The General Store: Where Innocence Goes to Die Page 2

  We ate outside, despite the mosquitos and then lounged around the living room while Mr. Martin flipped through sports channels. I hated sports almost as much as video games. I would’ve much rather helped Cloe with her bubble bath. At least I didn’t have to go to actual games anymore. That was one life-sucking endeavor I never wanted to experience again.

  Mason had played basketball until last year. I never missed a game, though I never watched one either. I usually took homework, which should’ve been a tell-all sign of how much I hated it. Thankfully, he'd quit because he wasn't getting any playing time. His former State Champion Dad wasn't happy about it. In all honesty, Mason was better at watching than playing.

  "You kids have any big plans for Saturday?" Mrs. Martin asked, her sing-song voice in the same pitch she used to address Cloe.

  "Not really," Mason said, bored, his eyes glued to the barely audible television.

  "I guess that’s just as well," she said reminiscently. "I remember being seventeen, when being together was all a date required. All the nerves and butterflies.” She shook her head with a smile. “You'll see when you get old like me," she said, nudging Mr. Martin. "It's not a date unless you go out to dinner or to a movie. Getting out of the house is a must."

  "If you want to go out, just say the word,” Mr. Martin crooned in her ear, wrapping his hands around her slim waist.

  "Don't be silly, Don. It's almost nine. Cloe will be going to bed soon. I was only making a point to the kids. They should enjoy this time. Life is exciting," she said, oblivious to the frown curving Mr. Martin’s thin lips.

  Mason’s parents started rattling on about the last time they'd gone out to a place without kid’s meals before I tuned them out. I moved beneath Mason’s arm and pulled out my phone. Mason’s arm around my shoulder was around zero on the excitement meter lately. I knew him well enough now to anticipate his every move and the few he had, weren’t that calculated. His hand on my shoulder meant only one thing. It would stay there. Once, when he was showing me the way his new garage door opened, his hand had brushed my stomach. That had been borderline exciting, until he'd apologized and readjusted my t-shirt. That was one reason my parents liked him so much. He oozed respect always saying, “Yes Sir” and “No Sir." I thought he was shy at first, but it was just his nature. He was a born Eagle Scout. After three years, he'd never even gone for second base. Not that I would’ve let him, but he could've at least tried.

  "Do you want to see a movie," he asked, nuzzling my hair with his smooth cheek. "That new scary one's out. About the abandoned house. Didn't you want to see that?"

  "Anna is due back tomorrow,” I stifled a huge yawn. “I'm sure she'll want to tell me all about the trip.” The sarcasm in my voice was forced. I’d much rather listen to Anna ramble about half-naked boys than listen to Mason crunching on popcorn for two hours.

  "Oh, okay," he shrugged. "Maybe another day. It's summer after all. We could go Monday if you want…or Tuesday…or Wednesday…"

  "To be young and free," his mom bellowed dramatically from the doorway.

  "What's up with your mom?” I asked, craning my head in time to see the white silk of her nightgown disappear around the corner.

  "You got me. She's been talking like that all week.”

  "Maybe a woman can have a midlife crisis too,” I offered, patting his knee encouragingly. Mason always worried that his mom might get flighty again. Though I couldn’t imagine it myself. She’d never leave him or Cloe.

  Mason shrugged, lost in an episode of CSI. I ran my fingers across the back of his shaved neck, but he swatted me away. "That tickles, he said, clasping our hands together and bringing them to the couch between us. “Don't you want to know who killed her?"

  "I don’t really like this show," I said for the umpteenth time, sinking my head into the cushion.

  "I know. I know,” he said. “Just ten more minutes and I'll drive you home."

