Most of All You: A Love Story(14)
I paused as she stared at me, finally looking down to the packages I’d placed on the edge of the counter. I pushed the two boxes forward, the one on top toppling off and almost falling to the floor. “Shit.” I caught the package, placing it next to the other one. “I’d like to mail these.”
“Sure thing.” She went about weighing and stamping them and then rang up my postage, flashing me a thin-lipped smile. A couple of people were in line behind me, and after I thanked Bridgett stiffly, I nodded at them. The first woman in line—I was pretty sure her name was Penny—had a little boy with her, and she pulled him against her side, running her hand over his hair as I passed. She shot me a smile that had that same hint of sorrow I was used to.
A rush of warm air hit me as I pushed open the glass door, and before it shut behind me, I heard Penny whisper loudly to Bridgett, “Did you hear about—” The door clicked shut before I could hear the rest of whatever gossip she’d been about to relay.
I got into my truck and cranked up the air-conditioning, sitting there for a few minutes, leaned back on the seat, letting my discomfort fade. I knew why some of the people in town treated me the way they did, understood the vast array of reactions I still received. I should be used to it by now. I was used to it. But I hated feeling like the town creep show.
I pulled out of my spot and almost decided not to do the other errand I’d come into town to do, but at the last minute, I turned right toward the hardware store anyway. If I wanted to live a normal life, I had to force myself to start stepping out of the comfort zone I’d created. Plus, Sal’s was one of the few places in town where I didn’t feel like a bug under a microscope. A bug who was either liable to do something strange and unexpected at any moment, or a bug who still elicited constant sympathy and was a reminder of any mother’s worst fear.
I pulled into the parking lot behind the store and walked around to the front, the bell chiming over the door when I stepped inside the dim, stuffy shop.
“Hey, Gabriel,” Sal greeted.
I smiled. “Hey, Sal. How are you?”
“Hot as the dickens. I’d be working shirtless today if my No Shirt permit hadn’t been revoked years ago,” he joked, patting his large belly.
I laughed. “Time to invest in some central air?”
He sighed. “Gina says so, but I say, my grandfather and my father didn’t need it and neither do I. Heat makes a man strong. You should know—working in that quarry all day.”
“I mostly work inside, actually, but I won’t disagree with you. George is about as strong as they come.”
Sal nodded. “So was your dad. Now, hey, I got those gloves in you ordered along with the other things George put on the list.” Sal stepped into the back while I waited. I could have bought the gloves online, but I preferred to give my business to Sal, even for smaller orders. Plus it forced me to come into town with some regularity, and that was a good thing. Supposedly.
Sal carried a box from the back and set it down on the counter. “These should last you a while, then.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll just put this on your account.”
“Okay, great. Thanks, Sal,” I said, picking up the box. As I turned to go, Sal called my name. I turned, and the look on his face was one of concern.
“Hey, uh, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a little boy went missing yesterday. Still hasn’t been found.”
My blood ran cold. “A little boy?” My voice sounded hoarse.
Sal nodded, frowning. “Yeah. Ten-year-old riding his bike to the town pool, and he just disappeared. Name’s Wyatt Geller. You know him?”
I swallowed heavily, gripping the box under my arm as I ran a hand through my hair. The shop was closing in around me. “No. Thanks for letting me know, Sal.”
Sal nodded. “Yeah. You be well, Gabriel.”
“You, too.” I stepped outside, squinting against the sudden bright light, and breathed deeply as I walked to my truck. Just disappeared. Christ.
I didn’t even remember starting my truck or turning out of the hardware store parking lot. Suddenly I was driving down the road, my mind focused on that day, the day in the empty lot near my house. It had been eighteen years, and I could still recall so vividly the way the air smelled that day—like dust and the hollyhocks that grew along the chain-link fence. I could still remember the way the sky had been so blue, filled with billowy white clouds. Peaceful. It had all been so peaceful. And then it had all been yanked away … stolen. Just disappeared.
Without making the conscious choice, I found myself headed for that lot now. Of course, it wasn’t empty anymore. There was a small white house with a porch and a picket fence sitting in the spot. I wondered if the people who lived there knew. I wondered if they ever thought about me, ever sat on their porch on a summer evening, sipping iced tea and wondering what it had been like the day I’d been snatched from my life by the devil himself. Right from that spot. If they did, I bet they’d shake their heads and click their tongues and murmur, “How awful. His poor mother. His poor father. I don’t even want to think about it.”
And then they wouldn’t.
But I didn’t have that luxury.
And yet, sitting there in my truck, idling on the calm suburban street, a certain peace flowed through me. I was here. I had survived—that day, and every awful day that came after it for six straight years. And I hadn’t only survived, I had thrived in almost every way that was important.