Page 18 of The Tattered Gloves
I HONESTLY HAD no idea what to expect the next day as I walked to Page Turners, the bookstore I was now supposed to report to right after school. Summer and fall were still battling it out for supremacy over September, and the daily temperature would fluctuate from sweltering to almost bearable. As I made my way down the street toward town, I took a deep breath, enjoying a rare crisp breeze I hadn’t felt in months.
This was normally right about the time of year when I’d start to panic, that first chill running up my spine.
Winter was coming.
I didn’t know how many Januarys I’d spent huddled under a jacket too thin or too small because my mother had blown every cent she had on a new dress — or worse, on a guy. Some of my worst winter memories were when my mother found herself a new boyfriend. She’d spend her last dime making herself over from head to toe, believing she’d finally foundthe one, only to be devastated once again.
Sometimes, I felt for her and how hard it must be to be rejected over and over. Most of the time though, I was just too cold and hungry to care.
Thankfully, the distance between school and my new job was less than ten minutes. Finding the storefront wasn’t hard with its large sign. After all, this was Sugar Tree. The whole town reminded me of an old movie set. It just didn’t seem real. Every building had its own unique history and had probably been standing there since the signing of the Declaration. The modern cars parked in front of the old brick buildings almost felt out of place, like seeing a Corvette in the middle of a Western movie.
Reaching the ornate glass door, I turned the old brass knob and pushed. The door creaked open, announcing my arrival. I quietly looked around, wondering whom I might find.
There was no one at first glance, so I took a moment to look around.
I’d only seen the insides of bookstores on TV, and our school library back home was rarely used. Stepping into Page Turners was an experience for my senses. There was a distinct smell, like you knew you were walking into a place with history.
Mothballs and leather maybe?
It just smelled old.
And there were books everywhere. New and old, every genre and age. There was even a huge section with graphic novels and comics.
Unfortunately, the place was also dead.
Like not a customer in sight.
There also didn’t seem to be anyone working either, so that could definitely be the source of the problem.
A braver person would have called out, hollered to see if anyone was around.
Instead, I stood there… waiting.
For what seemed like an eternity.
“You’re late,” a male voice called out from the stacks.
The deep voice nearly stopped me in my tracks. I’d been so surprised by the announcement of the job offer, I’d forgotten to ask whom I’d be working with.
A tall, somewhat lanky boy appeared, carrying several paperbacks in his hand. I instantly recognized him as the smooth-talking, class-cutting heartthrob the ladies at the front desk had been all aflutter over.
“Excuse me?” I managed to say.
“You are my new hire, correct?” he asked pointedly.
“Yours?”
“I’m the manager here. Well, during the afternoons at least.”
I remembered my aunt mentioning just who owned this store.
“Must not be hard when your daddy owns it,” I said, surprised by my own words.
Rather than get angry, he merely smirked, setting the handful of books down on the counter in front of me.
“Tomorrow I’ll give you exactly ten minutes to get here from when the last bell rings. Otherwise, I’ll dock your pay. If I can get here on time, so can you.”
I opened my mouth to protest or offer up another insult, but I was all out for the day, which only made his cocky grin grow wider.
