Clutchingmy keys in hand, I locked the door with the comfort of knowing I would bereturning shortly to my bed, where I was determined to sleep for a week. Thefloorboards of the wrap-around porch creaked the tales of their vacation fromme under my heavy boots as I walked towards the steps, and before making thedescent, I looked out onto the lake not twenty feet from the edge of my frontyard. A rippled landscape of diamonds glittered in the early autumn sun—a sightthat had been the deciding factor when buying the house years before, but theintent had never been to enjoy the view alone.
Iclimbed into the Mercedes GLS SUV that had been unloved for far too long, andenjoyed the deep breath I took once behind the wheel. The sense of independencewas always overwhelming after months of being surrounded by Nick, security,press, and fans. Freedom was a sweet thing often taken advantage of, and whileI was guilty of that myself, I had planned on reveling in just simply beingalone for at least the next twenty-four hours. After I got the cat food, ofcourse.
Turningthe corner onto Main Street, I caught a glimpse of my favorite local bookstoreand felt its gravity begin to pull me in. It didn’t take much convincing to domy best job at parallel parking at the front of the store, and I headed in,greeted immediately by the familiar welcome of the jingling door.
Billsat behind the counter with bifocals slid halfway down his nose. A cup of coffeeseemed fused to his hand as he turned another page of the book nestled in hislap, never looking up even as I stood directly in front of him and leanedagainst the counter’s ledge.
“HeyBill,” I said with a smile, attempting to pull him from whatever world he wascurrently living in. “Reading anything good?”
“Mm,the new Koontz. Just got it in. Not bad.” He spoke in the broken sentences onestrings together when neck deep in an engrossing story—my favorite kind.
“Ohyeah? Maybe I’ll check it out. Haven’t read any of good old Dean’s work sincehe killed off Odd Thomas. Not sure I’ve forgiven him for that yet, though, so…” I drummed my fingertips against the counter, my eyes looking through thewide picturesque storefront windows, decorated festively for autumn. In fact, Inoticed, the entire store looked like Mother Nature had exploded with shoddykindergarten craft projects, and I knew instantly that Bill had been, onceagain, the head of the decorating committee.
Iwatched the Main Street, bustling with the lunchtime crowd on that Thursday. Asmall-town world where everybody knew everyone else. Shop owners and restaurantchefs greeted most by name, inquired about those they didn’t, and treated eachother with the nosy respectful cattiness you would expect from yourstereotypical American hamlet. Everybody had their part to play, even if thatrole was simply to be a customer at the new pizza place, and mine was HometownBoy Turned Local Celebrity. Most everybody knew me, everybody of note took careof me, and everybody else respected my desire to be left alone.
Thetown was my security blanket, even down to the street fairs and cornydecorations that littered the lamp posts for every important holiday, and itfelt good to be back in its easy embrace.
Icleared my throat as I rested my gaze back at Bill, still sucked into his book.With a sudden realization that he was behaving poorly towards a potentialcustomer, he shot upwards as he placed the book somewhere beneath the counter.He straightened the hem of his famed argyle sweater vest and looked up to faceme. It took a few moments before he focused, and then he smiled in a way thatfelt like coming home—because that’s exactly what it was.
“Well,if it isn’t my favorite author! You just get back today?”
Ifolded my leather-clad arms over the counter’s wooden surface, surveying thesmall displays of locally made bookmarks and candles, and nodded wearily.“Yeah, just a little while ago. I figured I’d stop in and say hi before fallinginto a coma.” The very mention of sleep brought forth a body-consuming yawn,and I apologized for my lack of composure.
Billwaved a hand, dismissing the apology. His face suddenly lit up, his eyebrowsraising with his apparent stroke of brilliance. “Hey, Jessie just finished upwith Story Time if you want to crash on a pile of bean bag chairs. I’m sure shewouldn’t mind the company.”
“Tempting,but I’d need a better reason to fold myself into one of those things.” Ilaughed at my own expense, vaguely remembering a time when it was a piece ofcake to crouch that low to the ground without hitting myself in the chin with aknee.
“Thencan I interest you in a cup of our new Tahitian Vanilla Roast? I’m sure Scottwouldn’t mind taking care of that for you,” Bill said with a tantalizing smile.
“Oh,come on, Bill.” I groaned, tossing my headful of hair back to look at theceiling. “Don’t tell me you’re in on Mission: Kill Brandon with SleepDeprivation, too.”
“Wehave decaf.”
“Well,”I said as I straightened my back, “now you’re talking my language.”
Iwalked through the maze of shelving units and mismatched chairs, laid outhaphazardly over a canvas of various rugs. The store was relatively small andwhimsical, taking up two storefronts on the main street, but the amount that wassqueezed into the space made it feel so much bigger, albeit confusing. Bill’swife Jessie was putting away her books from Story Time in the children’scorner—affectionately titled The Book Nook—when she spotted me. Her face lit upand dropped the book she held before hurrying over to me, her long colorfulskirt billowing behind her.
“Oh,Brandon, I’ve missed you!” Her arms stretched to wrap around my neck, huggingme as though I had been gone for much longer than three months.
Ireciprocated as I bent to wrap my own arms around her waist. “I missed you too,Jess.”
Thebottle-red-headed woman backed away, her hands pressed to the sides of my neck.“Get yourself a cup of coffee and come sit down, hon. Ihaveto tell youwhat happened with that Taco Bell that’s going in next to the funeral home. I’mtelling you, that Debbie Jefferson is going to get it from me one of thesedays, if she doesn’t learn to keep her big fat mouth shut. She thinks she hasher hands in everything around here, butohh,did I prove her wrong when it wasmyvote that put that darn Taco Bellthrough.” She grinned with enough sinister malice to leave me feelingmomentarily disturbed. “Come—sit and I’ll tell you the rest.”
Myhand flew to my hair, raking through the strands. “I’dreallylove to,Jess, but I am pretty sure I’m actively dying of exhaustion.”
“Oh,butB., you just got here,” she protested with a pout.
“Letthe man leave, Jessica!” Bill’s voice bellowed from the front of the store, andI coughed on a laugh.
Jessienodded through the hurt, and I assured her I’d be back soon—I always was, evenif only to write outside of my own office—and I would hear all about her plotto take down Debbie Jefferson. Satisfied, she left me with another hug beforereturning to her work in the Book Nook, and I continued my walk through thebookstore’s labyrinth to the café, managed by Bill and Jessie’s son Scott.
Ifound him sorting through cups and lids of varying sizes, singing along alittle too loudly with something playing through the headphones he wore overhis grey slouchy beanie. The stringy strands of his long hair stuck out fromunderneath the hat, giving him the appearance of a misplaced scarecrow.
Hecaught a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye, startled for only a momentbefore excitement took over, just like his mother. Pulling the headphones off,he exclaimed a “hey dude” before rounding the counter to shake my hand,finishing with a hearty clap on my back.
Scottwasted no time getting a cup of their latest blend brewing for me, and Ireached for my wallet. “Come on, dude. You know we don’t accept your money.”
“Doesn’tmean I won’t try,” I grumbled, and slipped a few dollars into the tip cup onthe counter when his back was turned.
