For some reason, despite turning down his attempts to get into my pants, he seemed to think he could wear me down. So, he put himself in my way as often as possible, trying to chip away at my resistance with compliments and more invitations to go out with him. It never failed that once I refused him, he turned on me and began with the insults. I wasn’t sure if it was the steroids that made him that way, or if being a spoiled brat might be to blame.
Whatever the case, I didn’t have time to worry about Lincoln. I had exams to study for, and, at the moment, a job to get to.
With the sun beaming down over my head and turning the light sheen of sweat into a continuous trickle, I continued, putting school and Lincoln behind me for the weekend.
I slowed my bike in front of McGuire’s Books, Magazines, and Comics, turning down the narrow alleyway stretching between it and the coffeehouse next door. Once I dismounted, I wheeled the bike through the back door, and then left it leaning against a wall near the storeroom. Having heard the alarm, my dad called out to me from the front of the building.
“Munchkin, is that you?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I replied, dropping my bag off in the back office.
Making my way to the front room, I strode between rows of bookshelves organized by genre, then in alphabetical order. McGuire’s wasn’t a large bookstore, but with it being the only one in town, business was at least steady. Things had slowed quite a bit over the past few years, but we did the best we could.
I found Dad standing behind the counter near the register. Today’s copy of the Wellhollow Springs Sentinel blocked his face from view, but I could see his shock of curly salt-and-pepper hair. It was a bit frizzy, as if he hadn’t combed it this morning.
“Hey, munchkin,” he murmured without glancing up from the paper. “How was your day?”
The kids made fun of me because my dad is the town lunatic.
“Fine,” I said out loud. “Kind of boring. All my teachers were in finals review mode, and everyone is pretty much on autopilot until next week.”
His head bobbed as he nodded, laying the paper flat on the counter. “Some things never change. Kids are as anxious to be out of school now as they were when I was a student.”
Noticing a stack of boxes near the door, I stepped behind the counter to retrieve a box cutter. The latest magazines must have been delivered while I was at school.
“Check it out,” Dad said, distracting me from the box cutter.
Pointing to the paper laid on the counter, he smiled. I followed his finger and glanced down at the advertisement nestled among several others.
“McGuire’s Appliance Repair and Restoration,” I read aloud. “No appliance is too big or small. Mention this ad and get twenty percent off your first repair.”
Smiling, I read his name at the bottom of the ad—Nathaniel McGuire—along with his cell number. “It looks great.”
When I glanced back up at him, I found him beaming with pride, his dark brown eyes glittering with excitement. My mom always said I’d been born with his eyes, despite having inherited everything else from her. One thing I hadn’t gotten was his affinity for machines and fixing them. He was never happier than when he could pry something apart and tackle its insides with a toolbox.
“I’m hoping it’ll bring in some more income,” he said, facing me and leaning against the counter.
I tried to maintain a pleasant expression, hoping my doubt wouldn’t show outwardly. He was great at what he did, but few people were willing to look past his eccentricities in order to appreciate it. It was bad enough they looked at him from the corners of their eyes when they came into the store, as if afraid he was going to leap over the counter and begin foaming at the mouth.
“That would be great,” I replied. “Maybe I’ll look for some extra summer work, too. Something to do in the hours I’d usually be at school.”
Sighing, he gave me a wistful glance. “I would rather you enjoy your summer, munchkin, not spend it working to pay bills. That’s why I put that ad in the paper.”
Standing on tiptoe, I reached up to hug him, barely able to get my arms around his neck. My dad was a big man—both tall and brawny with just a bit of a paunch in the middle caused by his love of pasta and pastries. He enveloped me in a tight hug, the scent of his aftershave a familiar comfort.
“I don’t mind,” I told him. “McGuire’s is important to me, because it was important to you and Mom. This place was your dream, and I’d hate to see it closed. If that means I need to get a job to help make ends meet, then it’s what I’ll do.”
He patted my shoulder, and then pulled away to look down at me. “I just wish you would enjoy your last year of childhood. You’ll be eighteen and in college next year.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “High school sucks, and work experience will look good on my college applications.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “But nothing that requires late hours.”
I nodded, going back to the task of stocking the magazines. “Agreed.”
He wouldn’t say why he didn’t want me working late, but I already knew the reason. For my father, nighttime in Wellhollow Springs could be a nerve-racking experience.
“Now that you’re here, I need to go balance the books,” he said, already turning to make his way toward the back.
“I’ll hold down the fort up here,” I responded.
Heavy footsteps grew fainter as he retreated to his
