Just Killing Time

by Julianne Holmes

  “No, we haven’t met. I’m Ruth Clagan.”

  “Oh, you’re Ruth. Oh.” Ada brought up her other hand and covered mine, holding it. “Oh, Ruth, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were here, otherwise I would have come by the shop.”

  I drew my hand from her grasp, gently.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I just thought I’d come by and pick up some groceries. There isn’t much food at the apartment above the shop.”

  “At the shop?” Ada asked. “You’re staying there?”

  “Yes, of course. Where else would I stay?” I asked. Where indeed? There were alternatives, of course. I could stay with the Reeds, try and find a hotel, or even go back to Boston. But there was so much work to be done, and what better way was there to honor my grandfather but to finish the jobs that were in the shop? Besides, the Cog & Sprocket and I needed to make peace before I could decide what to do with her.

  And besides, Bezel needed a roommate. I couldn’t bring her back to Boston, since my landlords had dogs, and I couldn’t just leave her in the shop. We’d figure out what to do.

  “I’m sorry. The whole thing has me in a bit of a state. And I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I really can’t.”

  I wasn’t about to try to tell her. First of all, I don’t know that I could describe it adequately. And secondly, something in her tone made me feel that she was less concerned than curious.

  “I haven’t been to the store in years,” I said. “It looks wonderful.”

  “Oh, thank you. We’ve done a lot of work on it. It seems to be coming together, though it’s hard to get folks to come in because of Uncle Matthew, Mac’s uncle, did you know him?”

  I nodded. “Not well, but I did know him. Or I knew of him.”

  “Well, of course, your grandfather and Uncle Matthew had a falling-out of some sort, didn’t they? And when Thom stopped coming to the store, it seemed like most of the town stopped for a few years. It’s really quite remarkable that poor Uncle Matthew was able to stay in business, it really is.”

  I must have made a face even though I was trying not to react.

  “Not that I blame your grandfather for ruining the store—of course not,” she added. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

  Yeesh. Ruining the store? Please. “I think it is wonderful that your husband was able to forgive his uncle for the way he treated his mother after Mac’s father passed,” I said. “And it’s great that Matt Clark did the right thing and left you both the store.” I faked a smile and then faltered. Maybe she didn’t know the family history?

  “Thom was always cordial to Mac and me. And those days are finally past us now, aren’t they? We can’t let one old man’s petty grudge—oh dear, you know what I mean. It’s just that, oh dear.”

  I just stared at Ada for a second. Was she seriously calling my grandfather an old man with a petty grudge? And “past us”? Did she mean that now that my grandfather was dead, all of this history was going to be forgotten? I looked at her guileless face and saw a flicker of something more. She knew the history; I could tell. She was just determined to rewrite it. And with Thom Clagan gone, her version might finally stick. Poor Uncle Matt indeed.

  My hackles started to rise but I took a deep breath. I could harrumph off and leave my basket, starting a second generation of feuds in the process, or I could be the better woman, ignore her, get my food, and go back to my own store. It really wasn’t my business, but if she was going to be dragging my grandfather’s name through the mud, it soon would be. I’d make sure I was prepared for her, though.

  I bent down to pick up my basket. “It was nice to meet you.”

  I moved around Ada, looking to my right and grabbing a few cans of cat food and a box of dry food. I couldn’t remember the specific brands of cat food at the shop, but Bezel needed to eat. I hoped she wasn’t picky. As Ada walked back to her husband I kept breathing slowly, trying to focus on my shopping rather than the subtext of our conversation. Surely there weren’t any real hard feelings? Or were there? Did my grandfather’s boycott of the Corner Market really impact the store that much? Enough to cause someone to seek revenge? I wondered if Caroline shopped there.

  When I turned again to look in another case, a couple of other people had joined Ada and Mac, and all four stared at me. Again, I smiled my fake smile. Five years as a faculty wife meant I’d mastered a really great fake smile that I could pull out at a moment’s notice. Unless you knew me, you’d think it was real. And none of these people knew me. At all.

