The bell chimes on the door and once again I find myself lost in thought about nothing in particular. I’m afraid to think about my life before I arrived in Pittsfield. No, I shouldn’t say that. My life was great. I was in love, happy, and my man loved me with everything that he was. I never doubted how he felt about me. But that all changed when Frannie— No, I shouldn’t think about it. Those thoughts, that life, it needs to stay locked away. Ted Lawson cannot hurt my family anymore.
I smile at the couple that just walked in. They’re tourists. It’s easy to tell the people that haven’t been here before because they walk in and cringe when the screen door slams shut. Their steps are timid because they’re not sure where they should go. Eyes wander, searching for the bathroom sign, and they rush off as soon as they see it. I chuckle at this particular couple because that’s what they just did, only to stop by the glass-covered pastries and point to the large cinnamon rolls and cookies. Even if they only meant to stop and use the restroom, they’ll purchase something as they leave. Laura has the store set up perfectly that way.
As soon as customers walk in, the counter is off to the left with the store opening up on the right. Directly in front of them is a table full of Vermont specialties and diagonally from there, you’ll find our coffee and pastries stand with the bathrooms in the back corner. Groceries and the deli are straight ahead when you walk in. It’s truly the perfect little country store.
Another couple, followed by a family, walks in—meaning I should leave my duty of dusting. I stand at the counter with my hands behind my back, making eye contact with them when they look my way. The goal is to make them feel welcomed. That’s what Laura did for me, same with Ray. Claire and I were barely making it, but we had each other and I was determined. I never liked working at the gas station. It’s freezing in the winter and stifling in the summer, but it paid my rent and put food on the table for Claire. People used to drop things off for her when we were at work. We’d walk home, a mile down the busy stretch of the road, and find a bag of clothes. She’d be so excited and on the inside I was, too, but as soon as she went to sleep for the night I cried my eyes out in the bathroom. My life wasn’t supposed to be like this. When my husband died I should’ve been able to pack up my home and find a new place for us to live. I have no doubt I would’ve gone to stay with Ryley, who was pregnant at the time. I’ve always wondered how she’s doing today and whether or not she had the baby.
I’ve been tempted to hunt for her on the web, see if I can find a picture of her, anything to curb my curiosity, but at the same time, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to risk someone looking over my shoulder, or somehow knowing I looked her up. That part of my life is dead and buried, and as much as I miss it, I’ll never be there again.
The first couple that walked in comes up to the counter. Both of them are carrying cinnamon rolls and cups of coffee.
“Traveling far today?” I ask, as I ring them in.
“We just moved to New York from Oklahoma and we’ve been exploring as much of New England as we can. We’re looking for the perfect place to host our wedding. It’s so beautiful up here but it’s so cold,” the woman says while I make change from the twenty that her fiancé gave me.
“Yes it is. Enjoy your trip and please drive carefully. Oh, and congratulations. Weddings in the fall are simply gorgeous around here.”
She waves good-bye as her fiancé pulls her out of the store. I don’t have much time to recover, not that I need it, before the family comes up to the counter with their arms full of snacks. As I ring them in, the kids pretend to box behind their parents, the dad reads the newspapers, and the mom fiddles with her phone. They’re likely locals from another town, not interested in conversation.
After I give them their total and they pay, I wait for the last two people, who decide they don’t need anything after using the rest room. I wave good-bye and glance at the clock; two hours left.
Laura’s never been strict on electronics in the store, as long as it’s clean, she doesn’t care what we do. I pull out my tablet—determined to read—when my finger accidentally hits my email button. I rarely check my email since everyone I know lives in town and my parents had passed away long before … well, for a long time now.
Email after email comes in, most of them junk, but one from late last night catches my attention. You told me to email! I look around the store to make sure it’s empty before I open it. I know I shouldn’t but this can’t be a coincidence.
Dear Amy,
Earlier today an FBI lady and her partner came in asking questions about you and your storage unit. They said you were missing and were shocked to find that you’ve been paying. They confiscated the motorcycle for evidence or something.
Buzz.