But as I step in, I realize all the lights are on. It looks like an old country store. Wooden shelves run floor to ceiling, tightly packed with jars and books and various knickknacks. Baskets hold knitting yarn and crochet needles. Handmade soaps sit on a low table wrapped in twine and brown paper. Pegboards hung with artsy mugs and little cast iron pots and pans cover the walls between shelves.
Old wood floors and burlap fill the shop, underscored by something faintly herbal, like dried lavender or sage. A potbellied stove sits at the center of the shop. It’s cold now, but I imagine it’s the main source of heat in the winter.
The floor creaks under my feet as I step deeper into the shop. That’s when I notice some of the items are not quite as typical as they first appeared. A few of the jars on the shelf contain thick purple goo, and as I stare, I swear something shifts in one. Some handmade candles sit on one shelf. A few of them are black with silver markings I don’t recognize. And as I pass a mirror hung on the wall, I stop and stare.
I look just a little strange, and I can’t figure out why. My hair is the same, shoulder length, brown and curly. Freckles still scatter my nose and cheeks. The sun dress I chose today is the same shade of blue. Still, something is not quite right. The more I stare, the more an icy feeling climbs up my spine. So I blink and purposefully look away.
There’s a counter at the back of the store with a door behind it. The door suddenly yanks open, and a woman wearing jeans and a T-shirt with platinum blonde hair steps through. She looks a little younger than me, and when she sees me for one crazy second, her eyes look purple.
What the fu—
She blinks, and her eyes are now definitely green. They’re green. Were they green? Maybe it was the light slanting in from the front windows.
“Ugh. You’re the niece, aren’t you?” she asks. The irritation in that one statement straightens my spine and puts me immediately on guard.
“My aunt was Ursula Shipton,” I confirm.
“Yeah. Laz warned me he saw you come in yesterday,” she says, moving behind the counter and leaning over to grab something from underneath.
“Warned you? Why would he need to—I'm sorry, who are you?”
She straightens, holding a leather-bound, ancient-looking book thicker than my ass, and drops it on the counter with a crash that makes me flinch.
“I’m Amy. I was your aunt’s assistant, and I manage the store.”
I approach the counter cautiously, half expecting Amy to clock me with the giant book. It looks like it could do some damage.
“Oh. I thought my aunt worked alone.”
Amy shoots me a puzzled look. “You thought a woman as old as her ran a whole store by herself?”
Now that I think about it, it does seem absurd.
“I’m… I actually don’t know how old she was. I didn’t even know I had a great aunt until the inheritance notice came in from Claw and Law.”
Amy bites her lip. “You know, I wasn’t actually sure how old she was either.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Really?”
Amy smirks. “She was very stubborn, your aunt. I had to wrestle her birthday out of her, and that took two years, and she never told me her birth year.”
She smiles, and I smile. It occurs to me that this woman might be the best person to tell me about my only recently living relative. Maybe I should try not to piss her off right away.
“She also made it clear in her will that she wanted me to help you run the store. Train you on the books, inventory, finances, everything,” Amy goes on, irritation creeping back into her voice.
I get it a little more. She’s having to train the person who will be her boss. That has to suck.
“I really appreciate it,” is all I say. Because what else can I do? I’m here now. And I need this store. There’s nothing left for me on the mainland.
“Not sure I see the point.”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
A sharp stab of panic runs through me. I cannot afford to have the one person available to help me learn and run this business leave.
“Just because you’re probably going to sell, right?” Amy says. “I mean, you don’t know anyone here, and this is a pretty tight-knit island. I’m sure you want to get back to your life.”
The words sink into me.
