on the other side of Main Street. My pulse hums.
“My dad said he saved your life,” Carrie says, watching him. “Is that true?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far…but yeah, he did help me when a guy had a knife to my throat in the Tap’s parking lot. A long time ago.”
Carrie’s blue eyes go big and round. “Oh my God, that’s scary.”
“So yeah, that’s my hero, right there.” I point to where Patrick’s waiting for a break in traffic to cross the street. I wonder if Carrie can hear my heart pounding.
“God, I’d be afraid he’d be the one lurking in a parking lot,” she says.
“Don’t say that. Patrick Whelan’s a very nice man.”
“Yeah, but he looks like a psychopath. And I heard he was in prison.”
“Only because he beat the tar out of the guy with the knife,” I say, sounding defensive.
“Wow, really?”
“Yeah. He’s as nice as they come.”
“Well, he looks super-scary.”
“You’re twenty.” God, twenty. That’s probably how old the kid with the knife was. I make my voice breathy and patronizing. “When you hit your sexual peak you’ll be all over guys who look like Patrick Whelan.”
“No way, Robin.”
“Call me in ten years and we’ll see who’s right. And anyhow, don’t let anyone tell you he’s a psycho. He’s my friend.” I watch Patrick jog across Main and head straight for our door. My body tingles, just like always. Like always, I love it and hate it in equal measures. “Why don’t you take your lunch break?”
Carrie hurries out from behind the counter, presumably so she won’t have to greet the psychopath pushing the door in. Patrick watches Carrie jog through the store and up the half-flight of steps to the stationery section then through the door to the back room.
He turns to me. “Hey, Robin.”
“Hey, yourself. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve never actually been in here before,” he says. “Nice place.” He’s got on a black knit cap and gray Carhartt pants, looking like a working-class wet dream. He approaches the counter and as soon as I look in his eyes I remember everything from three nights ago.
“Thanks. You saying hello, or can I help you patronize me?”
“Mostly hello. I just did at job on Brewster Street so I thought I’d stop in. This isn’t weird, is it?”
I pause, about to speak, and we both straighten up on opposite sides of the counter as Carrie reappears in her coat and heads for the front door. “See you at two,” she says.
I turn back to Patrick as the door jingles shut. “No, it’s not weird. I’d ask you if you want to go get some lunch, but I’ve got to watch the shop.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I could grab you something.”
I think a moment. “Yeah, okay. I was going to get a bowl of soup from next door.”
Patrick nods and walks away before I can give him any cash. He returns in five minutes with a deli tub and a brown bag. He takes his hat off and tucks it in a pocket.
“Butternut squash,” he says, and hands me a plastic soup spoon and a napkin.
I peel the lid off the tub and take a deep whiff. “God, I love fall.”
Patrick pulls out a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.
“Eat over here,” I say, patting the side of the counter away from the register. “In case I actually get a customer.”
“Business slow?”
“It’s not bad, considering. It’s just that everyone’s traveling or at the grocery store. The card companies haven’t made Thanksgiving into a stationery holiday yet. People don’t think about me much until December.”
Patrick nods, looking me over. “You have glitter in your hair.”
“I’m sure.” I shake my head and a few red flecks float down to the floor. “I was digging through the Christmas window display stuff this morning. I’ll be coming in on Sunday to holiday the hell out of this place.”
Patrick takes a few bites of his roast beef sandwich, glancing around the store. His eyes look complex in the daylight coming in
“My dad said he saved your life,” Carrie says, watching him. “Is that true?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far…but yeah, he did help me when a guy had a knife to my throat in the Tap’s parking lot. A long time ago.”
Carrie’s blue eyes go big and round. “Oh my God, that’s scary.”
“So yeah, that’s my hero, right there.” I point to where Patrick’s waiting for a break in traffic to cross the street. I wonder if Carrie can hear my heart pounding.
“God, I’d be afraid he’d be the one lurking in a parking lot,” she says.
“Don’t say that. Patrick Whelan’s a very nice man.”
“Yeah, but he looks like a psychopath. And I heard he was in prison.”
“Only because he beat the tar out of the guy with the knife,” I say, sounding defensive.
“Wow, really?”
“Yeah. He’s as nice as they come.”
“Well, he looks super-scary.”
“You’re twenty.” God, twenty. That’s probably how old the kid with the knife was. I make my voice breathy and patronizing. “When you hit your sexual peak you’ll be all over guys who look like Patrick Whelan.”
“No way, Robin.”
“Call me in ten years and we’ll see who’s right. And anyhow, don’t let anyone tell you he’s a psycho. He’s my friend.” I watch Patrick jog across Main and head straight for our door. My body tingles, just like always. Like always, I love it and hate it in equal measures. “Why don’t you take your lunch break?”
Carrie hurries out from behind the counter, presumably so she won’t have to greet the psychopath pushing the door in. Patrick watches Carrie jog through the store and up the half-flight of steps to the stationery section then through the door to the back room.
He turns to me. “Hey, Robin.”
“Hey, yourself. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve never actually been in here before,” he says. “Nice place.” He’s got on a black knit cap and gray Carhartt pants, looking like a working-class wet dream. He approaches the counter and as soon as I look in his eyes I remember everything from three nights ago.
“Thanks. You saying hello, or can I help you patronize me?”
“Mostly hello. I just did at job on Brewster Street so I thought I’d stop in. This isn’t weird, is it?”
I pause, about to speak, and we both straighten up on opposite sides of the counter as Carrie reappears in her coat and heads for the front door. “See you at two,” she says.
I turn back to Patrick as the door jingles shut. “No, it’s not weird. I’d ask you if you want to go get some lunch, but I’ve got to watch the shop.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I could grab you something.”
I think a moment. “Yeah, okay. I was going to get a bowl of soup from next door.”
Patrick nods and walks away before I can give him any cash. He returns in five minutes with a deli tub and a brown bag. He takes his hat off and tucks it in a pocket.
“Butternut squash,” he says, and hands me a plastic soup spoon and a napkin.
I peel the lid off the tub and take a deep whiff. “God, I love fall.”
Patrick pulls out a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.
“Eat over here,” I say, patting the side of the counter away from the register. “In case I actually get a customer.”
“Business slow?”
“It’s not bad, considering. It’s just that everyone’s traveling or at the grocery store. The card companies haven’t made Thanksgiving into a stationery holiday yet. People don’t think about me much until December.”
Patrick nods, looking me over. “You have glitter in your hair.”
“I’m sure.” I shake my head and a few red flecks float down to the floor. “I was digging through the Christmas window display stuff this morning. I’ll be coming in on Sunday to holiday the hell out of this place.”
Patrick takes a few bites of his roast beef sandwich, glancing around the store. His eyes look complex in the daylight coming in
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