Chapter 5
I studied the cracks on the ceiling, forming shapes with my mind long after the record by The Smiths stopped playing.
Time had passed as I remained lying on the floor after my phone call with Danny. It hit me an hour into my comatose state that this was it for me. I was stuck here in Meadow Grove. Trapped. There was no way out, and no way to cope.
I knew long distance was a killer, but we could’ve made it work.
A couple of times while I lay on the floor my mother had tried to call me.
I let it go to voicemail.
What was there to say?
Fuck You was getting old, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear her crying.
The sound of keys jiggling and the front doorknob twisting let me know Scott was home.
I was quick to get up from my depressed state and pull the vinyl from the player.
Scott stepped into the room and flipped on the light. “Hey.”
He was smiling at me when I turned around and faced him. Would it always be weird between us?
Maybe.
I was as good as gone as soon as I hit eighteen.
Where to?
God only knew.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Scott’s cell phone rang.
He answered it after scowling at the screen. “Yeah…Jesus, Mitchell, I was just there… Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning?” Scott placed his hand on his hip and by the look on his face, I knew he hadn’t liked Mitchell’s response. “Fine, I’ll be there in ten minutes—you know what, make it twenty.”
Scott hung up and groaned loudly. He peered over at me helplessly.
“Dinner?” I asked to calmly take his mind off of whatever it was that he now had to go and do.
“I was thinking we’d go out,” Scott said. “That was Mitchell, the assistant manager over at Marty’s. I gotta go and sign off on this safety thing. It’ll only take a minute. Why don’t you go upstairs and change into something for dinner and we’ll ride to Marty’s real quick.”
It wasn’t quite a homecooked meal like I’d wanted, but it would do.
I took off upstairs and went into my bedroom. Upon turning on the light, I was nearly blinded by all the white my walls had to offer.
Black.
That’s what I felt inside. Maybe Scott would let me go and paint every single wall of my bedroom black if I asked.
Scott hadn’t elaborated on if dinner meant fancy or casual, not that I had anything fancy to wear.
I traded in my jeans for shorts, as it was nice and humid out, and paired it with a decent looking top that said I was trying to be cute.
My mother had picked it out once on a shopping trip.
I brushed my hand along the lace material of the white spaghetti stringed top and almost decided to change.
“Saylor, you ready?” Scott shouted up to me.
I met him back down at the front door where he appraised my outfit with a nod of his head.
“You look nice, honey,” he told me.
I mumbled out a thank you before following him out to his truck.
“More rock?” he asked of me.
I faced the window as I shrugged. “Whatever you like.”
“You okay?” he asked me.
“Uh-huh.”
Scott didn’t push. He set the radio and soon backed out of the driveway and made his way to Marty’s.
The lyrics to some Bob Dylan song provided background noise as I absentmindedly watched as we passed by business after business. Meadow Grove was the idyllic small town, not much to it, but perhaps a nice place to settle down if you didn’t like the fuss of the city.
“And here is the strip,” Scott was saying as we were nearing the supermarket that was Marty’s.
Beside the grocery store, lay a strip of shops.
One, a barber shop, the second a liquor store, and the third a beauty salon that offered hair and nail services.
Both the barbershop and beauty salon boasted about being “Black Owned” by the signs in their windows.
Young Black boys hung outside the barbershop, one dribbling a basketball, while the others talked.
Older men were talking out in front of the liquor store, and a couple of women were making their way out of the beauty salon.
“Dreux’s mother, Angela, owns the beauty salon, and his uncle owns the barbershop,” Scott felt like informing me for some reason. “Dreux helps out at both part time.”
“Cool,” I was nice enough to say.
Scott pulled into the parking lot to Marty’s and found a space in the row designated for employees only. Together, we got out of his truck and met up at the back.
“It may be big,” Scott said to me. “But it’s a really friendly place. Most people have been coming here their whole lives. A lot of customers are like family.”
I took in Scott’s words and quickly gave no second thought as we stepped into the entrance, instantly greeted with a nice gust of AC.
“Back already?” A young boy wearing a neon green vest over his blue T-shirt stopped Scott. He had been pushing in a load of carts, a hefty ten.
Scott made a face. “I oughta just leave a cot in my office. I practically live here.”
The boy chuckled before turning to me.
Scott’s hand found my shoulder. “Anders, this is my daughter, Saylor. She just moved to town.”