  ***

  The air in the truck was thick, stifling, as if it had been sitting in the June sun for days instead of the couple of hours we’d left it. I rolled the window down as soon as Mason stuck the key in the ignition. Dust motes carried with the forced air coming through the vents. It took the air several minutes to pass for anything close to cool and another couple to make the truck comfortable. I was almost home by that time. The heaviness in my head felt like I’d slept much longer than thirty minutes, and the rap song on the radio did little to help my aching temples. I punched the blaring radio off as soon as we turned onto my street, but it didn’t help. The noise was coming from outside now. My heart sped when the boisterous roar registered in my brain, my headache all but forgotten. The death machine was back and idling in Robyn's drive. She was talking on her phone and pacing the walkway. Her doll shaped face creased with unnatural wrinkles along her forehead.

  "That's a nice Harley," Mason said casually, shifting the gear stick into park.

  “Mmm,” I agreed, my eyes never leaving the shimmering black paint as it gleamed in the light from the streetlamp.

  "It looks new," he added. I could feel his questioning eyes on me, but I didn’t care enough to look away. "I didn't know you were into bikes."

  "I'm not.”

  The last thing I needed was him running his mouth to my parents. They would have me chained in my room. My Aunt Quinn was in a full body cast in college after going on a joy ride on the back of her boyfriend’s bike. Needless to say, motorcycles were a sore spot in my house.

  Mason leaned across the seat to kiss me goodnight, but I turned a second to late, causing him to miss my lips entirely. He didn’t bother for a second try and neither did I. I turned back to the window. Unfortunately, Robyn was already gone. I stepped out of the truck just as the motorcycle backed out. Dark eyes looked up from a set of full lashes, and I swear my heart stuttered. I shut Mason’s door quickly, the door handle burning into my back. The man’s dark hair hung loose beneath his helmet now, almost touching his shoulders. He turned the throttle causing the engine to scream as he moved slowly by us. I’d have jumped if I could’ve moved, but I was frozen in a state of pure exhilaration and fear. He was even more intimidating up close, and not just because his eyes were roaming freely over my tense body. It wasn’t even the clearly defined muscles pushing at his shirtsleeves. No, there was something else…a combination of it all, maybe. The thick stubble covering his impressive jaw line only added to the dangerous allure that surrounded him. I was only faintly aware of Mason calling my name. I needed to move so he could leave. I needed to go inside before my parents came out, but what I wanted far outweighed what I needed. I wanted to get lost in the brown eyes staring back at me. I wanted to touch the lips that curved into a smirk when Mason tapped on the glass behind my head. The beautifully dangerous man held my gaze for only another intense moment before driving away, but it was long enough to know this summer was going to be anything but boring.

  Chapter 2. Baby Steps

  The double garage door was propped open with the handle of a straw broom. Dad was busy tinkering with a screwdriver in the corner, while Mason carried boxes out to the end of the driveway. I could’ve cleaned the garage myself, but fifteen dollars didn’t tempt me like it used to. Mason, on the other hand, took any job offered to him. Last summer he'd mowed yards, helped his neighbor put up a wooden fence and cleaned up after the roofers left Ridgeland Nursing Home. It seemed like such a waste of a summer, especially since he always put most of the money in the bank. Probably already saving for retirement. Not me. My allowance was usually gone before the sun rose on Monday. That is, when I got an allowance. I wouldn’t be seeing that crisp twenty anymore. I’d skipped out on the last three jobs my dad came up with. That was fine with me. If my plan worked, I would have money and still wouldn’t have to shovel out the dog’s pen or fumble around in a musty old garage.

  “Where you headed, blondie?” Mason asked, carrying an old Christmas tree to the curb. “You aren’t usually up this early.”

  “I told
you last night,” I sighed. “I’m going to check on that job.” He never listened to anything I said.

  He brushed pine needles from his arms and shook out his t-shirt as he made his way to me. “I thought you were kidding,” he said, planting his hands on my shoulders and giving my forehead a sweaty kiss. “Do you really want to spend all day stuck inside at some boring job?”

  “It beats sitting around here doing nothing,” I said, twisting away from him. I didn’t have time to waste if I wanted the job. Being up before ten was the only advantage I was working with.

  Even my dad turned around at that answer. I was the queen of lazy during the summer, a picture of wasted time. Last year, I hadn’t gotten up before noon until the first day of school.

