could do a reading in San Francisco on a Thursday and find himself in a Nashville jail on Saturday. But what if he chose not to support the book? He was established enough in the industry that it might sell well without his having to lift a finger. Of course, with the poor reviews the book had received, together with his wild behavior at his last reading, he’d be lucky if all remaining copies of The Buffalo Hunter weren’t relegated to bargain bins at every bookstore in the country—or worse, remaindered.
After serious contemplation, he’d come to an important decision and, fortunately, it was something he was good at. He’d decided to do nothing. And that essentially meant staying put—an exile to Adelia. The thought caused a shiver to run up his spine. Adelia was a place he’d avoided returning to for seventeen years. And when he made the decision to come for the funeral, it was to have been a quick in and out. The less time spent with the family, the better. And now here he was, effectively stuck.
One of the benefits, of course, was that he had a support mechanism of sorts. If worse came to worst, he could always stay with his mother. He tried to keep the shivers from recurring at that thought by reminding himself another alternative was to stay at the house on Lyndale, yet he’d do everything he could to avoid this option.
In truth, if anything had surprised him so far about this visit, it was that it hadn’t been nearly as bad as he’d imagined it would be. And he supposed that was because, having been separated from this place for so many years, those aspects that made him feel a particular way had become larger than they actually were. He now saw things as smaller, as less consequential. As if to punctuate the point, Thor stopped and began to sniff at something on the sidewalk that was invisible to CJ’s eye. He gave the dog a few seconds to satisfy his curiosity before urging him on.
As a teenager, he used to ride his bike to work, later driving the Mustang, from the family home on Beverly, parking the car behind Kaddy’s Hardware. Now he had a Honda, which seemed odd considering that he was worth a good deal more than he had been twenty years ago. What hadn’t changed, at least to his eye, was Kaddy’s. As he crossed Fifth he stopped and surveyed the store. Fronting the place was the same sign, with the word Kaddy’s painted on it in some odd font, and the same worn redbrick facade. CJ thought he even recognized the same graffiti at the corner, where one would have turned off of Main to follow Fifth.
As he was about to walk into Kaddy’s, he spotted something familiar in the distance, a straight shot down the sidewalk toward the town center. It took a few moments for his mind to find the appropriate image from his past—a sign announcing the upcoming Fall Festival. He shook his head, nursing a form of mild nostalgia, then stepped into his former place of employ.
“Are they putting up the Fall Festival signs earlier than they used to?” CJ asked, spotting Artie behind the counter.
Artie looked up from his book, and his expression moved to surprise and then to pleasure at seeing CJ.
“Nope. Same time every year. It probably all just runs together when you’re younger.” The older man came out from behind the counter and extended a hand to CJ. “It’s good to see you again, CJ.”
“You too, Mr. Kadziolka,” CJ said.
“Oh, I think you’re old enough to call me Artie.”
For some reason that amused CJ, but he withheld a chuckle. He let his eyes roam over the store, letting the years here come back to him. Without exception they were all happy memories, and that was including the labor involved in stacking countless bags of fertilizer in the summer heat.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” he said, belatedly realizing that his ex-boss might take that as an insult.
But Artie seldom took anything as an insult, and he had to accede that point to CJ. He probably hadn’t so much as moved a display since CJ left. It was quite possible that the only differences in the store not driven by the manufacturers of the merchandise that was sold were the newer cash register, and the strange-looking straw man staring back at CJ.
Gesturing to the scarecrow, he said, “Now there’s