Read Online Solstice - Of The Heart by John Blenkush - Free Book Online Page A

strode along the
sidewalk. It wasn’t as though he were without purpose as I was sure
he was a punctual employee, but the way he moved reminded me of
someone who had not a care in the world.
    His was a natural gait and a rhythmic
sway as though he were a fine tuned machine. The air around him
seemed to glow, as though denser and able to capture more sunlight.
Things not grounded moved in waves ahead of Aaron, the same way
leaves do when the wind blows. Boy’s shirt tails, flags hanging
overhead, dog hair, and girl’s skirts fluttered in the unnatural
breeze.
    One could only see this from a
distance and only when looking hard in study.
    I looked around to see if anyone else
noticed. If they did, they didn’t indicate so. In his presence, I
imagined, the movement could be passed off as drafts pushing
through an alley or air pressure from an opened door.
    I knew better.
    “What’s the Fifth Season?”
    “Sports equipment. Mountaineering
gear. Stuff like that.”
    “I’ll be right back.”
    “I can’t wait for you. Grandpa needs
the car.”
    “Then don’t,” I said. “I’ll walk
home.” Probably safer crept into the back of my mind.
    “Stop by later,” Cherrie said, as she
entered Al’s.
    I could hear disappointment in her
voice. She was acting overly clingy this afternoon. Not her
style.
    I stopped inside the door of the Fifth
Season to allow my eyes to adjust to the lighting and to see where
Aaron had gone. The smell struck me first. Although there were
other tantalizing flavors in the mix, such as new clothing, the
smell of soap, and ski wax, I picked up the distinctive smell of
scorched air.
    A glass counter sat to the right,
clothing racks to the left. Down on the far end, another counter
lay buried under rows and rows of skis, boots, and a host of other
climbing gear. Because of my father’s recreational mountain
climbing hobby, I recognized the ice axes and crampons.
    Dad had done most of his climbing as a
young man. In later years he would make annual trips out to
California, to mountaineer with Uncle Mickey. It felt strange
standing in a store I knew my father had frequented. I looked up
from my thoughts to be greeted with a “can I help you?”
    I saw an older gentleman, gray haired,
caring eyes, bushy beard, probably, if my guess was right, the
owner or manager of the store.
    “No, I’m just browsing,” I
said.
    “Have you been in here before? You
look familiar.”
    I hesitated, thought about it, and
spit it out. “I think my dad came here.”
    I saw the man searching with his eyes.
Recognition set in.
    “You’re Mickey’s niece, Simon Grant’s
daughter.”
    “That’s me,” I said with some
shyness.
    It made me a bit queasy to be talking
about two dead people, especially with them having been so dear to
my heart. But I also thought the quickest route to Aaron lay
through this man, so I didn’t put him off.
    He stuck out his hand.
    “I’m Carson Gruen. I—we, the whole
town miss the Grant boys. They were always welcome
here.”
    I nodded. I didn’t say
anything. What could I say? I missed them too. At the same time if
Dad and Uncle Mickey hadn’t died I wouldn’t be standing in this
store talking to this man and angling for a peek at Aaron. Life, as
I learned, is a twisting road with confusing sign posts.
    Carson interrupted my
thought.
    “I’m the owner so you just let me know
how we can help you and I’ll see it gets done. Are you looking for
anything in particular?”
    Some time alone with Aaron
Delmon.
    Not that I could say it out loud, but
the thought brought a smile to my face.
    “No, just browsing.” I moved over to
the clothing racks.
    “Okay. Let me know if we can be of
help. And you know,” Carson said, “I always gave Simon and Mickey
ten percent off so whatever you buy, consider it
discounted.”
    I wandered through the clothing racks,
wading through the maze like a mouse through a labyrinth. Walls cut
me off. Clothing racks and shelves blocked my vision to