holding the sign in place. “This thing is hanging on by a prayer,” I say, pointing up.
Tom’s eyes follow upward. “Oh, goodness. Yeah, that’s an accident waiting to happen, isn’t it?”
I wince, nodding.
“I’ll sort it out tomorrow,” he says, punching in the cost of flour. I have thedistinctfeeling that Tom has used that phrase more than his fair share of times. And by looking around the shop, which Ihopehas seen better days, I can telltomorrowdoesn’t typically arrive when expected.
“It’s going to take someone out,” I argue, rubbing at my neck. “If you’ve got a drill, it would take me less than five minutes, ten tops.”
Tom chuckles dryly. “You’ve done plenty for us already today, son. You look ready for home, a good meal, and a shower.”
I am, actually,notready to go home whatsoever. Not yet at least. Ideally, I’d sneak in long after dark. Once I’m sure my brother is asleep and no longer able to deliver one of thosecrushingstares. “Ten minutes or less, I promise.” I hold up my hands. “And if you insist on paying me, I’ll take one of those beers and some company…. You still haven’t told me how you knew my graduating year.”Or what else Mrs. Welch had to say about me.
He mulls it over, then opens and shuts the till like a decision has been made. “Fine, but these are also on me,” he says, placing Sef’s list of items in a paper bag.
“Fair enough,” I reply, slipping Sef’s card back into my wallet.
“I’ll give Prue a shout to bring us the drill.” Tom pulls out his phone, then squints at the screen as he holds it comically close to his face. “She snagged it earlier to hang something, or unhang, or…you know, she never really tells me what she’s doing.”
“I can go get it,” I volunteer, a touch too eager. “Save her the trip.”
He smiles, a little too knowingly for my liking. “Sure.”
“Be back in two.” I rap on the counter, then head toward the front entrance. “Don’t stand under that thing!”
“No rush!” he calls after me, nearly chuckling. “I’ve got lots of cleaning to do anyways.”
I pretend not to recognize that affectionately teasing tone of his voice while I break into a jog toward the A-frame out back.
Nine
Milo
I find Prueon the floor, with music playing so loudly the windows of the A-frame rattle with it.
Face down, her forehead is resting on the edge of some dusty old rug, and her arms are tucked neatly against her sides, twisted so her palms lay flat on the ground. She looks fucking insane. I can’t help but laugh in the split second before my hand moves on its own accord, knocking twice.
She reaches out to pause the music, but keeps her face buried. “What?” I hear shouted from behind the door.
I knock again, another laugh spilling past my lips as I watch her flop around like a spoiled toddler, glare in my direction, and then appear shocked and horrified to seeme,undoubtedly the last person she’d expected, standing at her door. I remove my other hand from my pocket and wave with them both.
Her face turns my new favorite shade of pink. Without thought I visualize measuring out red and white paint onto the back of my hand. I’d go slow, mixing them together until I had the exact color to match her blush.
