Since I’m not currently blinded by his presence, I can’t help but wonder if my heart will ever feel okay while standing within these walls again.
Maybe Journey is right.
18
After unlockingthe front door of the shop, Mr. Crawley wheels in a stack of crates. "Hey kiddo," he says, placing the rolling dolly down flat. "I wasn’t expecting to see you today." He brushes his hands off on his work pants and moves toward me with open arms.
"Thank you for the fruit basket and the flowers," I say, remembering one of the bigger deliveries was from him.
"It’s the least I could do," he says. "How’s Mom and Journey?"
"We’re adjusting.” All I can do is shrug.
Mr. Crawley pulls in a deep breath from his gut and twists his lips to the side, nodding his head with disdain. "It’s not fair."
"Nope, it’s not, but you’re still here carrying on after Mrs. Crawley passed, which means we can all do the same, right?" I know he’s been through what Mom is going through, so I’m sure he understands better than most.
"Time will lessen the pain, and you will all find your way again, as hard as it is to imagine."
"We’ll get there.”
"Where did Brett run off to? We have a big shipment going out today."
I point to the back door. "He’s bringing in a load of barrels. He should be back up in a few minutes."
Mr. Crawley glances down at his watch. "Gosh, it’s the third already. Barrel Day."
"How many times a month do the barrels come in?" I ask. I didn’t knowthere was a certain date to expect them.
"Well, we get a delivery of new barrels once a month, but we have a pickup of the empty barrels in the middle of the month too."
I walk past Mr. Crawley and over to the back counter in search of paper and a pen. If I’m going to take care of this business, I need to keep notes. Though,importing and exporting dates of barrels is the least of the notes l need to take.
"You really want to do this, huh?" he asks.
"Do what? What day is pickup?"
Mr. Crawley drops his hands into his pockets and paces toward me. "The fourteenth or the Friday before if it’s a weekend. The same goes for the pick-up schedule on the third." I finish writing the note, finding Mr. Crawley staring at me with a look of question filling his eyes. "You want to run this business?"
My gut hurts when I search for the answer. "Not alone, but yes."
"What about Journey?" Mr. Crawley presses.
I sigh as I look back down at my note. "No, she’s not feeling the same way."
Brett makes his way back into the front of the shop, unrolling his sleeves to cuff them at the wrists. "Those are all being shipped to Portland and Manchester, right?" he asks, pointing at the crates.
"Yes, sir," Mr. Crawley answers Brett.
"Where do the orders come in?" I ask.
The two men share a look before either offer me an answer. "We have an order form through the website, and we receive daily reports," Brett says.
"Do we ship to the same locations on a regular basis?" I continue.
Again, Brett glances in Mr. Crawley’s direction. "After glancing through the orders for the past couple of years, it looks to be the case.Sometimes we’ll get a new location. We’re more of a boutique distillery, so our shipments end up in specialty stores, which typically offer rare liquors rather than the big chains."
I jotdown everything Brett is saying so I can keep track of the information. It’s a lot to take in at once.
