CHAPTER SIX
R OBERT
“This is coming along nicely,” I said to Javier as he wiped some dust off the final tile around the bar that I envisioned would soon serve bourbon and snacks to readers. We’d gone with large gray slate tiles arranged in a honeycomb pattern and broken up every five or ten tiles by a bronze one with a more intricate facade. “Good work,” he said.
“Yes, I like it too.” Javier stepped backward to survey the entire space, his hands on his hips. “We should go with gray grout.”
“Light gray,” I said.
“I’ll pick up some tomorrow before I come with the rest of the crew.” He turned and clasped my hand, the rough callouses of his palm grating against my smoother one. “Thanks for all your patience the last couple of weeks. It hasn’t been easy finding good workers.”
“You’re not the only one who’s struggling with that,” I said as we broke our handshake. “Whole damn industry is right now.”
Javier said, “But since this is going pretty well, are you still looking for a Labor Day opening?”
I crossed to one of the open ladders and sat on the third step. From here, my vantage point gave me almost a 360-degree view of the store's main showroom, and I liked what I saw: carved bookshelves, a beautiful bar worthy of any discerning Instagrammer, cozy nooks for reading in oversized leather chairs, and a flex space that would serve as a stage for local music acts or other entertainment.
“Hopefully, before that. Early August if we can swing it. If you can swing it.”
My contactor nodded. “And I think that means you should enter the float competition.”
I started. “Float competition?”
“For the Fourth of July. It’s a great way to get the word out about this place before it opens.”
“You mean the New Burlington parade? I don’t remember a float competition.”
“They started it about five years ago,” Javier said, picking up his toolbox and straightening his baseball cap. “My wife helped with the float for St. Ignatius School last year, and it was impressive.”
“That so?”
My thoughts turned to the New Burlington Independence Day parades of my childhood. They were nice but nothing to speak of, and I could have found them in any other small Midwestern town. A few dance teams, the high school marching band, a caravan of cars from the local dealerships, and a few political candidates for county offices tossing candy and handing out bumper stickers. Very Americana.
“The float competition is good marketing for local businesses,” Javier said. “And not that expensive to enter. Plus, they give the winner ten thousand bucks for their trouble.”
“Feels like you buried the lead.”
He laughed. “The competition last year was pretty stiff.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll think about entering,” I replied.
Javier finished gathering his things and left. It was after five, and I closed the space, feeling optimistic about the progress we’d made in the last few weeks on the renovation. Compared to projects like this in the past, it seemed like we were moving at lightning speed, even with the daily difficulty of finding reliable construction workers. Back in New York, the renovation of the small office for the hedge fund took almost a year, despite being far less complicated than the creation of this bookstore.
Javier was probably right. It was time to start advertising. New Burlington was small enough that word had gotten around about the store, but people didn’t know much else. They didn’t know my plans and they didn’t know me. Not now. I’d changed since growing up here, coming back from New York City a different man. A better man.
Maybe it should start with the parade.