  I glanced at the “ready to go” case, expecting to turn on my heel and make my grand exit, but the contents of the case stopped me. Containers of salads and spreads. Wrapped sandwiches. Ready-made microwavable meals. My stomach growled. I loaded up my basket with a container of chicken salad with walnuts and cranberry and a curried tuna salad with currants. I hoped they didn’t taste as good as they looked, because boycotting a store with good food was going to be tough. On my way to the checkout counter with my overloaded basket I picked up some bread and a half a pumpkin pie. I deserved it.

  The checkout counter was the same as it had always been, without a moving belt. I put my items on the counter.

  “Do you have a bag?” the cashier asked.

  “Just one, I’m afraid. Here it is.” I grabbed the balled-up nylon bag and shook it open, handing it to the young man bagging the groceries.

  “This won’t be big enough. Do you want to buy another?” the clerk asked, pointing to the pile of canvas bags with THE CORNER MARKET emblazoned on them.

  “No thanks,” I said. I wasn’t going to be a walking billboard for the Clark family until I knew what the status of the feud was. “I’ll take paper.”

  chapter 19

  The bags were full and heavy and I began to regret not buying a canvas bag. I felt the paper handles strain with each step. I put both bags down and tried to redistribute the weight a bit better. Wine in nylon bag, bread in paper. Potatoes in nylon, mango in paper.

  As I refocused on walking home, I looked up the next block at Ben’s Barbershop. The lights were on. I bet I could see inside now. Not that I wanted to stare, but in the dark, who could tell? The best part of twilight walking was looking in windows, since people inside couldn’t necessarily see out. I loved getting glimpses of people and trying to figure out what was really going on. The waitress washing down tables at the Sleeping Latte, dancing with her earbuds on? From what I could see, she didn’t have a care in the world. Who was she? Was Moira there? I could stop by and find out, but I’d see her soon enough at her parents’ house.

  I crossed the street in the crosswalk, having looked both ways. I felt a bit ridiculous at first, but then a delivery truck barreled down the street, making me glad I’d stopped. Aggie Kurt was at the wheel, oblivious. Or so I thought until she waved. I needed to ask someone about Aggie Kurt. I’d bet Moira would know all.

  I slowed a bit as I approached Ben’s. I resisted the desire to check on my hair, which probably looked as if I had just stuck a fork into an electrical socket anyway. I licked my lips, wishing my lip gloss was in my jean jacket pocket. The rest of my uniform—black leggings tucked into Doc Martens, my tunic loosely belted, long earrings made out of clock parts—were what they were.

  The shirt colors changed, I’d made five pairs of the earrings, and sometimes I added some variation of a skirt, but I’d worn the same style for a few months now, and loved it. The freedom of not having to be the staid faculty wife, wearing suits, sweater sets, and nice pants, defined only by my career-conscious husband, was a joy that I swore I’d never forget. I shook my head, still wondering how it all went so wrong. But I’d stopped blaming myself, which was a good sign.

  I slowed down before I got to the barbershop and stood up a little straighter. I tried for a casual glance, in case Ben was looking out. I needn’t have worried. He was in the throes of a passionate embrace. Or at
least a big hug. The lucky recipient? Moira.

  I sighed and kept walking. Maybe Moira would be lucky in love with the handsome barber. At least I had Bezel.

  chapter 20

  I carried the grocery bags up the front stairs of the shop. I wrestled with the keys again. Why were there so many keys on this ring? What did they all go to? I needed to ask Pat Reed if he knew, which he probably did. I found the one, relieved that I didn’t have to go in through the back door. I couldn’t bear to go in the shop that way. Not yet. Too many ghosts.

