porch and windows so filled with handwritten specials it was impossible to see inside.
But she couldn’t avoid it forever. Cougar’s dog, Sarge, an elderly German Shepherd, thumped his tail as she approached and she bent to pat his head before she went in. Cougar's door had never had bells on it to let him know when someone entered.
“I ain’t deaf,” he would say. “What do I need bells for?”
The store smelled of coffee and the tobacco Will Cougar used to fill his pipe. It wasn’t a huge store, not like the Safeway in Millsberg, but he kept a good variety.
“Anything you want I got, and if I don't have it, you don't need it!” he was fond of saying, and when she was little, Dusty would have sworn it was the truth.
She went down the third aisle and picked up a box of Tampax. She used to be embarrassed to buy them, especially in Cougar's, but the awkward shyness passed after she was fifteen or so.
It had surprised and scared her to find her period had started. It had happened the morning after her dream and the sight of blood had made her sick. She’d even stayed in bed with cramps, something she didn’t often do—unless she was trying to get out of going to church. It had startled her, although she knew she was due. Somehow, she still hadn’t expected it. That—more than the rising and setting sun, her parents’ continuing lives, time ticking away on the grandfather clock in the living room—hit home.
There was life after Nick.
Dusty moved down the aisle toward the back wall where the magazine and book racks were. Cougar tried to keep up on his shipments. Her eyes scanned the titles, drawn to the word Horror written in red letters. Underneath were the latest. Cougar used to stock the horror section just for them. She and Nick would split the cost of books and share them when they were kids, and they never really stopped.
She was about to go up to the register when a name caught her eye. Stephen King in bold black letters, and below that, the title Joyland . A familiar thrill went through her and she thought, I wonder if Nick know s—?
She bit her tongue, closing her eyes. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth, but it cut the thought off. Thankfully. Thoughts like that came out of nowhere and they hit like a cartoon anvil falling out of the sky. They flattened her. In order to function, she had to find a way to keep from getting splattered on the pavement every time she had a thought about Nick and what he might do in the future, things he would never do again. So she bit her tongue or pinched herself as a distraction.
Sometimes when it happened, she felt nauseous, like she did now. She spent one terrifying moment believing she was truly going to be sick. She was going to barf Julia’s special brown-sugar-and-pecan oatmeal up, right onto old Cougar's floor...
And then it passed and she was okay again.
She took the book off the shelf. She’d been so busy she hadn’t read much lately. That was before applying for colleges and graduation. Before she found out Nick was dead. Now she had nothing but time. She tucked the book under her arm, deciding to buy it. If it took her mind off of the horror—the real horror of her life—it was worth it. She started back up the aisle.
“I knew I had them, Mike.”
Dusty looked up at the sound of Will's voice. He came out of the back room, followed by Mike White, Sarah White’s father. She knew Sarah from school—they’d graduated together. They moved toward the front of the store up the last aisle, toward the register.
“It was just a question of finding them. I don't like keeping these up front. Don’t want any kids getting their hands on them.”
“Yep, true ’nuff,” Mike drawled. They were from somewhere down south, Dusty remembered. Sarah had come into third grade with the most laughable accent. Her nickname had become “y'all” because it was all that came out of her mouth, especially, “Y’all talk funny, not me!”
“I don’t
But she couldn’t avoid it forever. Cougar’s dog, Sarge, an elderly German Shepherd, thumped his tail as she approached and she bent to pat his head before she went in. Cougar's door had never had bells on it to let him know when someone entered.
“I ain’t deaf,” he would say. “What do I need bells for?”
The store smelled of coffee and the tobacco Will Cougar used to fill his pipe. It wasn’t a huge store, not like the Safeway in Millsberg, but he kept a good variety.
“Anything you want I got, and if I don't have it, you don't need it!” he was fond of saying, and when she was little, Dusty would have sworn it was the truth.
She went down the third aisle and picked up a box of Tampax. She used to be embarrassed to buy them, especially in Cougar's, but the awkward shyness passed after she was fifteen or so.
It had surprised and scared her to find her period had started. It had happened the morning after her dream and the sight of blood had made her sick. She’d even stayed in bed with cramps, something she didn’t often do—unless she was trying to get out of going to church. It had startled her, although she knew she was due. Somehow, she still hadn’t expected it. That—more than the rising and setting sun, her parents’ continuing lives, time ticking away on the grandfather clock in the living room—hit home.
There was life after Nick.
Dusty moved down the aisle toward the back wall where the magazine and book racks were. Cougar tried to keep up on his shipments. Her eyes scanned the titles, drawn to the word Horror written in red letters. Underneath were the latest. Cougar used to stock the horror section just for them. She and Nick would split the cost of books and share them when they were kids, and they never really stopped.
She was about to go up to the register when a name caught her eye. Stephen King in bold black letters, and below that, the title Joyland . A familiar thrill went through her and she thought, I wonder if Nick know s—?
She bit her tongue, closing her eyes. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth, but it cut the thought off. Thankfully. Thoughts like that came out of nowhere and they hit like a cartoon anvil falling out of the sky. They flattened her. In order to function, she had to find a way to keep from getting splattered on the pavement every time she had a thought about Nick and what he might do in the future, things he would never do again. So she bit her tongue or pinched herself as a distraction.
Sometimes when it happened, she felt nauseous, like she did now. She spent one terrifying moment believing she was truly going to be sick. She was going to barf Julia’s special brown-sugar-and-pecan oatmeal up, right onto old Cougar's floor...
And then it passed and she was okay again.
She took the book off the shelf. She’d been so busy she hadn’t read much lately. That was before applying for colleges and graduation. Before she found out Nick was dead. Now she had nothing but time. She tucked the book under her arm, deciding to buy it. If it took her mind off of the horror—the real horror of her life—it was worth it. She started back up the aisle.
“I knew I had them, Mike.”
Dusty looked up at the sound of Will's voice. He came out of the back room, followed by Mike White, Sarah White’s father. She knew Sarah from school—they’d graduated together. They moved toward the front of the store up the last aisle, toward the register.
“It was just a question of finding them. I don't like keeping these up front. Don’t want any kids getting their hands on them.”
“Yep, true ’nuff,” Mike drawled. They were from somewhere down south, Dusty remembered. Sarah had come into third grade with the most laughable accent. Her nickname had become “y'all” because it was all that came out of her mouth, especially, “Y’all talk funny, not me!”
“I don’t
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