Page 25 of Saints & Sailors

I met him back down at the front door where he appraised my outfit with a nod of his head.

“You look nice, honey,” he told me.

I mumbled out a thank you before following him out to his truck.

“More rock?” he asked of me.

I faced the window as I shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

“You okay?” he asked me.

“Uh-huh.”

Scott didn’t push. He set the radio and soon backed out of the driveway and made his way to Marty’s.

The lyrics to some Bob Dylan song provided background noise as I absentmindedly watched as we passed by business after business. Meadow Grove was the idyllic small town, not much to it, but perhaps a nice place to settle down if you didn’t like the fuss of the city.

“And here is the strip,” Scott was saying as we were nearing the supermarket that was Marty’s.

Beside the grocery store, lay a strip of shops. One, a barber shop, the second a liquor store, and the third a beauty salon that offered hair and nail services. Both the barbershop and beauty salon boasted about being “Black Owned” by the signs in their windows. Young Black boys hung outside the barbershop, one dribbling a basketball, while the others talked. Older men were talking out in front of the liquor store, and a couple of women were making their way out of the beauty salon.

“Dreux’s mother, Angela, owns the beauty salon, and his uncle owns the barbershop,” Scott felt like informing me for some reason. “Dreux helps out at both part time.”

“Cool,” I was nice enough to say.

Scott pulled into the parking lot to Marty’s and found a space in the row designated for employees only. Together, we got out of his truck and met up at the back.

“It may be big,” Scott said to me. “But it’s a really friendly place. Most people have been coming here their whole lives. A lot of customers are like family.”

I took in Scott’s words and quickly gave no second thought as we stepped into the entrance, instantly greeted with a nice gust of AC.

“Back already?” A young boy wearing a neon green vest over his blue T-shirt stopped Scott. He had been pushing in a load of carts, a hefty ten.

Scott made a face. “I oughta just leave a cot in my office. I practically live here.”

The boy chuckled before turning to me.

Scott’s hand found my shoulder. “Anders, this is my daughter, Saylor. She just moved to town.”

The boy, who couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, offered me a friendly smile. “Didn’t know you had a daughter.” He leaned over and stuck his hand out. Real polite this kid. “Nice to meet you, Saylor, my name’s Anders.”

He had that Cameron effect on me, as I couldn’t find the mood to leave him hanging.

I fed my hand into his and shook with him, giving a small smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Scott soon led us more into the store.

A police officer stood tall and ominously by the first row of cash registers, a few people were in line at the service desk nearby, and across from us housed the produce department and the small floral department.

“Scott!”

A woman just a few inches shorter than my five-foot-ten came over as she was pushing a cart of bagged groceries toward the exit.

“Yeah, I’m back, as usual,” Scott joked as the woman came over to us.

“I can never seem to leave,” the woman replied.

Just as Anders had, the woman looked at me curiously. “This must be your baby.”