  Thankfully, Pat had left some lights on, which helped. I hated it when the days got shorter. There were a couple of streetlights, but not close enough to the Cog & Sprocket to cut through the night. Back in Boston, it was never that dark out, but darkness redefined itself out in the Berkshires. As I walked in, I noticed a piece of paper in the middle of the foyer. I put down my bags and turned on more lights.

  Ruth, so sorry, but we need to postpone dinner till tomorrow. I don’t have your cell phone number. Mine is 413-555-3511. Come to the Latte for coffee in the morning. xoxo Moira

  I texted her back, Ruth here, see you tomorrow. Was she ditching me for Ben? Did I care?

  Frankly, I was more relieved than anything. It had been a long day and I needed to settle in. Not to mention I had lunch with Caroline looming tomorrow. I brought in the bags and then closed and locked the front door of the shop. Bezel came down the stairs, blinking her eyes and meowing loudly. No hissing this time. And no yowling. Just a conversational husky meow.

  “Of course I bought you something,” I said, smiling at the cat.

  She really was a beauty. A good-sized cat with beautiful blue-gray fur, but surprisingly delicate on her feet. She meowed again, walked over, and head-butted my knees. She was pretty strong—they buckled a bit when she hit them just right. She looked at me, squished her eyes, and walked toward the back of the shop. I hesitated for a second but followed her, taking my grocery bags, turning lights off and on as I went through the shop.

  We were almost at the staircase when Bezel turned and stood in the middle of the shop. She looked at me and then she jumped up on the back workbench and looked out the window. I looked at her, my heart pounding in my chest. I walked over and looked out the back window for the first time. There was nothing there. Not even G.T.’s ghost.

  “What are you trying to show me, sweetheart?” She wouldn’t let me get too close. Instead she walked me around the shop, to every corner. “You’re telling me I’m home, aren’t you?”

  Bezel squished her eyes, came over to me. I knelt down and petted her head. I felt a tear stream down my face, and I wiped it with the back of my hand. When I looked around the shop, I saw G.T. bent over the workbench, lovingly bringing a clock back to life. One way I could honor his life was by continuing his work. Maybe it was a little bit for me too, since that was also my dream, and the idea of doing it in the Cog & Sprocket was perfect. But I also wanted G.T. to rest in peace. What could I do to help that along and get my own life back on track?

  “Bezel, I think everything is going to be okay, don’t you? See, the back door is locked.” I double-checked that and pulled at the door. “I’ll put these crates in front of it.” I took the dolly and moved one of the stacks of crates over against the door. I checked on the windows and was relieved to see that they had extra locks on them. They looked new, with bits of sawdust still on the panes. No note, but an obvious Pat Reed effort.

  “Tell you what, Bezel. Let’s leave this light on, so people know we’re home. How does that sound?”

  Bezel meowed again and turned to walk back to the front of the shop. Talking to Bezel made me feel a lot less lonely. It helped that she talked back. I left the desk light on and rechecked every door and window on my way upstairs, to make sure they were locked. Then I did the same to the front of the shop.

  Tight as a drum, as my grandfather used to say. I picked up the bags of groceries and carried them upstairs. I put the bags on the floor near the kitchen table and then turned to shut the door that went down to the shop. It was a beautiful eight-pane window door, with side lights on either side. I remembered helping my grandfather put the door in after I’d complained about being shut up in the dreary upstairs room. The door kept the noise out, so I could do homework or read. But the windows let me watch the comings and goings, especially after I put a mirror on the staircase. I was always interested in observing the comings and goings of Orchard. I was a little winded after hauling the groceries up the stairs. Pitiful. I needed to get back to the gym. Or, to be honest, start going to the gym. Or take a walk. Something.

  I’d left in such a hurry that there was still the chaos of paperwork on the kitchen table. All part of my new world. I was tempted to leave it, but I could hear my grandmother’s admonition: “No work at the dinner table.” I compromised, piling the papers on one side, clearing off the other for eating. I unpacked the groceries and looked around. This afternoon the apartment looked like a disaster, but in the gentler evening light, the charm came back.

