faun had been staying at the local inn; the cops put her up there while they investigated her bedroom and then ….they’d spoken to Grant about installing an alarm system
Grant.
Well, who else could the cops think to ask as he was the nearest thing to a relative or a legal responsible party.
Anyway, that had been their last conversation and it was in front of the cops. And. Hardly romantic.
There was a lot to do, anyway. So, every time she felt that heavy sense of loss, something came up.
The inn helped; another impersonal place to be; a great escape from the self. That is the best part of leaving any place, the best part of finding somewhere else to go that has zero memories attached to it.
At the shop there were so many customers. Or they were mostly curious about what happened to the Bishops. It even caused the local tv station news show to turn up and do an impromptu interview with Faun on the spot. But she had done that before anyway, for previous jobs, so, it was like automatic pilot for her on what to say….at least about politics and books….suspicious deaths of the well known local shop owners? Who were the suspects? Good thing she went with the somber black turtle neck and the serious long grey skirt with high boots that day.
Of course Pierre Reaux made another appearance. Officer Sullivan called him when they were dusting her bedroom.
****
And now standing in the middle of the bookshop’s first floor behind the cash register area, gazing out towards the windows that were the views of the street side. The shop, you see, was off a side street of the Main Street of town. So, often there were people passing by; kids going to or leaving from school; some people walking dogs, or there would be the postal delivery person; passing cars or trucks would go by intermittently
It had been several days at the inn. And the impersonal sense forced her to go about her days like a robot. When she got to the shop, each day had been a day of catch up—and with the excitement of the town being so present every day there, she was so busy occupied talking to curious people that the moments in between she had to straighten the books; put things away; clean the shop and balance the daily funds (the owners deaths were very profitable for their shop) before running to drop the deposit in the evening….
So by the time it was time to drive herself towards the inn ….and wonder when she last ate….and what there was to find to eat anywhere ….each night became an exhausted affair of sunflower seed butter and apples, as she soaked in the bathtub listening to Buddhist meditational music from her phone, before crawling into one of the two giant beds the impersonal but beautiful room the inn was furnished with. And the slick warm colored walls (ochre with a few abstract paintings) echoed.
The girls (Jessica snd Jennifer) would be on their way soon, Faun noted the time on her watch, aware of how the sun light was dimming on the street. The girls’ mothers had signed the consent forms and both came in at separate times to drop off the slips, as the two mothers seemed to not like the other but the two were both almost indistinguishable from the other.
Already exhausted as it was Friday, now of a long month of this— so, Faun was looking forward to the idea of having the girls to take the pressure off her feet—and do some catch up with her own life…. at least for a day and a half ….finally one day to do laundry; something to look forward to ….
So, as she stood there, she thought about this ….and decided she needed another day off.
It took less than five minutes to get the sign set up once she found something to write it on. She wrote “New Shop Hours: Monday-Saturday 10-6, closed Sunday”
But she only had it up about less than five seconds when someone came walking in and tore it off the door where she had stuck it
“Now, that’s not happening!” the culprit exclaimed
“Sheila!” Faun gasped
“I’m sorry, Faun, but you cannot be closed on Sunday—any other day, but not Sunday!”
Sheila was a regular. A six foot two lovely and striking trans woman who had an astrological clientele that often met her at the shop. By now, Faun had noticed that Sheila was practically a fixture at the shop; the back table was where Sheila conducted her business, and obviously considered/assumed Sheila’s domain as she was so often planted there among piles of astrology books and papers —and usually left neatly behind awaiting her pending return.
But Faun was at this point just too worn out to take her on and could only limply shrug,
“I have the girls starting tonight, and tomorrow—but it’s just me every other day here —I just need another day off, Sheila!” she tried to appeal reasonably
“Sunday is the only day when Gary leaves me the car—well, besides Saturday but Saturday is mostly shopping—but Sunday is my only day! You can’t do this to me, Faun!”
That was when ….she looked up and saw Grant walking across the street. Looking smart in his winter coat ….
“What?” she whispered looking up at Sheila
“You can’t close on Sunday’s!”
Faun moved to turn away from the door so as not to seem to notice ….as she did notice ….that he was walking to the shop’s door
Why now? Where had he been all week? Why had he not said hello since the last message she left him days ago….
“I just need that day to be able to come here and not have to worry about meeting Gary when he comes to pick me up here—I mean….”
Sheila glanced at the man who walked in and then back at Faun,
“so—here’s an idea, why don’t I work your Sundays from now on?”
That was the moment Grant stood in front of Faun with the cash register counter between them with Shiela leaning on the counter casually watching the both of them
Grant—with the decency to look sheepish— looked from Sheila to Faun and then smiled,
“I think that’s an excellent idea —then I could ask you to see a film with me Sunday—erm— unless Saturday works better.”
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