WHERE DID HE COME FROM?
Zac looked around the store as he stood alone in the silence. It was a peaceful, eerie silence. Eerie because he'd been left solely responsible for someone else's livelihood. Someone's full trust rested on his shoulders. He was depended on, believed in, and counted on. He only wished he could feel these things about himself.
As he looked around, he could hear a pin drop. The feed store was large, with high ceilings and shiny, hardwood floors. Shelves lined the walls to the ceiling, filled with canned and jarred goods and general, basic household necessities. He remembered when he was a small boy, when his father would bring him and his brothers to the feed store every week for supplies for the farm. Back then it was nothing more than farming tools and animal feed, the only thing different Burt sold being the candies he would give the boys for free. Zac shook his head and smiled at the memory, wondering if Burt remembered Zac coming to see him as a child. Zac had always liked old Burt Anderson, just as the rest of Tulsa did.
In his ponytail and his apron, Zac didn't quite know what to do with himself, having a clean wardrobe at the store. He looked around one more time as he unlocked the front door and then he winced at the sound of the crash in the stock room as Taylor's voice rang out, "I'm okay!"
Zac scowled at the doorway, unconcerned with his brother's well-being and more worried about whatever merchandise he put his hands on. He shook his head again, hoping he could prove Burt wrong about Taylor. Unfortunately, Taylor wasn't quite starting off on the right foot.
When Burt said he couldn't pay his brothers if they helped in the store, Zac took it as an open invitation to enlist their help. He didn't let on, however, that he needed them for moral support. He merely lamented about the help he would need if someone needed an order loaded and he couldn't leave the front. Honestly, he didn't understand how Burt operated when he wasn't there.
Thankfully, Taylor didn't care about getting paid. He was just happy to have something to do. Zac was grateful for the help but prayed he wouldn't regret it. He hoped that the crash he'd heard in the stock room wasn't serious and that he hadn't broken anything. He wanted to show Burt that he could generate a profit, not put him in debt with damaged merchandise that couldn't be salvaged.
Walking toward the back and peering into the doorway, Zac witnessed Taylor straightening up and adjusting his cap on his head. His blue eyes danced as he smiled at his brother and placed his hands on his hips. "No big deal," he breathed. "I got everything under control."
Zac surveyed the room around him suspiciously. "What happened?"
"I was, uh, moving some of this, uh...flour..."
"It's meal," Zac corrected. "Cornmeal."
"Right. Cornmeal. That's what I meant."
"It's two different things."
"Why do you have cornmeal in a feed store?"
"Burt sells everything."
"Anyway, I was moving the cornmeal and knocked a couple of cans off the shelf. But I fixed it, no big deal."
"Did you dent them?"
"I don't think so."
"Because if you dent them, I have to discount them. We don't want to discount anything."
"Yeah. Got it. No sweat."
"Why were you moving the cornmeal? I just asked you to count it."
"To make room," Taylor said, looking around. "You can hardly move around in here. You should thank me, you know."
"I should?"
"Yeah."
Zac looked at his brother dead in his innocent eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "So you moved the cornmeal...over there?"
"Yeah."
"And...stacked it on top of the flour..."
Taylor shrugged. "Yeah, sure. If that's what that is."
"It is. In the same color sacks."
"Yeah. See, I'm helping you organize already."
"So...when I go to do inventory...or ask you to, which, you know, I did...and I go to count the cornmeal, or the flour, or both, they will be together. In sacks the same color. Which will, in turn, make it difficult for me to count. Which will, then, cause the orders to be wrong, the books will be off, and the profits will suffer. All because you wanted to make a little room."
Taylor's eyes widened and he blinked at Zac, his expression blank. "Uh..."
"All I asked you to do was count it."
Taylor's jaw dropped as if he were going to speak. Then he sputtered out, "Well--well, shouldn't you have done that last night?"
"I wasn't here last night. You know that."
"Oh. Right. You were out making it with your girlfriend."
"Watch your mouth," Zac threatened.
"You know, l don't understand why you're so weird about talking about that. It's natural, it's life. It is what it is."
"It's my girlfriend. And I really don't want to listen to you disrespect her. What we do is none of your business."
Taylor's eyes widened in objection. "I'm not disrespecting her!"
"Will you please put the cornmeal back where you found it and finish counting it? I think I just heard the bell on the door."
Taylor's eye glittered mischievously. "If it's a lonely, old housewife, send her my way."
Zac glared at him and shook his head. "You're such a whore."
Taylor raised his eyebrows and tipped his hat at his younger brother before he went back to the cornmeal sacks. Shaking his head, Zac left the stock room and walked to the front, witnessing the two older men who'd just walked through the door.
Plastering a smile on his face, Zac took his position behind the counter and greeted the two leisure suits as they removed their hats. "Morning, gentlemen. What can I do you for?"
The two middle-aged men looked at Zac in surprise for a moment before exchanging their own glances. "Um, where's Mr. Anderson?" One of them asked.
"Had to leave town on a family emergency. He'll be back next week."