  “It’ll be fun,” I said unconvincingly, “and if it’s not, I’ll quit.”

  Dad didn’t hear that last part, or he would’ve hit the roof. He’d given me a speech last night about how a job was a big responsibility and it could help or hurt you in life. Blah. Blah. Blah.

  “That’s a good attitude to have,” Mason smirked, tilting my chin up into the bright morning sun. “Why go at all? Just hang out here with me. When I get finished, we’ll go get some lunch. Your choice.” This was usually the point in our conversation where I’d cave, but not this time. “Come on, wouldn’t you rather go curl up on the couch and watch a movie?”

  Two summers ago, I would’ve bolted back through the door to wait for him. Two summers ago, I wouldn’t have left my house for a second if it meant leaving him, but things were different now. I was different…and he wasn’t.

  “I’ll call you later,” I said, hugging him quickly. The same way I’d hug an uncle at Christmas. “Wish me luck.”

  I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away, but I didn’t turn back.

  ***

  The door chimed like church bells on Sunday morning announcing my arrival as I pulled the heavy glass door open. There were only a handful of people browsing the large, barrel shaped candy bins overflowing with bubble gum and licorice. It was never crowded during the week, which was a plus I’d considered before taking the sign out of the candy smudged window on the way in. I carried it to the front counter where Robyn sat, filing her long nails on a neon pink emery board. I self-consciously stared down at the nubs I called nails, making a mental note to keep them out of my mouth.

  “Excuse me,” I said, plopping the sign down in front of her.

  Looking through annoyed eyes, she smacked her lips and spoke to me. “Can I help you?”

  “Ahum,” I cleared my throat. I’d pictured this conversation going differently. Something along the lines of her jumping up and hugging me, proclaiming me as her new best friend. “I wanted to ask about the opening?” I squeaked.

  “So, ask,” she said, uncrossing her tan legs and leaning onto the counter.

  I’d counted on having a few more minutes to formulate a response. I didn’t know what to say yet. Her looking at me like I was a pesky housefly wasn’t helping matters.

  “Are you the manager?” My words came out more condescending than I’d intended. Sarcasm always kicked in when my nervous system was in overdrive.

  Glaring, she reached for the microphone attached to the register. “Tom to the front.” Her voice echoed across the store like the final clink of a jail cell.

  Great. I didn’t even have the job yet, and she hated me.

  I drummed my fingers on the counter, listening to a woman complain about the two-cent price increase on caramel as Robyn went back to ignoring my existence. I’d hoped she would at least remember my name, but she didn’t seem to know me from anyone else in the store. I wondered if she realized we had on the exact same pair of khaki shorts. I’d picked mine out specifically because of The General Store’s dress code, cleaning out the last of my depleted bank account. My mom said it was good to go in dressed for work. She said it showed professionalism. I just liked that it showed more of my thigh than was allowed at school.

  “What is it Robyn,” a tall, slender man closer to my parents age asked. Rolling up his flannel shirtsleeves, he complained, “I was right in the middle of a sale.” He brushed his thinning, disheveled hair away from his eyes.

  She motioned to me with the nail file. “Justine is here about the job.”

  “It’s Justice,” I corrected.

  “Whatever,” she said dismissively.

  The man shook my hand, introduced himself as Thomas Smith, and started walking in the direction he’d come.

  “How old are you, Justice?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Seventeen?” I hurried past kids arguing over which candy to buy, to catch up.

  “Do you have any sales experience?”

  “I sold candy for school a few times,” I said, dodging a toy train. “Does that count?”

  “Fundraiser or bookstore?”

  “The first.”

  “No,” he said, wiping his brow. “I suppose Robyn could train you to run the register. Can you fold shirts?”

  “I think so,” I said, ready to fire off my best qualities and my one weakness like Dad and I had rehearsed.

  “Then start at the table by the door,” he said. “We’re having a two-for-one sale on polos and they’re a mess. People have been tossing them into piles all morning.”

  I was confused. Was that the interview? Weren’t we supposed to go into an office or something? “So, does this mean I’ve got the job?”

