is that,” she says. “And if I had a specimen like that man, I wouldn’t be looking for any on the side either.”
I blush furiously. This is not something I talk about openly. Ever. “I’m not… we’re… he’s not… I don’t know what you mean.”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “Well, at least one of you is sure. He told me that you belong to him and that he came because you needed him here.”
I groan again, laying my head on my hands. She laughs and runs her hand over the back of my head. “Love is so hard, isn’t it?” she asks.
“We’re not—”
“Anyway, I just wanted to stop in and say you have impeccable taste, my dear. Who knew you had it in you?” She turns and leaves.
I’ve just about made up my mind to close the store to hunt the bastard down when Mrs. Taylor Clark, of Clark’s, the medium-sized grocery down at the other end of Poplar, comes into the station. It would seem she’s met a certain large individual outside her store, opening and closing the door to the freezer that holds ice out on the sidewalk. When she asked what this gentleman was doing, he pointed out that he was just experiencing the difference between the warm spring air and the sudden burst of cold from the freezer. He pulled her next to him with his rather large arms and made her experience the same blast of air. He laughed, and she couldn’t not laugh with him, so she did. It would seem this gentleman was off to buy clothing, as Benji had ordered, but just between him and her, he thought he was just going to hate shopping. But, he said, it was what Benji wanted, and he would do anything for Benji, so off he went, if she could just point him in the right direction of the pants store?
“I wanted to climb him like a tree,” she tells me, blushing furiously, undoubtedly thinking of Mr. Clark, back at the store.
Ten minutes later, Jimmy Lotem from the hardware store stops in, telling me he just helped a peculiar fellow pick out a pair of boots. Apparently this fellow had told Jimmy that he needed a good pair of boots because he was going to work with his friend Benji, and if he needed to help others in town, he would, especially when he was called to. Oh, and how was Jimmy’s mother? the fellow asked. Jimmy, a bit surprised, had asked how this fellow knew about his mother. The fellow was quiet for a moment, then said that Benji had told him. Jimmy, unable to stop himself (and, admittedly, touched like he hadn’t been in a very long time), told him that his mother wasn’t doing so well, that the cancer had returned and his mother was no longer well enough to handle any more rounds of chemo. This peculiar fellow had stood and taken Jimmy’s hand in his own and said, “You will mourn when she passes, but just know that when she does, she will be taken to a place where she will be celebrated and revered for the life she led. And you will be with her again, one day.”
“It was like he knew, Benji,” Jimmy says, fighting back tears. “It was like he knew how scared I am. He was gone before I could say anything. You’ll thank him for me, won’t you? Or maybe he’ll be around?”
I nod, speechless.
But that’s not the end of it.
More come. Some in pairs, some in small groups. But most individually. The majority of the people who come in are here for curiosity’s sake, wondering where the redheaded man had come from. He had just introduced himself on the street, letting people know he was with me now. Many took that to mean more than it did, and I struggled to clarify our relationship over the way they grinned at me, watching me with knowing eyes that knew not of what they spoke. He was sweet, they said. He was kind. A bit odd, sure. But happy. And bright. Oh, he was so bright.
A few others say he spoke with them longer. He told John Strickland that he was sure his crisis of faith would pass, and that God would be there waiting for him. John tells me that, for the life of him, he can’t remember how the topic came up but he’s glad it did, because the few words Cal has