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“What do you write?” he asks, ignoring my request.
“Fiction. Novels.”
“About what?”
My God, he’s never going to leave. I’ll have to pry his ass out of the chair and throw him out the door.
“Just stories,” I tell him. “Stories about people.”
“What kind of people?”
I sigh in frustration. “Just people, okay? I don’t want to get into it. It’s not even done yet.”
“Seems like if you want to sell some books you should talk about it. Get people interested.”
“Well, it’s not published yet so I’m not ready to start selling it to people. Now I really need to—”
“I read crime dramas. Been reading them since I was a kid. We didn’t have all those channels on the TV back then so people read more, you know?” I don’t answer so he keeps going. “I got so into those stories I wanted to be a cop. Solve crimes. But then I went to the police academy and found it wasn’t for me. It’s different when it’s in a book. Cops always catch the bad guys and everyone’s happy in the end. It’s not that way in real life. People go missing and are never found. Murders go unsolved. It’s depressing.”
“But you still read the books?”
“When I have the time. Reading keeps the mind sharp and I like trying to figure out the mystery.” He winks at me. “I have an inquisitive mind.”
“Yeah, I figured that out.”
He laughs. “You’re a strange kid but you’re starting to grow on me.” He motions to the chair next to him. It’s also a recliner but really old and worn out, the fabric faded and the seat cushion sunken down. “Grab a beer and sit a minute.”
“I can’t. Like I said, I have work to do.”
“Work can wait. Besides, don’t you have to be inspired before you write?”
“Not really. I usually just sit down and write.”
“If that were the case, you’d be done with your book by now. Word around town is that you’re behind schedule and here to finish it.”
So I guess Sage was right. Gossip travels fast in this town. She told Nina my story and now everyone knows. But Sage was talking to Nina when I left. How did she get the word out so fast?
“If you already knew that about me,” I say, “why’d you pretend you didn’t?”
“I wanted to hear it from you. You can’t always trust the town gossip.”
“Well, it’s true that I’m behind on my book, which is why I need to get writing. My agent will kill me if I don’t turn in some chapters.”
He pulls the lever on the chair and reclines back, getting comfortable. At this rate, he’s seriously never going to leave.
“My wife always says I should write a memoir. Tell my life story? I think she’s crazy. No one would want to read that. She says the grandkids would but they’re not interested in reading. Today all kids care about is whatever’s on that goddamn internet. It’s a damn shame.”
I’m wondering why his wife would want his story told. I want him to leave but my curiosity has me asking the question, “What would you write about? What’s your story?”
He looks at me, seeming pleased that I asked. “It’s not so much my story as the people I dealt with on a daily basis. Lawyers, criminals, witnesses.”
“Wait, so you haven’t always worked at the hardware store?”
He laughs. “Heavens, no. That’s my retirement job. The wife and I moved here when we retired because we wanted to go back to small town living. We both grew up here. Knew each other since we were kids.”
“Where did you used to live?”
“St. Louis. I was a judge. Criminal court. Saw things and heard stories you wouldn’t believe.”