  “If you can make some sense out of that jumbled sight,” he motioned to the table. “I’d say the position is yours.”

  I started to the table, but his voice stopped me. “Wait a minute young lady. Don’t you want to know how much this job pays?”

  I’d forgotten about that. “Of course.” Though I couldn’t imagine an amount I’d turn down.

  “Nine dollars an hour and I’ll need you at least fifteen hours a week. Now, that includes weekends. Don’t come in here next week and tell me Saturday nights are out. That’s our prime selling time.”

  “No problem,” I said, already busy folding. Mason had played video games last Saturday anyway. He wouldn’t even miss me.

  Nine dollars an hour for fifteen hours…that was over a hundred dollars a week! I would be rich at this rate! Anna would be so jealous. I couldn’t keep the grin from my face. Anna was planning to scoop ice cream at Jordan’s again this summer. She complained every year about frozen fingers, but every year she was back there elbow deep in peach slush for a measly seven-fifty an hour.

  The table of shirts would have made my mom proud. I even smoothed the collars. I strolled through the aisles, adjusting my new trainee name badge and putting clothes back on racks that had fallen into the floor. The entire left side of the small, country store held rack upon rack of brightly colored polos and t-shirts with clever sayings. I saw many people from school come in, mostly for sodas and candy.

  Everyone stopped here to fill their pockets with snacks before going to the movies. No one wanted to pay four dollars for a candy bar. If The General Store had been selling popcorn, they’d have made a killing. I would’ve recommended that to Mr. Smith, but he looked overly anxious every time I caught sight of him. Every time the bell rang, another drop of sweat appeared on his forehead. He paced from the front to the side door more times than I could count. If he wasn’t getting shoes from the back, he was weighing candy while Robyn took another break. I could see why he needed extra help, but I didn’t understand why he didn’t just fire Robyn. Besides ringing up customers and answering the phone, she hadn’t moved in hours. If someone needed help on the floor, she called one of us. Even when there was no line, she wouldn’t walk around the counter to point out the black licorice to a kid. I had to come from the back where I was busy replacing empty shoelace boxes. It didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

  At a quarter past seven, Mr. Smith patted me on the shoulder. “You’re doing a fine job here, Justice.”

  “Thanks,” I said, putting the last of the
laces in place.

  “I hope you’ll stick around a while.”

  “I plan to.” I smiled broadly. This job was awesome! It reminded me of playing store with Anna when we weren’t much taller than the candy barrels.

  He turned to Robyn. “Can you train Justice on the register tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” she said, her eyes glued to her flashing mobile phone. “Are you opening a second register?”

  “No, but it would be good for her to know in case you’re out sick.” Robyn’s shoulders relaxed. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow,” he said, glancing up at the clock above the double glass doors. “My son has a karate tournament at eight. Be sure to lock up.”

  The bell rang as he left, and I went back to restocking. Mr. Smith had been clear about the shelves. They had to stay full at all times. He was a stickler for neatness. The bell didn’t ring much more as the sun went down, but I had plenty to do. For a slow day, I had trouble keeping the shelves in order. Apparently, not putting items back where they belonged was as important on a shopping trip as paying before leaving the store.

  “I know you,” Robyn said, peering over her phone as I made my twentieth track across the floor.

  “I live in front of you,” I said glumly, raking the empty gum wrappers from the candy counter into my hand.

  Her revelation wasn’t as exciting after having to carry her weight for the past several hours.

  “Right, Justine,” she said, taking the empty wrappers and tossing them into the waste basket behind the counter.

  “Justice!” I snapped. “Justice Asher.”

  “Well, Justice Asher, it’s time to start closing the store,” she said unfazed by my outburst. “Do you think you can sweep up while I close out my drawer?”

  “I’ve done everything else,” I mumbled too low for her to hear.

  It was the longest conversation I’d ever had with her.

  “If anyone knocks, just shrug your shoulders and act like you don’t hear them. I’m in no mood to get stuck here until after eight, again. Jayson doesn’t like to wait.”