Page 88 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
I walk over to the golf cart to see if I can right it and call back over my shoulder. “I really wasn’t going to have sex with you either.”
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It takessome real effort on both our parts but with the help of a makeshift lever that Wyatt fashions out of wood and a huge rock, and with him counterbalancing at the right angle, we manage to get the golf cart right side up again.
This time, I let Wyatt drive. Just in case.
The only ‘general’ type store in town tells us to try the only ‘hardware’ type store in town. Neither store is truly what they advertise to be, but they’re close enough that I’m sure for the few hundred full-time residents it works.
They are all busy getting ready for the Seaside Music Festival, which happens the weekend after Blake’s wedding, and it’s their biggest event of the year. For some, it’s their only event of the year.
The hardware store tells us to try the post office, which is where we are now. Wyatt and I don’t split up, with each of us going to different stores as we’d intended. I’m not sure why, but I also don’t mind it, at least for now. We get to the front of the line at the post office.
“Hi, they told us at the hardware store that you might sell markers here,” I say.
“We don’t have a hardware store,” the clerk says.
“That one over there.” Wyatt points back in the direction we came from. “The one that sells hammers and stuff, but also baked goods.”
“Oh, you mean Dan’s Place?” the clerk confirms.
“I guess so,” I say.
“Yeah,” the clerk says. “That’s definitely not a hardware store.”
“Do you have a hardware store?” Wyatt asks.
“I wish we did,” the clerk says. “Just not enough repeat business for something like that to stick around.”
“What about the markers?” I ask.
“Markers, huh?” The clerk thinks about it for a minute. “Well, we’ve got these.” He pulls a black sharpie from the drawer next to him.
“Great,” I say. “Any that are in teal?”
“Inteal?” he asks.
“No, in teal, like the color,” Wyatt says. “Does the pen come in teal?”
The clerk still looks confused.
“Like when you buy a new pair of pants, and you ask the salesperson if they come in black?”
“I got black right here.” He holds up the sharpie to show us.
“Do you have any other colors?” I ask.
“Nope. Postal regulations state we have to use black.”
“Do yousellany markers in any colors?” Wyatt asks.
“Nope,” the clerk says. “We don’t sell markers at all.”
I close my eyes for a moment. Mostly so I don’t scream at the nice man helping us. Wyatt grabs the back of my neck and squeezes it gently, massaging it a bit with his fingers, like he knows I’m stressed and this will help.
It does.
“This is the third place we’ve been to,” Wyatt says. “And there aren’t a lot of stores here.”
