Page 27 of Camera Stays On

“It doesn’t matter, because you don’t decide those things, Sawyer,” I said, turning back toward the sidewalk. Without a second glance, I took off in the direction of town, thankful the shoes saved from the fire were my running shoes. I made it to town in twenty minutes, walking slow. I had no real idea of where I wanted to go, but now if Sawyer tried something, I’d have an audience. I looked up and down the blocks. People were everywhere.

Collingwood wasn’t a huge town. It was more of a village than anything. The only businesses not in this area were the funeral home and the bar. Everything else was clumped together on two large blocks, split down the middle by a road leading out. Relief fell upon my shoulders as I reached town. It was busy this time of day, reminding me of Chicago. While Collingwood was nowhere even close to the bustling city in size or atmosphere, there was still a comfort that came with people passing by me as I walked.

I ducked inside the first storefront I came to. It was a craft supply store. The cashier greeted me warmly. I didn’t recognize her, and she didn’t seem to know me either, making the relief sink deeper into my body. The less people who knew my name and face the better. I perused with no intention of buying and finally stepped out, onto the next store.

It was early evening, and in that halfway point between summer and fall, I knew it wouldn’t get dark for some time. I didn’t know what Sawyer had been thinking—hanging my old wedding dress up and putting all my old belongings from high school in a room I was only staying in for a few weeks—but I didn’t want to be alone with him as much as possible. Instead, I ducked into another store, this time, a bakery. I ordered a hot cocoa and blueberry donut and sat down at a small round table near the window so I could watch the passersby. This was another store with owners I didn’t know.

Maybe this town had changed, I wondered as I people-watched. Or maybe my memory of the townspeople had grown foggy over the distance. In five years, people could change a lot. I sure as hell had.

After I threw my cup and napkin away, I continued exploring the familiar—yet not—town. It wasn’t until the fourth store that I found one that had been around when I lived here. Collingwood’s free store, The Country Closet. A smile spread over my face as I hurried inside, where I was greeted by the familiar smell of mothballs.

Pausing near the door, I took it all in. The same thin, worn green carpet, the metal shelves full of old dishware and sun-faded children’s toys. Racks and racks of free clothing worn in the eighties with the shoes underneath.

If anywhere was familiar in this town, it was here.

“Hello! How are—Purdy?” A woman toppled out of a clothes rack, shoving her glasses back up her nose.

“Renata?” I gaped. “How are you?”

“I’m good!” The pretty brunette with large curls and an outfit full of bright colors walked over to me. “I run the store now. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in like, Chicago or something?”

I looked around, checking to see if we were alone. “I actually go by Andi now. I’m back temporarily. Sawyer is finally making a movie, and I’m here to help.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s right! I saw that in the paper. It looked like fun. Are you here for costumes or something?” She turned toward the racks of clothing.

“Not today. Although, I might come back for a few things for myself, if that’s okay. I didn’t have much to bring with me.” That familiar flood of shame and embarrassment rushed to my cheeks. Back in the day, this was where I got almost all of my clothes.

“Of course!” Renata, just as kind as she’d been back in school, smiled warmly at me, no hint of judgment or amusement in her expression. “Come back anytime. Actually—maybe not tomorrow. Tuesdays and Thursdays, really.” She made a sour face, and I raised an eyebrow. “Why not those days? Are you closed?”

“Renata! I forgot the dog food for Mr. McGee! Did you put it—oh!” Mrs. Delambre—a tall, sandy-haired woman in fake designer clothes and oversized sunglasses on her head—burst from the back room. I recognized her voice in an instant. She stopped short when she saw me. Her expression narrowed, and she stuck her nose high in the air.

“Purdy,” she said curtly.

I swallowed hard. “I go by Andi now, Mrs. Delambre. How are you?”

The last time we’d seen each other was the morning of my wedding. She’d helped curl my hair and do my makeup. Back then, she’d been so excited about the day ahead of us, neither of us knowing what Sawyer had planned just a few hours later.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, her eyes shifting away from me. “Renata, where is that dog food?”

“It’s in the back, by the sink.”

Asher and Sawyer’s mother turned back to me, her eyes narrowing into slits.

“If you’re here to just help yourself to our donations, you’ll have to go somewhere else. The Country Closet is for town residents only. Last I checked you left this place a long time ago, Andi.”

Without another word, she stormed out of the room. Renata and I stood in utter silence, listening to the thin woman with little muscle tone grapple with what sounded like a large bag of dog food. Eventually the door slammed, rattling the clothes, and we both exhaled.

“Sorry about that. She, uh—” Renata looked down at her feet. “She mentions the wedding every so often. Especially since Sawyer is still... I’m so sorry, Purdy—I mean, Andi.”

I waved off her sympathetic look with a shrug and an awkward smile. “It’s fine. I hadn’t realized she worked here. She’s not the only one in town who doesn’t want to see me. I’ll come back another day you’re working and pick up a few things, if that’s okay?”

“Of course! Ignore her about the whole resident thing. You’re one of us.”

Hating the idea, but knowing I’d want a few T-shirts to tide me over, I thanked her politely and hurried out before she could stop me.

What was she talking about when she said Sawyer was still… Still what?

The warm feeling I’d had when entering was now ruined. I glanced back, ashamed to once again be desperate enough for free clothes.