Chapter 4
HARDWARE STORE HIJINKS
Browsing through the aisle, I moved through a section filled with different-sized nuts and bolts.
It wasn’t as diverse as the big box stores, but it had just about everything the average weekend warrior would need to spruce up their home.
Mum’s house needed plenty of attention. The list of things Pops would have fixed had reached a point where I needed to step in.
I couldn’t handle her ‘making do’ when I could help.
She’d say she didn’t need my help, but we both knew the truth.
Other than creaking floorboards, the store remained silent. It defied every expectation of a small shop in Firefly. I imagined an overbearing attendant, offering small talk while explaining every item on the shelves. From now on, when Firefly turned suffocating, I’d come here and hide.
The man with the chainsaw had gone to the counter to make his purchase.
I poked my head out of the aisle, but couldn’t see them.
There was only one Logan in Firefly… well, technically two.
I had heard from Mum that Logan Jr. had gone into the military.
That left his father. I hoped I could make it out before the inquisition set in.
Chainsaw Man headed out with his purchase proudly slung over his shoulder. That man was about to head home and chop down every tree in his yard. Most likely while growling and slinging back a beer. Here’s hoping I didn’t hear the volunteer firefighters’ sirens when the trees fought back.
I had stalled long enough. I grabbed the can of grease and moved toward the front of the store.
Eyes fixed on my feet, I watched the floorboards bend under my weight.
I set my purchase on the counter and waited for the awkward small talk.
I glanced up, waiting for the proclamation that Ellie’s boy had returned to Firefly.
Grumbling.
I raised an eyebrow at the man. Gray crept into his beard, almost hiding his lips.
I attempted to age him down to fit into my memories of the town.
His eyes glanced at the can and then rose back up to me.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t place the burly man.
Was it possible he was one of those rare transplants who moved to a quiet town to get away from the bustle of life?
“That’s not what you want.” Straightforward. Fact. No hidden meaning laced with unspoken questions. I had been prepared for an intrusive battle of wills. He left me disarmed with his lack of curiosity.
“It’s for hinges,” I said.
“I know.”
“They squeak.”
“I know.”
Before I could growl my reply, he had already shot me a disapproving look. If Firefly residents were nosey bringers of mirth, this man was their antithesis. I doubt he had ever baked a pie for a neighbor or grabbed a seat at Bingo night. When he frowned—
“Grace.” His eyebrows rose.
“You’re Grace’s dad?”
Just like Gladys had done to me, I sidestepped him and created an identity based on his daughter. To rectify the situation, my hand shot out. “Charlie.”
“I know.”
For a moment, I thought he’d reject the advance. When he gripped my hand, he gave it a tight squeeze. On the second up-and-down, he added, “Seamus.”
“You’ve got a little more salt since seeing you at band concerts.”
He grumbled, but I caught the edge of a smirk.
Other than that, I had only seen Pops speak with him when we went hiking through his property.
Grace had been a couple of grades above me, but in a school of two hundred teenagers, we all knew one another.
Unlike the assholes in my grade, she had been one of the good ones.
More than a few times, we’d sit in a practice room working our way through scores of music.
“Speaking of change.” He turned my hand, showing my knuckles. “Nice ink.”
Something about the short words and gruff attitude let me take the compliment at face value.
I stood a little taller, widening my shoulders to show off the canvas.
It didn’t hurt that Grace’s dad had become quite the silver fox.
I wouldn’t object to him taking his shirt off while I added Grace’s name in giant block letters.
“Pops was a good man.”
Seamus didn’t make assumptions. He didn’t thrust the burden of family down onto my shoulders.
With a slight smile and a nod of the head, he had said his piece.
I appreciated the acknowledgment. The more time I spent in the house, dissecting our complicated history, the more I understood Pops had been a great man. I just hadn’t seen it in time.
He said nothing as he stepped from behind the counter.
Vanishing into the aisle, he returned a moment later with a small bottle.
Seamus was a man of few words. It should have been a relief, but I wanted to ask questions.
What happened to Grace? Did he still live on the edge of town?
What did his beard smell like? Could he kiss?
I chuckled at myself.
He set the bottle on the table. “Something funny?”
I didn’t know whether he was prepared for a fight or if he wanted to share.
Back at the parlor, no topic was off-limits.
Banter. Bullshit. That’s how we got close.
When you spent that much time around one another, boundaries weren’t an option.
Hell, Devon had seen my junk every time he worked on my inner thigh.
It had been a brief phone call that ended our parlor.
“I couldn’t ignore the money,” said our landlord.
“I sold the building.” Poof. Gone almost overnight.
“Just thinking about how Firefly has changed.” Or at least its men.
Seamus pointed at the bottle. “Silicone with Teflon. You won’t have any more squeaky hinges.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I owe you.”
His eyebrow arched at the statement. With the devious expression, I couldn’t tell if he was checking me out or if he had something more sinister in mind. He scanned the bottle, and the price appeared on the register.
“When you were little, you and your dad used to camp on my land.”
I had almost made it through an interaction without the weight of my past pressing down on my shoulders. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my credit card, praying he didn’t turn this into an interrogation.
“Pops was quite the survivalist.”
No. I could see the open-ended question. They had gotten to Seamus. He worked like a sleeper agent. Just when he had gained my confidence, he laid the trap. When he didn’t take my card, I extended my arm, trying to quicken the transaction.
“Yeah.”
“He teach you?”
“Yeah.”
Where was this going?
“Scout troop needs an instructor.”
“I’m not great with kids.”
“Neither am I.”
No. “I don’t think—”
He gestured to the bottle. “You owe me.”
Wow. He hadn’t wasted any time using my words against me. “I’m not the right guy for the job.”
“Pops would say otherwise.”
It was one thing to take my words and dangle them in front of my face.
Seamus had gone below the belt, invoking my dad’s name.
While my jaw hung open, he didn’t flinch.
If it were anybody else, I would have stormed off, offering a two-finger salute as I slammed the door.
Seamus didn’t mince his words. He spoke as if they were simple truths.
“They could use a man with your skills.”
“A tattoo artist?”
“A survivalist.”
It wasn’t the intent, but the statement landed hard.
On the horizon, I could see the storm of an identity crisis.
Without the shop, with the guys, where did I belong?
In this moment, who was I? I thought my midlife crisis would involve a big screen TV and a sports car.
Seamus redirected it to involve campfires and stalking game.
His eyes softened. Perhaps it was the tone, or my state of mind, but they hit like a punch to the chest. We were talking about starting fires and fishing, but I couldn’t help but think they had another meaning.
Survival meant coming out alive, no matter the environment.
It didn’t matter what Firefly threw at me; I’d come out the other side.
Pops would have said yes… part of me wanted the thought of him smiling with pride.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
What had I just agreed to? I wanted nothing to do with this town. I wanted to show up, help Mum, and as soon as feasible, escape. In true Firefly fashion, it wrapped its gnarly fingers around my ankles and dragged me in, kicking and screaming.
Seamus swiped my credit card and handed it back. Without another word, he handed me the bottle, and I turned around, stunned by the deft way he had manipulated me. I had barely reached the door when I heard him on the phone, “Hey, Tyler, I found you a Scout leader.”
Firefly had grabbed me by the ankles.