Kyle sat behind the counter and switched on his computer to check his emails. Spam mostly. Ads from publishers for upcoming releases. Offers from distributors that he would like to be able to take advantage of but could not afford.
The bell above the door jingled, and he looked up expectantly, hoping to see a customer, but it was just the mailman. “Kind of early today, aren’t you, Gil?”
“Doing the route backward. Thought I’d mix things up a bit.” The mailman handed Kyle a stack of envelopes and catalogs held together with a rubber band. “How’s business?”
“Slow.”
“Downtown ain’t what it used to be,” Gil agreed. “Hell, the postal service ain’t what it used to be. Thank God for junk mail, or I’d be out of a job.” He nodded as he opened the door and stepped back onto the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow.”
Kyle waved goodbye and watched through the front window as the mailman continued up the street. Sorting through the envelopes in his hand, he came across an official-looking one from the bank and tore it open, frowning. According to the statement inside, he had not made last month’s mortgage payment on the store and now owed the payment amount plus a hundred dollar late charge.
He specifically remembered writing that check. Now he was going to have to spend half the day on the phone trying to get this mess straightened out. “Morons,” he said aloud, as his first customer of the day walked into the store.
“You talkin’ about the gov’ment?” Durl Meadows grinned as he approached the counter. Durl had been one of his very first customers when he’d opened Brave New World, special ordering a copy of The Anarchist’s Cookbook. He and Kyle saw eye-to-eye on almost nothing, but theirs was a friendly, almost playful opposition, and Durl had turned out to be one of the store’s most loyal customers, continuing to order self-published right-wing conspiracy books as well as, incongruously, romance novels. “For my wife,” he always said, although Kyle suspected that was not the case.
Kyle sighed. “No, not the government. The bank.”
Durl shrugged, still grinning. “Same diff’rence.”
“They say I didn’t make my mortgage payment.”
“And you did.”
Kyle nodded.
“Now you have to call India to get it all untangled.”
“Probably.”
“Well, have fun with that.” Laughing, Durl headed over to the stand of new releases facing the front window. He scanned the titles but obviously found nothing there to interest him. Motioning toward the alcove at the left rear corner of the store, he said, “Looks like you’re expanding your used section.”
Kyle nodded. “I’ve been getting a lot of trade-ins lately. Mystery and romance readers go through books quickly. People like you—”
“My wife.”
“That’s what I was going to say. People like your wife speed through books. Makes sense to offer them a place where they can trade old books in for ones they haven’t read yet.”
“Or they could trade with each other an’ skip the middleman.”
Kyle nodded sagely. “Sure. They could do that. If they don’t believe in the free market and want to live in some hippie Communist world where no one owns anything and no one needs money and everyone just shares what they have, man.”
Durl chuckled. “Y’ got me.”
“I haven’t had time to put them on the shelf yet, but you might take a look in that box on the floor. Rene Wallace brought them in, and there’s quite a few Nora Roberts in there. Maybe there’s some Delia hasn’t read yet.”
“Maybe so,” Durl said, walking back toward the corner. “Thanks.”
Kyle picked up the mortgage statement from the bank, found the toll-free customer service number below the bank’s corporate address in the upper left corner. “If you need any help, let me know!” he called out to Durl.
“Will do!”
Prepared for a long wait, he picked up his phone and called the bank.
3
Driving Nick home, Anita passed by not only the optometrist’s office where she worked, but also the nursery, where Steven was visible behind the chainlink fence, watering a table of perennials. She tried not to let her expression change, maintaining her focus on the road ahead, though her face felt hot and she could sense a sudden increase in her pulse rate. They were scheduled to meet today at lunch—not at the nursery this time, but at his place. She was not sure that was such a good idea. They’d been spending a lot of lunches together, and everything so far had been leading in one direction, but flirting was different than…what came after flirting, and maybe it would be smarter for her to use Nick’s suspension as an excuse to cancel. She could back away from the precipice, get things back on a friendship footing.
But was that what she really wanted?
She thought of the way it had felt last week when he had taken her hand in his, his thumb gently rubbing the knuckles on her—
“Mom! Pay attention!”
Anita slammed on her brakes, barely avoiding hitting the car in front of her, which, for some reason, had come to a stop in the middle of the street.
“Were you daydreaming? It’s like you didn’t even see that guy stop!”
“I’m all right,” she said. “I was just…distracted for a moment.”
A skinny, boyish woman threw open the passenger door of the car and bolted out, running toward the Shell station. The car swerved to the right, across the other lane, following her.
“What’s that about?” Nick wondered.
“None of our business.”
Nick looked out of his window behind them as they moved forward again. “You think she was kidnapped and trying to escape?”
“No, but maybe you should put that imagination to use and write about something like that next time instead of…what you did.”
They drove the rest of the way home in silence. When they arrived, Anita quickly unlocked and opened the front door before stepping aside. “I’m already late for work. Close and lock the door behind you. And stay here. I don’t want you leaving the house.”
“I thought it was a slap-on-the-wrist offense.”
“It is. But you’re still suspended, buddy. And if that little stunt showed anything, it showed poor judgment. Did you really think that was an acceptable thing to turn in as your writing assignment? To Mrs. Nelson? At Montgomery High?”
“No,” he admitted.
“All right, then.”