Four-Thirty Girl

Chapter 3 Helpfully

A nother week of continuous explanation of what happened to Ms. Debbie passed. After greeting each customer at the counter with the same question of her whereabouts, I had become numb to my own words. By the time I explained the situation for the hundredth time, her death seemed to leave my mouth in a matter-of-fact manner, not by choice but as a form of coping.

Keeping myself busy had not been an issue, and if not for the responsibilities to the customers and respect for Ms. Debbie, I would have been fine. Having spent my years alone after the age of twenty-three, I had grown accustomed to turning off emotions when I needed to. Unfortunately, as of late, that had become more of a task.

Another key reason my emotions were running high was the fact I had been waiting on the coroner all week to release Ms. Debbie’s body for a public viewing or allow me to make the final arrangements.

The only light in my week fell on Wednesday afternoon. Around lunchtime, I again decided to close early, forcing myself to hide away in the backroom and continue to rummage through the boxes. Despite every box seeming to have records for individual tax years, I could not help but sort through all the papers in each. If for no other reason, I wanted to know what year she got married, but I daresay I found something far more interesting.

At precisely four-thirty, I heard a knock from the front of the shop. A smile crested my lips as I walked through the store and met Lauren, who greeted me with a touch of disbelief.

“I see you locked me out once again,” she teased.

“Well, technically, the lock was to keep everyone else out.”

“Sure... although it’s only on Wednesday afternoons that you seem to be closed now,” she blurted before catching herself.

“Stalking me, are you?” I bantered.

“No,” she countered. “The store happens to be on my way home.”

Well, at least now I knew she was somewhat normal, but the explanation raised a few other questions that I knew better than to ask. “Fine,” I acquiesced. “Come in, though. I don’t want everyone to know I’m here.”

“That sounds a little sketchy. What’s going on?” she asked as she rushed past my extended arm.

“I’ve been going through all those boxes, and I can’t run the store and concentrate on that at the same time.”

“Why don’t you do it after you close?” she poked, criticizing me as though I had not thought of that before.

“Because...” I huffed, “every day, I get up, do my morning routine, get here by seven to open for the morning crowd, man the store for twelve hours, then when I do leave, I have to count out the cash drawer, go home, and cook dinner, do the books, and place any orders, and by the time all of that is done, it’s time to go to sleep and start again.”

“Oh. Sorry. I guess I didn’t realize how much goes into running a store.”

“That’s alright. No one does.” I broke loose of the conversation as we entered the backroom once again. I took a seat in the chair beside the box that I had been working my way through. It was at that point that I looked up to see Lauren standing beside me. “Aren’t you going to look for another book?”

“It sounds like you could use a hand, that is, if you don’t mind me assisting.”

“Not at all. And you’re right; I could use the help.”

Bending down to her knees, Lauren sat in front of me, opening another box alongside her. I watched, almost intrigued, as she flipped through the papers—so intrigued that she laughed when she looked up.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking, You look so focused, like you know what you’re doing. ” The words came out as a cover for my true thoughts, for I dared not say how cute she appeared or how a shot of desire had run through my body.

“Ha. Well, I don’t. So, exactly what do you want me to do?”

“That’s a good question. All I really know is I need to find the boxes with the past seven years of information for the bookstore. However, I’m curious if we can find out what year Ms. Debbie changed her name.”

“You know, I was going to ask you: why did she go by Ms. Debbie? Last week you said that Lois was her first name.”

“I have no clue. Neither of us cared to discuss our personal matters, so we stuck with keeping our friendship business-oriented. The only thing I really ever heard her say was that she had lived in many different places before settling here and opening the shop.” I could tell Lauren had registered the cue about my personal affairs while acting as if she would not mind for me to keep talking, but I decided I would rather know more about her. “But that doesn’t matter...” I paused before changing the topic. “What about you?”

“Me?” she questioned.

“Yeah. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“Ha, there’s nothing to tell,” she scoffed.

“Well, you said you pass by the store on your way home. What line of work are you in?”

“I’m not much for discussing my personal life either,” she said snippily.

“Okay...” A long silence ensued as we refocused on our boxes and away from the awkwardness that had commandeered the conversation. This failed to bother me so much because I was accustomed to silence, and there was plenty of work to get through.

Finishing my stack of papers, I stood up to stretch and fetch another box. The fact that none of the boxes stacked in the front were newly dated made no sense. In fact, they all seemed to be older and mixed up. Furthermore, some of the years took up two boxes and others just one. My mind was failing to comprehend how someone like Ms. Debbie could possibly be so unorganized yet organized. But then a new piece of the puzzle fell into our laps.

“Hey, Josh,” Lauren called from over my shoulder. I turned, still wincing from the sound of the name I had not been called in years. “Sorry, Joshua,” she corrected upon reading my expression. “What did you say Ms. Debbie’s last name was?”