  What a beautiful place the Cog & Sprocket was. I’d never really noticed it until I moved to Boston and saw the same architectural details being highlighted in the high-end rehabs of friends’. Crown molding, end caps, wainscoting. High-end architectural elements that I’d grown up with at the Cog & Sprocket, but never really appreciated. The tall ceilings were mostly tin up here and gave the space some charm. A little bit too shabby on the shabby chic scale, but still lovely. I had a couple of friends who would swoon over the chance to redo this space. It was small, but with a better layout? Perfect.

  After I put my groceries away, I poured myself a glass of wine. I picked up my bag again. Oof. It was heavy. What was in there anyway? I looked in it—computer, cords, notebooks, a box of pencils, protein bars, a water bottle. I closed it back up. I’d tried to carry a purse, but it just didn’t work for me. My life required a bigger bag. Hipster Mary Poppins. I smiled thinking of the chief’s remark, and shouldered the bag, carefully picking up the glass of wine.

  I put my wine on the dresser and took stock. I opened the drawers in the dresser. They were all empty and clean. I put my clothes away and laid out my jewelry and toiletries on the top. Then I moved over to the armoire, hoping to make some room to hang up a few of my skirts.

  I took out boxes of notebooks and bent down to look at what was filling up the bottom of the wardrobe. On the bottom there were boxes that were marked with my grandfather’s handwriting. Knitting Patterns and Cookbooks and Tea Cups were three of the boxes. Some of my grandmother’s things. I recognized her knitting bag and also saw one of her afghans resting on top. If I wanted to make room for clothing, I needed to move all of that. Right now, I couldn’t take that trip down memory lane. Besides, there weren’t any hangers.

  While I looked around for another place to hang my clothes, I rested them on top of a couple of boxes that were stacked up. I decided to add a third box so that my longer skirt wouldn’t hit the floor. As I moved a box from one stack to another, a large envelope dislodged from somewhere, hitting the floor right in front of me. I picked it up, noting it was addressed to my grandfather, from someone named J. Harrison with no return address. I peeked in and saw a picture of the Cog & Sprocket that must have dated back from the turn of the last century. Another rabbit hole that I didn’t want to fall into. I added the envelope to the pile in the wardrobe. I spied a coatrack in the corner and dragged it over.

  “This place is a mess,” I said to Bezel, who appeared in the doorway. She meowed in response, resting comfortably on my pile of skirts. “Get off those, please. Good thing you’ve got gray fur; it goes with most of my clothes. I can already tell I’m going to be wearing you all day.”

  I really didn’t mind. I’d missed having a pet and already felt less alone than I had in a while. I looked through boxes and started to move them into some semblance of order. Since I’d looked over the papers from downsta
irs, it all made a little more sense. I had assumed that this was more inventory that needed to be repaired, but then I found a few clocks that I recognized. They’d been in older crates than the other clocks, more showpieces than anything. From the look of things, they’d been put away with some care, wrapped in old tea towels I remembered from my childhood. These had always been “Grandma’s clocks,” stronger on beauty than the art of horology. Some of them, many of them, had been electrified at one point in their history. Others were attached to neon signs, part of the vintage collections that my grandmother had loved so. My grandfather had been less of a fan, but indulged her.

  I separated the clocks out as best I could. It might be nice to use some of them up here once the space got in better shape. I liked the potential of the wide openness of the room, but it needed some work to make it someone’s home. Like getting rid of the clock guts spewed all over tables. Creating a better storage system for the clocks. Taking down the rest of the walls or putting them back up. Lots to think about.

  I poured another glass of wine, fed Bezel, and then made a sandwich. Thick slices of homemade bread. Chicken salad with a little bit of mayonnaise, some toasted walnuts, and dried cranberries. There was a hint of sage in the salad as well. It was delicious.

  “Looks like I can’t boycott the Corner Market after all, Bezel. Food’s too good.”