“A corduroy vest, the color of tangerines,” pronounced Buley, as wide-eyed Jake held it before her. They examined the dark blue stitching, and the cerulean lining, in perfect condition. He carefully folded it, and lay it across his lap.
“That is from the seventies. Seems strange to claim it as vintage, but it has charm for days.” Jake held up a T-shirt, purple, emblazoned with a slightly peeling iron-on decal, a glittering pink witch surrounded by lime-green frogs.
The final item made him gasp, which caused the cat to un-wedge itself, and leap to the top of a cedar curio cabinet. Buley chuckled, and Jake stood up excitedly and held the pants up to his own waist. “Authentic sailor pants, black wool, cut tight through the hips. Just the way I prefer my sailors, although I’ve never seen the ocean.” Jake traced the pants with one finger, the material blooming out into bell bottoms, the front a cunning display of giant black buttons and heavily stitched eyelets.
“Perfection!” Jake spun in a circle, the pants swinging out before him.
“I’ve never heard of a sailor in your size,” said Buley. “Maybe they had a battleship just for midgets.”
“These are breathtaking,” said Jake.
“I knew you would like them,” said Buley. “I probably have a sailor hat around here somewhere. Your uncle Rocky isn’t here, so you’ll have to look for yourself. I gave him the day off. His knee is still bothering him.”
“I’ll take it all,” said Jake.
“Of course you will,” said Buley.
“I’m going to keep shopping,” said Jake.
“I encourage that,” said Buley.
The store was silent today. Usually, Buley would be yelling at Rocky, who never responded, just winked at Jake and muttered the same word: Women. And then his uncle would sigh contentedly, return to pushing a broom, folding Levi’s, wiping paperbacks down with a wet rag.
The thrift store smelled like reheated casseroles and disintegrating paperbacks. Jake hated Quinn, because nothing ever changed. But inside the thrift store, he never failed to find something new among the old and used. The things the people of this town were willing to part with were always more interesting than the people themselves.
Jake walked past the stacks of blue jeans, and the musty-smelling rack of Western-style shirts. Jake coveted the pearl buttons, but the sweat stains were disgusting.
He avoided the bottom shelf at the back of the third aisle. When he had discovered the piles of Frank’s clothes, he nearly cried. He could not even look at them now. Rachel had no idea how much time he had spent picking out those suits, but Buley did. Rocky placed Frank’s Forest Service uniforms on the same shelf, consolidating one man’s entire wardrobe.
Jake dug through the paperbacks, even though he had passed over most of the titles before. He removed a Harlequin romance that took place entirely on a lifeboat. That was interesting. He considered buying another Agatha Christie novel, but he had made that mistake before. He shoved the Agatha Christie book back in place when he heard the front door open and the stomping of snow boots.
Diane Savage Connor, Buley’s daughter, removed her coat and hung it beside the door. This was the first time Jake had seen Diane in the store. Buley held out her hand for Diane to kiss, but Diane rolled her eyes and kissed her mother on the forehead.
“Diane,” Buley announced, and crossed one giant leg, the bells on her slippers ringing out through the store. “Tell me all about your latest conquest.”
Diane ignored this. “Is he here?” Jake watched Diane crane her neck, peering over the enormous aisles.
“Yes,” said Buley. “When are you going to settle down?” Diane absentmindedly stroked the white cat, who stretched out, luxuriating at her touch. “You are much too vivacious to end up a spinster.”
“I’m only thirty-six,” said Diane. “I’m exploring every opportunity.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” said Buley. “We had another word, in my day.”
Diane ignored this as well. “Where is he?”
Buley pointed to him, and Jake stood up among the boxes of paperbacks. Diane was upon him instantly, fast as always. He could not fathom what she wanted; he barely knew her, had always worshipped her from afar. Jake couldn’t help but look up from his scorebook when she burst into motion at shortstop, a blur of finely muscled limbs and glossy black hair. At school, Jake blushed when she stopped him in the hallway, even though she wasn’t one of his teachers. She made a point to compliment his outfits, the only person in town who did so.
“Come with me,” she said, on the move as always. “I’m sorry, but I only have fifteen minutes.” Jake followed her through the store, past the woodstove, and into the back rooms where customers were not allowed. Here was where Rocky sorted the donations, and where Buley kept her hot plate. A tiny bathroom was exposed, with no walls for modesty. He watched the carefully woven braid swing across Diane’s back, and she was not wearing her demure school clothes. Today she wore tight pink slacks and a black angora sweater set.