six-pack of Coke for medicinal purposes. Sighing,I thought longingly back to Coke’s early years, when it had trace amounts of cocaine in it. Talk about a pick-me-up.
After checking out, I put the groceries in the car, then leaned against it to wait for Lorenz. It wasn’t too bad today, weatherwise, and with the sun shining brightly, I could pretend that spring was on its way.
What this town needed was a cute coffee shop. One girl’s opinion. I had no idea when Lorenz would be done, and I would have killed for a nice, hot latte right then. The only time I’d had coffee with Dray, we’d had to go to a garishly lit diner way down the street.
Dray. One of the two nonimmortals I’d become acquaintances with here. She and my other sort-of friend, Meriwether MacIntyre, were high schoolers and about 180 degrees from each other. But something had drawn me to each of them—and then I’d ruined both friendships, of course. Because that’s what I do.
Come on, Lorenz, I thought, starting to feel chilly. I didn’t want to just sit in the car. Maybe I should go check out Early’s, the general store next to Pitson’s. I could stock up on some Now and Laters. Then I happened to glance across the street, at the row of run-down, empty buildings there.
West Lowing had once been four times as large and much more bustling. When the local mill had shut down in the late seventies, the town had lost more than ten thousand jobs. It wasn’t exactly a ghost town yet, but apparently it was too small to support, say, one freaking coffee shop.Nowadays Main Street looked like a ratty patchwork quilt, with the few remaining businesses popping up between abandoned buildings and empty lots.
Abandoned buildings like these, right here. Crossing the street, I saw that what looked like four separate shops were really part of one larger structure. They looked individual on the first floor, but the second floor was more unified in design. A weather-beaten sign hanging by one nail said APTS. FOR RENT with a phone number.
The shops had wide bay windows in the front and inset doors—a style popular back in the thirties. Small, hexagonal blue tiles spelled out SCHWALBACH’S in one entryway. Pressing my face to the glass, I saw a large empty room with the same kind of pressed-tin ceiling as in MacIntyre’s Drugs, and tall, round columns supporting the roof. Chunks of the walls had fallen in, and there was water damage beneath one broken window. Someone had tagged one of the walls with graffiti.
“What are you doing?” Lorenz’s voice startled me, and he smiled lopsidedly when I wheeled to face him.
“Waiting for you,” I said. “How was the dentist?”
He made a so-so gesture with one hand and cupped the other around his swollen cheek. “I need to get a prescription.”
“Okay. I’ll wait at the car.”
Lorenz grinned at my too casual tone.
“Bawk, bawk, bawk.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Fine. I’ll go with, shall I?”
Bigger grin, on only one side, because the novocaine hadn’t worn off yet.
So my pride—and it’s always good to be bullied into something by one’s pride, isn’t it?—made me march across the street and push open the door to MacIntyre’s. The last time I’d been in there, Old Mac, the owner, had fired me for the second time. The time before that, I’d been shouting awful, hurtful things at him, with Meriwether standing there looking like I’d punched her in the stomach. That was when I’d been fired the first time. And I’m not saying I was jonesing to have my promising and glamorous career as a stock girl back, but it had been humiliating, and I’d felt like a failure.
Inside, Lorenz headed toward the back, where Old Mac filled prescriptions. No one was minding the front counter. All the cute posters Meriwether and I had made had been taken down. I wanted to stay put and be able to leap through the door should Old Mac come near me, but disgust at my total weenieness reared its judgmental head, and I
After checking out, I put the groceries in the car, then leaned against it to wait for Lorenz. It wasn’t too bad today, weatherwise, and with the sun shining brightly, I could pretend that spring was on its way.
What this town needed was a cute coffee shop. One girl’s opinion. I had no idea when Lorenz would be done, and I would have killed for a nice, hot latte right then. The only time I’d had coffee with Dray, we’d had to go to a garishly lit diner way down the street.
Dray. One of the two nonimmortals I’d become acquaintances with here. She and my other sort-of friend, Meriwether MacIntyre, were high schoolers and about 180 degrees from each other. But something had drawn me to each of them—and then I’d ruined both friendships, of course. Because that’s what I do.
Come on, Lorenz, I thought, starting to feel chilly. I didn’t want to just sit in the car. Maybe I should go check out Early’s, the general store next to Pitson’s. I could stock up on some Now and Laters. Then I happened to glance across the street, at the row of run-down, empty buildings there.
West Lowing had once been four times as large and much more bustling. When the local mill had shut down in the late seventies, the town had lost more than ten thousand jobs. It wasn’t exactly a ghost town yet, but apparently it was too small to support, say, one freaking coffee shop.Nowadays Main Street looked like a ratty patchwork quilt, with the few remaining businesses popping up between abandoned buildings and empty lots.
Abandoned buildings like these, right here. Crossing the street, I saw that what looked like four separate shops were really part of one larger structure. They looked individual on the first floor, but the second floor was more unified in design. A weather-beaten sign hanging by one nail said APTS. FOR RENT with a phone number.
The shops had wide bay windows in the front and inset doors—a style popular back in the thirties. Small, hexagonal blue tiles spelled out SCHWALBACH’S in one entryway. Pressing my face to the glass, I saw a large empty room with the same kind of pressed-tin ceiling as in MacIntyre’s Drugs, and tall, round columns supporting the roof. Chunks of the walls had fallen in, and there was water damage beneath one broken window. Someone had tagged one of the walls with graffiti.
“What are you doing?” Lorenz’s voice startled me, and he smiled lopsidedly when I wheeled to face him.
“Waiting for you,” I said. “How was the dentist?”
He made a so-so gesture with one hand and cupped the other around his swollen cheek. “I need to get a prescription.”
“Okay. I’ll wait at the car.”
Lorenz grinned at my too casual tone.
“Bawk, bawk, bawk.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Fine. I’ll go with, shall I?”
Bigger grin, on only one side, because the novocaine hadn’t worn off yet.
So my pride—and it’s always good to be bullied into something by one’s pride, isn’t it?—made me march across the street and push open the door to MacIntyre’s. The last time I’d been in there, Old Mac, the owner, had fired me for the second time. The time before that, I’d been shouting awful, hurtful things at him, with Meriwether standing there looking like I’d punched her in the stomach. That was when I’d been fired the first time. And I’m not saying I was jonesing to have my promising and glamorous career as a stock girl back, but it had been humiliating, and I’d felt like a failure.
Inside, Lorenz headed toward the back, where Old Mac filled prescriptions. No one was minding the front counter. All the cute posters Meriwether and I had made had been taken down. I wanted to stay put and be able to leap through the door should Old Mac come near me, but disgust at my total weenieness reared its judgmental head, and I
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