The Longest Yard Sale by Sherry Harris Page A

so Laura had to sponsor me on base. I stopped at the visitors center, where I had to show my driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance. The security guard handed me a piece of paper that had to be displayed on the dashboard. It said where I’d be and for approximately how long.
    I drove around the large iron barriers that reminded me of giant jacks. They were in place to make it difficult to run the gate. I pulled up to the security shack and guard. My face was eye level with the gun on his hip. It was intimidating, but I guess that was the point. I knew some of the guards, but not this guy. He took my pass and driver’s license, and studied the photo and then me. Finally, he stepped back so I could continue on.
    Military bases are set up to be self-sufficient, like small towns. As I headed to the thrift shop, I passed the base chapel, a white clapboard building with a tall spire topped by a cross. The chapel held services for many different faiths, including Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, and Islam. CJ and I had attended a lovely wedding there last fall when we were still happy. He’d held my hand as the couple recited their vows.
    I came to a T intersection. The gym, tennis courts, and baseball fields were straight ahead. I’d spent time at each—at the baseball games purely as a spectator. I turned left and then right onto Travis, the main street of the base. I headed up a hill, passing the gas station, library, and outdoor rec, where you could rent equipment for outdoor activities or sign up for an event at Tickets and Tours. It was a beautiful day, but the base was fairly empty. During the week, lots of people who worked on the base were out taking walks. In New England, people didn’t waste good weather by staying inside. So probably half of the base residents were out leaf peeping or exploring one of the many charming towns in the area.
    Laura was standing behind the register, checking out a customer, when I arrived. The thrift shop took donations but also let people associated with the base consign things. It was a popular shop and benefited from all the moving to and from assignments.
    Laura was a slightly taller version of Halle Berry, and her smile, along with her deep brown eyes and long, curly, god-given lashes, always dazzled me.
    â€œGive me a minute,” Laura said as she typed codes from tags into the register. While I waited, I roamed around, chatting with the volunteers I knew as they reminded the remaining customers it was closing time. The shop had moved to this building last April after a murder had occurred at the old facility. This space was lighter and centrally located. From everyone’s demeanor, I realized that no one knew that someone who might have been associated with the base had been found dead that morning.
    â€œI’m done, and we’re closed,” Laura said as she bagged the last of the stuff and handed it to the woman at the register. She locked the door behind the woman and took off a blue apron. All the volunteers wore them. Women called good-byes to Laura and me as they headed out.
    I followed Laura to a scarred leather couch that was for sale. She plopped onto it, and I sat on the other end.
    â€œI haven’t seen you around much lately,” Laura said.
    Even though CJ and I’d divorced and I had no official standing on the base, I’d continued to volunteer at the thrift shop. They raised money for scholarships for military kids and for other good, base-related causes.
    â€œI’ve been so busy with the community yard sale in Ellington, I haven’t had a lot of spare time.”
    â€œI went. It was wonderful. If you do it again, the thrift shop should have a table.”
    â€œI left a message about it, saying you could have a space for free. But whoever called back said it wasn’t worth it to take stuff into town when it sold well here.”
    Laura frowned. “That’s ridiculous. It must have