The boy, who couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, offered me a friendly smile. “Didn’t know you had a daughter.” He leaned over and stuck his hand out. Real polite this kid. “Nice to meet you, Saylor, my name’s Anders.”
He had that Cameron effect on me, as I couldn’t find the mood to leave him hanging.
I fed my hand into his and shook with him, giving a small smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Scott soon led us more into the store.
A police officer stood tall and ominously by the first row of cash registers, a few people were in line at the service desk nearby, and across from us housed the produce department and the small floral department.
“Scott!”
A woman just a few inches shorter than my five-foot-ten came over as she was pushing a cart of bagged groceries toward the exit.
“Yeah, I’m back, as usual,” Scott joked as the woman came over to us.
“I can never seem to leave,” the woman replied.
Just as Anders had, the woman looked at me curiously. “This must be your baby.”
Scott placed his hand on my shoulder once more. “This is my Saylor.”
His Saylor?
I was nice enough not to scowl at that remark. He hadn’t raised me a day in his life or acknowledged me until now, and yet he felt comfortable introducing me as “his Saylor”?
No, I did not have daddy issues, but it was about the facts, and the facts were simple: Scott and I were strangers.
“Saylor,” Scott went on. “This is Cas, she runs the floral department. She’s the reason this place looks as good as it does.”
“Oh stop.” Cas placed her hand on Scott’s chest and pretended to shove him. “It’s so nice to meet you, Saylor. Scott’s been talking about you all day.”
Just a day. That was all he could speak about when it came to me. A whole day’s worth of info. Not a lifetime like normal parents.
Like with Anders, I gave Cas a smile. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”
“Oh, I better get home and let you guys go. I gotta water my petunias.” Cas said goodbye to Scott and me before wheeling her cart out of the store with more determination in her step.
Scott took off once more without a second thought.
I wondered…
Scott cut through a cereal aisle before taking me into the domain where only employees could cross.
Lockers lined the wall as soon as we pushed through the door, and a couple of employees, one clad in what seemed to be Marty’s colors, a blue polo lined in yellow, and the other in a white coat that was covered in blood, were both busy shoving things into their lockers.
Scott greeted the man and woman before rounding the corner and going past the restrooms and leading me straight to his office.
There, a short, older man was talking on the phone at Scott’s desk.
His office was small, housing a desk, two seats in front of it, a file cabinet behind it, and a couple of bookcases filled with thick binders and bins behind the two chairs in the room.
A calendar hung up on the wall marked with job-related itinerary.
A Marty’s baseball cap sat on top of one of the bookcases.
It was blue, outlined in yellow with the store logo on it.
Scott was quick to grab some clipboard and sign it before making a few hand gestures with the man on the phone. His phone call ended and he commenced to talking to Scott about whatever it was that he’d just signed.
I studied his office more, finding photos on the wall from charity events the store had thrown. Scott was in every single photo, smiling on the end, while couples were embraced in each other’s arms, or side by side.
Scott was a nice-looking guy. I wondered if Cameron were right about him, if he were nursing some wound or whatever.
“Just a few more minutes, Saylor Moon.”
The man had left the office and Scott was now behind his computer typing something up.
“It’s just Saylor,” I corrected him.
Scott’s smile was anything but apologetic. Seriously, he would have to get this through his head. We were not about to adopt pet names.
I went and sat on top of his desk. “So this is what you do?”
Scott shrugged. “Hey, it’s an honest living. Could be worse.”
“Could be better,” I mumbled. This was Scott’s world, kinda sad, kinda basic, kinda meh.
“It’s not quite Hollywood, but it gets me by.”
Some other boy, an older looking one, probably fresh out of high school courtesy of Horton High, stepped into the office clad in a blue Marty’s polo as well.
“Hey, did you want me to do the end-caps from aisles one through nine, or one through seven?” he asked Scott.
Scott gathered another clipboard and read over his notes. “I have you doing one through seven, and Kyle’s taking over eight through fifteen.”
They spoke some more, joking a little, and I could really see that Scott was in his element here. Even if he were off, he didn’t seem to mind coming in to do more work. It was clear he loved his job. He was used to the demands and the duties it laid out for him.
Permanent stay or not, I wasn’t sure I could ever get used to any of this.
The restaurant Scott took us to was casual at best. My top and shorts combo wasn’t out of place as I caught a woman wearing plain jeans and a T-shirt.