Before reaching Main Street, she turned down the narrow one-way alley that led to the back door of all the store fronts. The wagon navigated the minefield of potholes better than a car or delivery truck could. Ahead, a familiar red SUV sat at a cockamamie angle with one rear tire partially swallowed. The multi-colored door of number thirty-six swung open.
“Claire, I heard you were back. Please tell me you’re reopening.” She raised her head to see resident fashionista and resale shop owner, Beverly Westman. She shut the car’s open side door.
“Through the end of the year at least. Can’t afford to miss out on holiday sales. You look great. Love the jacket.”
Not everyone could pull off a wide lapel hot-pink pinstripe suit, but Beverly pulled it off like the former model she was. She brushed invisible dirt off the lapel before looking Claire up and down.
“Someone should paint my portrait in this fine ensemble, if only they had the right paint.” She winked, a nod to past conversations about undertones, hues, and colors. “You are a disaster.”
“I’m cleaning today.”
“Please tell me you have a handkerchief for your hair and let me hug you before you get started. I’m so glad you’re back.” Her lips pressed together, and a shadow diminished the bronze base in her skin as she opened her arms. Claire stepped into the unexpected embrace. Beverly wasn’t one for casual contact. They stepped away after a few awkward seconds.
Beverly shook her head. “My walk-in business has dropped off over the last year. I have cashmere pashminas I can’t move because people around here are afraid to buy something they might not be able to afford and I don’t have the out-of-town wives coming in to treat themselves while their husbands are ‘toy shopping’ at your place. I passed on a purchase of Pucci—Pucci!—because I don’t have the right clients. Sure I can put them on the digital store front, but the colors are never as vibrant on screen as they are in real life.”
No one would ever accuse Claire of being fashionable, but she’d learned enough about Beverly’s taste and love of beautiful, bold color to understand what this meant. Main Street was in danger of losing another business. The pharmacy was long gone, as was the department store. Two years ago, the barber shop and hair salon merged into the larger space. The bakery’s glass cases displayed dust bunnies that grew larger by the day. The Dollar General, the yarn store, and O’Meara’s tavern didn’t generate much foot traffic. Well, O’Meara’s did, but it was too late at night and too drunk to keep the other businesses afloat. The sprawling antique shop with limited hours drew in people only on the first and third weekends each month. She didn’t need this guilt trip. Not with all the baggage she already had to handle.
“I’m reopening tomorrow, but don’t hold your breath. I’m doing limited hours Wednesday through Sunday only, and it will take a while for people to return to the store.”
“Oh, they’ll come, Sugar.”
“I hope so.”
“They will. I’ve seen people drive through town and try your doors. A few have even popped over here wondering how long you’ll be closed for the death in the family. Surely Walter forwarded the condolence cards that piled up.”
“He did. He also mentioned that Sandy took the flowers to the nursing home, which is better than letting them die on the street.” The sun inched upwards and chased the alley’s shadows into hiding. Keeping promises required a lot of work, but the worry in Beverly’s eyes made her want to promise that she’d keep the store going forever. “If the opening is going to happen, I better clean up whatever mess the gentlemen left.”
“When you finish with that and get cleaned up, stop by. I have a vintage Clash t-shirt you’ll love.” She waved and then retrieved something from her car. Claire rattled her wagon farther down the alley.
The hobby store rear door opened on the first try. The Grumpy Old Men did their part to keep the shop running in her absence but opening twice a month for Saturday hours didn’t cover property taxes and utilities. The storefront was a one-hundred-year Evans family tradition. Whether it would stay that way was yet another decision she needed to make.
“Achoo.” Her nose tickled. The open door disturbed so much dust the air seemed chunky. She hitched up her scarf to cover her nose and mouth and proceeded into the building.
“Those idiots better not send the website purchases out covered in a layer of dust.” No one responded. “Oh, Grandpa. Why couldn’t you have come back as a chatty ghost?”
The stockroom gaps that existed wouldn’t be full until her restock orders arrived from Germany in two weeks. The guys must have done an okay job keeping up with the computer inventory system her high school intern installed over a year ago summer, or they brought in their grandkids to figure it out. She’d worried the numbers she’d seen over the summer and had consulted at a distance would be way off base. They weren’t.
Maybe one of the old men or their families would want... Nah. Thoughts of the future would have to wait. She had a tight schedule to keep if she wanted to be ready for the seasonal rush. December was right around
