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Authors: Kristina Riggle
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what?”
Beck doesn’t reply. He’s staring at me, but it seems that he didn’t hear a word I just said.
I brush the sand off my feet so I can slip my sandals back on. “I’d better let you get back. Seems like you have an emergency brewing anyway.”
I help him fold the blanket and then we walk in silence back to his car. At the car, he reaches for a hug, but I take one step back, waving at him instead. He gets in his black BMW and drives off, and I wish I wasn’t still thinking about the warmth of his hand on my knee.
Chapter 12
Maeve
I t’s hard to believe my daughter will be gone again on Sunday. Is it possible to miss her and want Sunday to get here, all at the same time?
I can see Anna chafing in this shabby little store. She’s still walking around in the few skirts and trousers she brought with her, and more and more she’s on her phone to the office, lining up appointments. She’s gone swimming in the lake and taken walks with Cami once or twice, but I can tell from all her fidgeting and restless working she’s about to the last thread on the end of her rope.
Can I blame her, really? Yet her restlessness feels like a rebuke to me. Even now, all the shelves dusted and gleaming and all the canned products lined up fastidiously, it looks accusatory. Look how you let this place go!
Well, it wasn’t my idea to spend my life selling people their vices. So I don’t do it perfectly, big deal.
When the phone rings and I answer “Nee Nance Store,” a young lady says, “Anna? Hi, it’s Amy. I was wondering—”
“It’s her mother, Amy. Anna isn’t here. I can leave her a message.”
Amy wants Anna to come see her wedding dress. I break it to Amy that my daughter is leaving on Sunday and probably won’t be back all summer. Anna keeps going on about how much work she has to do to make up for being gone these measly two weeks.
No sooner do I put the phone back in the cradle than two men walk in, one wearing overalls and the other a dark business suit.
“Mrs. Geneva,” says Paul Becker. “You’ll excuse the interruption, but Jack and I need to discuss some plans for the property.”
I grip the edge of the counter hard. “You can’t do that when the store is closed? I open late on Sundays. And how about a little notice?”
Paul was looking at his cell phone while I was talking to him. He affects a laugh that must seem very deep and manly to him. It sounds theatrical. “Oh, Mrs. Geneva, no need to drag Jack away from his family just to bring his tape measure inside, really now.”
This Jack person pulls out a digital camera.
“What are you doing now?” I ask, though I can tell what they’re doing. They’re deciding what to demolish. Flash! And he snaps a picture of the wall I share with the gift shop next door.
“That’ll have to go,” Paul says, frowning at a clipboard.
Carla comes in and gives me a look, wrinkling her face up at the invaders. I hand her the scratch-off Lotto and Virginia Slims without her having to ask and shake my head at her questioning eyes.
I might as well rent a billboard, though, because Carla will stop in to Doreen’s or down to the Tip-A-Few and tell people that Paul Becker was in here with a guy in overalls, and they’ll all figure out right quick that this place is getting gutted and Maeve is being evicted.
I’m thinking I’d better tell Anna before the gossip winds its way to her when she walks in the door. Guess she’ll hear it right now.
Anna drops a shopping bag on top of the newspaper rack, whips off her sunglasses, and demands of the men, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Paul Becker turns around and Anna jumps back as if splashed with cold water. “Paul? What are you doing?”
Paul comes charging toward Anna with his hand out, all glad-handing business. “Hey, thanks for coming to my party the other day. Nice to see you there, just like old times. Well, not just like, I guess,” he says, laughing at his own wit. Anna’s
Beck doesn’t reply. He’s staring at me, but it seems that he didn’t hear a word I just said.
I brush the sand off my feet so I can slip my sandals back on. “I’d better let you get back. Seems like you have an emergency brewing anyway.”
I help him fold the blanket and then we walk in silence back to his car. At the car, he reaches for a hug, but I take one step back, waving at him instead. He gets in his black BMW and drives off, and I wish I wasn’t still thinking about the warmth of his hand on my knee.
Chapter 12
Maeve
I t’s hard to believe my daughter will be gone again on Sunday. Is it possible to miss her and want Sunday to get here, all at the same time?
I can see Anna chafing in this shabby little store. She’s still walking around in the few skirts and trousers she brought with her, and more and more she’s on her phone to the office, lining up appointments. She’s gone swimming in the lake and taken walks with Cami once or twice, but I can tell from all her fidgeting and restless working she’s about to the last thread on the end of her rope.
Can I blame her, really? Yet her restlessness feels like a rebuke to me. Even now, all the shelves dusted and gleaming and all the canned products lined up fastidiously, it looks accusatory. Look how you let this place go!
Well, it wasn’t my idea to spend my life selling people their vices. So I don’t do it perfectly, big deal.
When the phone rings and I answer “Nee Nance Store,” a young lady says, “Anna? Hi, it’s Amy. I was wondering—”
“It’s her mother, Amy. Anna isn’t here. I can leave her a message.”
Amy wants Anna to come see her wedding dress. I break it to Amy that my daughter is leaving on Sunday and probably won’t be back all summer. Anna keeps going on about how much work she has to do to make up for being gone these measly two weeks.
No sooner do I put the phone back in the cradle than two men walk in, one wearing overalls and the other a dark business suit.
“Mrs. Geneva,” says Paul Becker. “You’ll excuse the interruption, but Jack and I need to discuss some plans for the property.”
I grip the edge of the counter hard. “You can’t do that when the store is closed? I open late on Sundays. And how about a little notice?”
Paul was looking at his cell phone while I was talking to him. He affects a laugh that must seem very deep and manly to him. It sounds theatrical. “Oh, Mrs. Geneva, no need to drag Jack away from his family just to bring his tape measure inside, really now.”
This Jack person pulls out a digital camera.
“What are you doing now?” I ask, though I can tell what they’re doing. They’re deciding what to demolish. Flash! And he snaps a picture of the wall I share with the gift shop next door.
“That’ll have to go,” Paul says, frowning at a clipboard.
Carla comes in and gives me a look, wrinkling her face up at the invaders. I hand her the scratch-off Lotto and Virginia Slims without her having to ask and shake my head at her questioning eyes.
I might as well rent a billboard, though, because Carla will stop in to Doreen’s or down to the Tip-A-Few and tell people that Paul Becker was in here with a guy in overalls, and they’ll all figure out right quick that this place is getting gutted and Maeve is being evicted.
I’m thinking I’d better tell Anna before the gossip winds its way to her when she walks in the door. Guess she’ll hear it right now.
Anna drops a shopping bag on top of the newspaper rack, whips off her sunglasses, and demands of the men, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Paul Becker turns around and Anna jumps back as if splashed with cold water. “Paul? What are you doing?”
Paul comes charging toward Anna with his hand out, all glad-handing business. “Hey, thanks for coming to my party the other day. Nice to see you there, just like old times. Well, not just like, I guess,” he says, laughing at his own wit. Anna’s
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