Chapter Three - Louis Berry's Novel - Erstwhile

Chapter Three

Their first full day in town brought with it great anxiety. The shops along Maine Street were zero lot line, sharing a common wall with the buildings immediately adjacent, except for those that bordered a side thoroughfare. Such was the good fortune of the one Richard owned. Most of those in town had been in the same family for generations. Their owners were cordial to one another, but ever since the mill closed the tension among all of the town’s residents had grown. Their way of life was being threatened and the only manner of living was that which had been handed down. They clung mightily to it or the closest facsimile.
“There it is.” Susan pointed through the wind-shield of their moving car to a store on the right side of the road. An aluminum awning cantilevered over the sidewalk creating shade for the front of the shop. Straight iron braces were attached to its outermost edge and extended to the top of the wall. There were four of them supporting the weight of the canopy. On the space above the awning were the words, ‘Mercantile Store.’ The paint had faded from years of neglect. Unless someone was looking directly at the sign it was hardly noticeable.
Richard maneuvered the car into an open parking space. He opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement. The couple met on the sidewalk and walked to the front of the store. There was a two-foot high brick wall that ran its width. Above that was a window that extended upward to the ceiling. Richard fumbled with the keys he had just removed from the ignition, searching for the one that would unlock their future. He inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. Susan walked inside followed by her husband. The couple stopped after taking only a few steps past the counter. Dust had accumulated over the ten years that the store had been unoccupied. It was thick and gave the store a gray, dingy feel. The monumental task of cleaning it awaited them. Along the walls were shelves that ex-tended from floor to ceiling along both sides and the back. A small wooden louvered door that led to the back room was the only space without shelving. It was apparent from the workmanship that they were meant to last. There were two units on the floor that stood five feet high and were situated parallel to the side walls dividing the store into three distinct aisles.
“Do you want the front of the store or the back?” Richard asked.
“The front. There’s no telling what’s waiting back there for you.” Susan chuckled, as she pointed to the door at the rear of the room.
Richard looked at his wife. Even in an old pair of jeans and a raggedy t-shirt, she was stunning. The tingling sensation he always got when he looked at her came over him and it was almost too much to resist. However, he knew there was a lot of work to do. With-out acting on his impulse, he swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth, walked to the back of the store, and disappeared.
Susan stood motionless, watching him as he left the room. She admired his frame and how he carried himself. When she lost sight of him, she examined all the different levels of surfaces, trying to decide where to begin. The cleaning supplies were in the trunk. Susan thought about what she might need. Throwing her hands in the air, she exclaimed, “I may as well get a fire hose.”
After an hour of whisking dust from the top shelf with a broom, Susan couldn’t help but feel as though she had made no progress. She had thought it would be the best place to start because any debris would fall onto the floor, which would be cleaned last. But by doing so, she was unable to see any improvement in the condition of the store. Feeling frustrated she stopped. With her right foot she wrote her name in the dust on the floor one letter at a time. “S-U-S-A-N. There, I can see part of the floor!” she laughed.
“How’s it going?” Richard yelled as he emerged from the rear of the store, startling his wife.
“Just fine,” she replied. “I don’t feel like I’m making any progress, though.”
“You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve found back here. Susanna kept meticulous records. I’ve found every income tax return she ever filed, and they’re all in a box in chronological order,” Richard exclaimed giddily and then disappeared through the doorway as quickly as he had emerged.
Susan shook her head and giggled to herself, appreciating his childlike enthusiasm, and then continued to scrub while the idea of a hose, any hose, became more appealing. She stopped working as she walked to the front door and opened it, then wedged a chock be-tween its bottom edge and the sidewalk. Air born dust had begun to irritate her senses, and she needed fresh air. Then again, Susan thought to herself, a nice breeze might blow some of it outside. She began cleaning, again. After a few minutes she was, once again, startled by a man’s voice.
“Hello,” the greeting came from behind her.
She turned to see a man that she did not recognize. He wore a plaid Polo shirt and khaki pants; each ironed and pressed to a sharp crease. His face was round and red and appeared unhealthy. It seemed out of place on his fit body.
“My name is Michael Talquin,” the man said, with a well-heeled southern accent. Susan recognized his surname as being the same as on the bridge that connected the town with the beach. The Talquins had been residents of Erstwhile for almost as long as Richard’s family, but had been much more successful, financially.
Susan walked over to the man and extended her hand. “Hi, my name is Susan Styles.”
Michael shook her hand politely. “My family owns the furniture store down the block.”
“I know the store. When Richard and I build our new home I’m sure we’ll visit.” Susan overdid the friendliness, but it was done without malice. She only wanted him to feel welcome.
“I would appreciate that.” Michael paused momentarily, and then continued, “My brother is Stephen Talquin.”
Susan had already made the connection. In their absence, he had done work on the beach house for the couple; or at least headed up the projects. Stephen, they had learned, was not the most diligent worker. They found that he would hire whomever he needed to get the job done. Neither of them had an issue with how he represented himself. Whatever they asked him to do was done, and at a reasonable price. “Yes, I know Stephen. He’s done a lot of work for us,” Susan replied.
Without emotion Michael stated, flatly, “Stephen has a terrible cocaine problem. You might not want to,” he paused, “continue to associate with him.”
“What?” Susan exclaimed.
“He spends his days lying around my grandfather’s house.”
“I’m not sure what to say. My husband and I have invited him to Orlando on several occasions trying to repay the kindness he has shown us.” She was aghast.
“Didn’t he stay with you?”
“No. We asked him several times, but he never took us up on it.”
Michael looked skeptically at Susan, not knowing whether to believe her. She felt the intensity of his stare and it made her uncomfortable. “He took a delivery of furniture to some old friends of the family in Or-lando that ended up disappearing. It was worth several thousand dollars. He said he was staying with you when it went missing. We suspected the money was used to buy drugs.”
The revelation flabbergasted Susan. She did not know how to reply.
In a curiously congenial tone Michael left by saying, “Ya’ll come by the store some time and see me.” He then turned and walked out of the store.
Susan stood silently watching as he left. She was not really sure what happened. When Michael first walked in she was excited about the opportunity to make a new friend, but there seemed to be a line drawn in the sand. There had been many friends in her past that succumbed to the enticing qualities of cocaine. None of whom chose to live in the truth. She brushed aside the incident, knowing that there was someone she could rely on only steps away.