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“Then what is to blame?”
“Never wanted to. Maybe I’ve avoided it on purpose. It’s easier when there’s no expectation, isn’t it?”
“It is.” We were quiet a second before she said, “Sorry Chris spit on your car.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t spit on you, or his teeth would be in his esophagus.”
“Well, I wash off, but if he’d gotten it in the car? What would you even do? Just throw it away and buy a new one?”
“Hey, you could dive around in a vault full of doubloons too if you’d sign.”
“Can’t I just dive in yours?”
“Sure, but it hurts less if it's your own. Doubloons aren’t easy to swim in. I’ve tried.”
“Shame I’ll never know.”
“It is. Do you know the secret to being rich?”
“I’m afraid to ask,” she said.
“Middle class makes money to spend and save. Rich people make money to invest.”
“It’s that easy?” she joked.
“I don’t live on what I make. I live on dividends of what I’ve invested. Just think—if you had the money, you could make it work for you, then you’d never have to work again.”
“And what if I enjoy working?”
“So do I—my job is my whole life, same as yours. Doesn’t mean you have to stop. You just do it because you want to.”
“I’m not signing your papers,” she said in a sing-song voice.
“I’m keeping my pen warm all the same.” When she didn’t respond, I added, “I just like seeing you taken care of, that’s all.”
“Well, I do just fine with that on my own, but thank you for your concern.” She smiled up at me, her face tilting for a kiss that I granted.
And that was that.
For now.
* * *
The town was out in earnest that day, and by the afternoon, we’d tackled nearly every façade on the street. At the moment, we were outside what was once a five-and-dime. A twenty-foot ladder was propped against the roof where we’d just lowered the worn sign, and inside the window, the Blums and Presley were putting the finishing touches on the window treatment, which was in both of the big display windows on either side of the door. Inside, Presley’s toddler daughter, Priscilla, was chasing a collarless kitten that I didn’t think anyone had noticed lurking around the back of the store.
Wyatt and Sebastian had hauled the sign off to one of the dumpsters, and I took a seat on the tailgate of the Blum’s truck with a water bottle, observing the town. Music played from a setup near the park just a few shops down, and as people finished their work, they’d begun to mill around, chatting. Poppy had a concession stand with pretzels and popcorn and cotton candy for the kids, and a few of the local teens had been hired to watch people's children so they could help out.
Though the town had been in some upheaval of late, you’d never know it on a day like today. Everyone was helping everyone, the common cause bringing them together, if only for a day. And I wondered over them as I was like to do, this little town that made such a big impression.
They seemed interested enough in me too, making it a point to walk by and nod their hellos or come and catch up with the Blums, watching me out of the corner of their eyes with bald curiosity. Maybe they hadn’t expected me to show up, or maybe they hadn’t expected me to work. Maybe they hadn’t expected the jeans, though that seemed unlikely—the whole town had heard about those. A few people did take it upon themselves to speak with me, asking about Salma and prying gently for information about the farms I was here to acquire to see who’d sold. But with each other, they were all hugs and smiles and how’s your grandmother.
It was the kind of place I’d dreamed of as a kid. The kind of place where you’d ride your bike until the streetlights came on and everybody knew your name and pedigree. Where the same doctor that delivered you would deliver your children. Where lifelong traditions made up the fabric of every life.
I was watching a couple of kids chase each other in figure eights around a cluster of adults when I heard a little voice say, “Here, kitty. Come here!”, except all the Rs sounded like Ws.
Frowning, I looked in the direction of the store to see Priscilla clearing the top of the ladder and heading up the steep pitch of the roof.
I was on my feet and to the ladder in a heartbeat. “Hey, Priscilla,” I said gently, my pulse hard enough to nearly choke me. “Hang on, kiddo.”
She ignored me like a seasoned professional, climbing a little higher on all fours as the cat sauntered on in front of her like it figured the child had as many lives as it did.