“Well, in one place it was listed as Collins, and in another she was a Mason.”

Perturbed, Lauren extended her arm, offering me a piece of paper. While I took the parchment, her hand remained outstretched, seeking assistance in standing. With my help, she made her way up from the floor, then positioned herself against me, allowing her hair to grace my arm, in hopes of continuing reading for herself.

“Redding? That’s weird.” Taking a second look, I flipped over the paper. “I don’t see a date. Was there anything else with Redding and possibly a year?”

Without replying, Lauren bent over the box, causing her shirt to rise along her back. Rolling my eyes at the obvious attention grab, I looked away and waited for her to finish the search.

“Here,” she said, straightening to readjust her shirt before handing over the new findings.

“This one says Lois Debra Redding, 1975.”

“So?”

“That means she had three different last names in an eight-year span.”

“Married, divorced, and remarried?” Lauren postulated.

“No,” I said, shaking my head in doubt. “If that were the case, she would have returned to her maiden name at some point, I would think.”

“Are you sure Collins was her maiden name? And just because she got a divorce doesn’t mean she changed her name, especially if she had kids.”

“But she didn’t have a family... or so I thought.” My agitation filled the room, but as if on cue, a distraction seemed to numb the stress.

A faint growl roared from Lauren’s stomach, causing me to cut my eyes toward her. “Are you hungry?” I laughed. “There’re some snacks stashed under the front desk. Feel free to grab some.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be leaving soon anyway, so I’ll just wait for dinner,” she countered, only to be nulled by another churn of her stomach.

“It’s a little early for dinner, don’t you think?”

“Not when you skip lunch,” she laughed, in sight of her own joke.

“No lunch?”

The seriousness in my voice hid the softness of her laughter. “Well, I say no lunch, but it’s just on Wednesdays that I skip my break.”

“Why is that?”

I could tell she was slowly hardening to my questions, but on the surface, it appeared to be a normal conversation. So, I did like any man would do, and I waited patiently for her to cave in.

“Fine,” she relented. “I leave work early on Wednesdays, so I have enough time to stop by the store.”

Four-Thirty Girl was killing me. It was like she dressed for men to notice her, but as soon as one tried to have a conversation, she backed away.

“Okay, whatever. I’m not going to even ask why you do that, but what I am going to do is insist on you eating something.”

“It’s fine. I promise. I’ll start dinner as soon as I get home, and bam , problem solved.”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?” she said, laughing with cautious hysteria.

“Oh, nothing; just you and your secrecy.”

“Ha, I beg your pardon, but you aren’t Mr. Storyteller yourself.”

I gave a long gruff, indicating my slight frustration. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Uhm,” she exhaled, wanting to take full advantage of the opportunity but deciding otherwise. “Look, I don’t have time for this today.”

“How about tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow is Thursday.”

“Yeah, so... You said yourself that all you have to do is leave work early and not take out for lunch.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” she said, thrusting her hip out with a hand firmly against her waist.

“Oh, I’m sure.” My eyes locked on the unintentional tease, but I remained firm in my own stance. “But seriously, I could use the help going through the boxes, and you’re the only one that has offered.”

Hesitating at first as if to conjure up an excuse, Lauren gave a sigh of defeat. “Okay, wise guy. I can do that.”

“And Friday too,” I continued without giving her time to interject. “The quicker I get through these, the better.”

“You do realize I’m not here long enough to make that big of a difference.”

I merely shrugged my shoulders, offering, “Every little bit counts,” to justify my reasoning.

“Alright,” she huffed. “I’ll see you tomorrow and Friday, but in the meantime, try to come up with an explanation for the names. You’ve sucked me into this, so now I expect some answers.”

By the following afternoon, I had placed a new schedule for store hours on the door, arranged the boxes that I had sorted through with notes stuck to the top of each, and ventured down the street to a local Chinese restaurant for takeout.

I hated the thought of turning away customers, especially during the afternoon rush. However, I felt like they all knew I needed the time. Still, others encouraged me to keep the shop going because that’s what Ms. Debbie would have wanted. Indeed, she would, but for now, there were more important things at hand.

Thus far in my search, I had failed to consider the fact that our verbal agreement may no longer have merit. But if it did, I had no way of knowing how or to whom I owed the remaining balance. These were good questions that needed resolving with the help of a lawyer, unless, of course, there was a will.

At four twenty-five, I took the liberty of unlocking the front door while leaving the “Closed” sign in place. Walking back to my chair, I sat down for a moment and laid my head on my desk. I had tried to find something to piece together Ms. Debbie’s past, but Ms. Debbie, Lois, or whoever she really was appeared to not want to be discovered.

