About Closing Time

Post 788:

The Mere Valley: A Novel  

            Tim rubbed a roll of bills together in his sweaty fingers, watching Herm Burns and his teenage son clumsily loading an antique woodworking bench into the back of Herm’s shiny white pickup truck. He winced and rubbed the bills some more, standing there, enduring the process in its entirety while the sun superheated the cracked sidewalk in front of his empty store. He shifted back and forth to give his boot heels a fighting chance. The high altitude added an extra kick to summer. That’s what Herm said pulling up, like he was delivering secondhand news picked clean from a scientific journal.

            “Your mother will love this,” Tim heard Herm say to his son. “She mentioned something about using it for parties.”

            “Great,” said the kid, slamming the tailgate closed and spitting like a pretend cowboy through closed teeth onto the curb where it instantly evaporated. “An old table. Exciting.”

            It was exactly the sort of comment Tim expected from a stupid kid. He might’ve said something as dismissive at that age, but he couldn’t remember back that far, recent events being what they were, clogging up the works.

            Herm left his son playing with his girlish bangs and walked cautiously over to Tim with an outstretched hand pink and fat. His smile was bleached and too perfectly white for a man that had seen a long run. “I’m sorry about everything,” he said, raising his eyes up to Tim’s face and then to the sign providing them a momentary slice of shade.

            “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Herm. Like I said. Thank you for responding to the ad. Every bit helps.”

            “Did you count that? We just hit the ATM and Linda was on the phone the whole time. I didn’t double check. Make sure. I don’t want to short you.”

            Tim held up the roll and slipped it into the front pocket of his old jeans, hoping to signal clear that the matter was finalized with a forced smile.

            “Okay,” Herm said. “We’ll see you and the Shayna around town. Bennie’s this Friday, maybe. That blues band is playing.”

            “We’ll see.” Herm managed to trip another mine, forgetting that Shayna was staying with her part-time tutor sister past the county line. Tim was sure more than one person in town was privy; same as saying everyone in town. Mere Valley was growing, but not too much yet. Word traveled quick as Mercury.

            When they finally pulled away, Tim could see the bench already starting to slide in Herm’s truck bed. In ten minutes it would be brutalized and chipped, but no matter. Herm’s wife was probably going to have it defiled to serve champagne or unpronounceable finger food from. He walked back inside, ignoring the store owners standing across the street watching, fingers ready to call the sheriff’s office. Reports of another white guy going crazy, disillusioned by life and his lack of place. They were people he’d known for decades but they looked like ready-made gestapo initiates, arms crossed and faces bunched up.

            “How’s everyone,” he called out, summoning a short wave to his audience and turned back inside, doing one last sweep around the store to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Semple’s Hardware was officially no more. The third generation would be the last. His grandfather was gone, along with his woodworking bench and everything else. He sat in the middle of the floor and looked at the counter and then down at the floor, using his memory to fill the empty space. He’d learned most things about life from the old timers that used Semple’s as a base of operations, buying a single washer or nut as a pretext to wile away their days telling stories. He found himself pounding the indestructible hardwood floor, whispering what he might’ve done differently.

            “Hi there. Are you Tim Semple?”

            He rose up like a man with younger legs, embarrassed and without an excuse in the world for a stranger. “Yes, ma’am. We’re not open.”

            She nodded back with a little smirk that confirmed the obviousness of his statement then asked if the counter was okay for setting down her box. Before he could unlock his jaw, she said, “I’m Reny Davies. Dru Davies’ niece.”

            “Of course,” he said.

            “Okay. You’re confused. I’m setting the box down, Tim. It’s heavy.”

            “Of course,” he repeated, watching her unburden herself.

            “That’s better,” she sighed, wiping her brow and then her hands with a blue bandana pulled from a patched back pocket. “Nice to meet you Tim.”

            “Hi,” he said while she looked around him to assess the surroundings. “It’s been kind of,” he continued, “do I know you?”

            “Dru Davies bought the space. Today’s the first of the month and I just got to town to start setting up.”

            Tim looked at his watch like doing so made for good deflection. “I was just here meeting a guy,” he said, starting for the door. “It’s not important. I’ll get out of your way.”

            “It’s totally fine,” she said, “and you don’t have to sprint. You’re officially my first friend in Mere Valley.”