Hearing the chime of the front door opening, I lifted my head, expecting Lauren to appear with her bright smile. However, there was a delay as the door remained open. I palmed my head, hoping a customer had not ventured to open the door after reading or neglecting to read the sign. To my relief, moments later, Lauren appeared, but instead of a smile, she wore a confused look.

“Oh good. I was afraid someone else had decided to walk in.”

“And interrupt your nap?” she suggested playfully while evaluating me still hunched over.

“No...” I sighed. “I unlocked the door for you.”

“I noticed. Thank you.” She smiled before returning to her previous lingering question. “I also noticed the new hours and that you are closed all next week.”

“Yeah. School’s out.”

“So?” she questioned me, still unsure of what I meant.

“Well, if you know that, then you probably know most people go out of town, which means the store is really slow. So, instead of being open, I decided to dedicate the time to organizing.”

“That makes sense, but...” her words trailed off as a lingering scent caught her attention. “Umm, what’s that?” she asked.

“That would be the Chinese food from The Great Wall down the street.”

“Oh, I love that place.”

“That’s good to hear, because I brought you a plate,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing to my feet.

“You did?” she asked, with a hopeful catch in her voice.

“Of course. I couldn’t ask you to skip lunch and not provide something in exchange.”

“That’s really nice of you, but you really shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I did, and it’s still hot, so instead of debating, how about we break into the chicken?”

Leading Lauren to the breakroom, I fetched the two Styrofoam containers and handed one of them to her.

“We should probably work and eat at the same time, if that’s alright?”

“Sure,” I said, flipping off the breakroom lights. “As long as you are fine with a picnic on the floor.”

“Did you order a Polynesian and an orange chicken?” she asked while lifting the tinfoil that hugged the rim of the plate.

“No. Do you prefer the orange? I just have never cared for that taste or smell, so I just got two Polys.”

“Oh, no, I’m the same,” she smiled.

Finding our seats on the floor, we wasted no time in diving fork first into the chicken and rice. The attempt to eat slowly for us both soon dissolved as our amplified hunger from missing lunch mixed with the savory smell.

“How is it?” I asked while swallowing a mouthful of rice.

“Umm,” she mustered through her own mouthful of food. “Amazing,” she finally managed. With a large gulp, she continued. “I had forgotten how good this place really was.” Scarfing in another bite, Lauren ate without much remorse for the lack of appearance. “Thank you,” she added, following another swallow.

“Well, thank you for the help.”

The rest of the conversation was left for after we finished off the last few bites. I stood up, offering to take Lauren’s plate to the trash. Despite our lack of work while eating, we still had plenty of time for the business part of our meeting, and before I returned, she was already opening a box, ready for me to catch her up.

“So, is there anything new?”

“Nope. I’m still as lost as before, if not more.”

“What do you mean?” she questioned, unsure of how I was only able to regress in her absence.

“Well, I’m not sure how the title to the store will transition to me, seeing we only had a verbal agreement, and I doubt there is anything to support it in writing.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yeah, so I’m hoping between now and the end of next week, I can find out something. Although now it appears Ms. Debbie’s funeral will be on Monday. The coroner arranged for a public visitation from ten until twelve.”

“Then what?”

“He said they typically do cremations for those without families, but when I offered to buy her a burial plot and coffin, he said he would see what he could do.”

“That was nice of you,” she admitted.

“Well, I’ve never liked the thought of burning bodies, and it’s the least I can do for my friend.”

Lauren smiled before reverting to her prior thought. “I was wondering more along the lines of what happens after next week, and why are you worried about the store if she has no family to collect from you?”

Of course... That would make much more sense , I thought, criticizing the oversight. To this end, I sank back onto my arms, trying to reason through everything.

“Sorry, that’s probably not for me to know,” she recanted.

“It’s fine. I just don’t have an answer other than that I want to do what’s right. And honestly, I can’t get past the weird feeling that something about the situation isn’t as easy as it seems.”

“What do you mean?” Lauren asked.

“Just everything we’ve talked about seems odd.”

She squinted her eyes, almost as if to seek a further explanation, but that was not the case. “May I offer a suggestion?”

“Please do,” I said, waving my hand as if to accept something tangible.

“Well, it’s more of an observation, but perhaps she was trying to make it where you would know what to do.”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“What if she purposely left you in charge of the store, all these boxes that you would have to go through and...” she paused. “Here,” she continued, handing me the three papers that held the different names. “These—if she had been married before, why not trash anything that tied her to a past life?”

I looked down at the three papers. Lauren was right, not only about Ms. Debbie, but I had a feeling she was also correct about a previous life. In one hand was an old printed document, but in the other were two forms that had been signed and one Lois Debra appeared to have a different hand signature than the other.