"Is that so," the other one said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the store. "So, uh, he got you keeping the place for him?"
"Yes, sir."
"You know what you're doing?"
Zac felt his cheeks grow hot with anger. However, he fought with himself to remember where he was and remembered that Burt always told him that customer service was the key to any successful business--now matter how big of an asshole the customer was. So Zac swallowed his pride and kept the smile on his face. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't."
The men looked at each other again. "Well," one of them said. "If old Burt trusts you, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't. Whatcha got for me today?"
Zac's smile returned, genuine this time, appreciative of the sentiment. "What are you after?"
"The missus is after a specific jam that she says only Burt sells. I told her I could find it at the grocer just the same, but she insists on getting it from here. Says Mable Tucker makes it and Burt sells it for her."
Zac's grin widened. "Well your wife's a wise woman and Mable Tucker is as talented as your wife is wise. That's the best stuff we have on the shelves here. I know exactly what you're talking about."
The two men looked pleased as Zac felt as he came from behind the counter to retrieve the item the man was looking for. With this, Zac's nerves disappeared and was replaced by a sense of self he hadn't felt in quite awhile. His apprehensions and his fears seemed to melt away as he decided that overseeing the store might not be as bad as he feared. Just because a couple of people in Tulsa didn't care for him didn't mean that all of Tulsa was against him. This would be something he'd have to get used to.
Interrupting his thoughts as he rang up the jam for his customer, the other man said, "Well, if old Burt is out of town, I guess that means there won't be popcorn at the picture downtown tonight. That's a shame."
Zac's grin returned as he bagged up the jam and handed it across the counter. "Not to worry. I'm on that, too."
The two men smiled at each other. "Well, I'll be. Burt's got himself a regular apprentice, it seems."
"Sure, if you want to call it that."
"I like you," the man with the jam said. "I hope the old man keeps you around for awhile."
"You and me both," Zac agreed.
Zac smiled as the men left the store and he felt a sense of incredible accomplishment. He was excited and he was giddy and he just knew that this day was going to be a good one.
His joy was short-lived, however, when Taylor came out from the back, smelling strongly of camphor, with a perplexed look on his face. Zac's heart sank. "So, uh, what exactly is liniment?"
"Ointment," Zac stated dryly. "Antiseptic. Why?"
"Is it expensive to order?"
"What did you do?"
"Where do you keep your mop?"
And with that, Zac let out an exasperated sigh, collapsing his head into his hand. This was going to be a long week.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Thursday was a beautiful day. Much better than the day before. The birds sang, the sun was hot, the air was fresh and clean...and Judge Harlow's mouth watered at the scent of fresh sugar and vanilla that wafted from the house as he stepped out of his car.
Upon entering the house, he heard the hustle and bustle in the kitchen, delightfully hit with the scent, strong and sweet, as he removed his hat and jacket and made his way to the kitchen.
Both of his best gals were in aprons, busying themselves with more cookies than he'd ever seen in his life. They barely noticed his presence as Catherine took a batch from the oven and Bessie sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on another batch and put them right into the oven, neither woman ever missing a beat--or a cookie.
"Whoa!" Judge Harlow let out a loud chuckle as he walked into the kitchen that Thursday afternoon. "What in the world is going on in here? I could smell the goodies all the way from the road!"
Bessie's mother smiled and kissed her father hello and Bessie grinned happily at her father. "You can taste test if you like, but you can only have one. The rest is for the picture show tonight."
"The picture show?" The judge asked. "Downtown? You're having a bake sale at the picture show? I'll be...what's the occasion?"
Bessie beamed proudly. "Well. Mr. Anderson had to leave out of town to visit his sick brother in Oklahoma City. So he left Zac in charge of the store while he's gone."
The judge's face went from a smile to screwed up curiosity. "Zac? He left Zac in charge?"
"Why not? He's been working there long enough, he knows what to do. If Mr. Anderson didn't trust him, he wouldn't have left him in charge."
The judge nodded. "True. True..."
"Anyway, so Mr. Anderson said that if we wanted to, we could run the popcorn stand at the picture show tonight. He was supposed to teach us both to use the popcorn machine, but I think he only showed Zac because it rained yesterday and I couldn't go..."
"Popcorn machine?" The judge laughed. "Mr. Anderson trusts you with his popcorn machine?"
Bessie glared at her father, but she couldn't keep a straight face for long. "I won't eat it all..."
"I see your angle here," he teased. "Get everyone good and full on these delicious cookies of yours so you can keep all the popcorn for yourself."
"So?" Bessie joked innocently. "They're getting something out of it, too, aren't they?"
Catherine breezed by him with a smile and she stopped at the table to begin individually wrapping each cookie and setting them aside, her fingers nimbly wrapping each one with efficient quickness. "I'm so sorry about dinner, dear. We've been at this since early this morning, your daughter is just so relentless..."
The judge smiled at his wife. "I raised her well!"
"We'll just have to go out or have something pre-prepared..."
"Nonsense. I'll drive Bessie downtown with all these cookies and then I'll take my best gal for a night on the town. How's that sound?"
Bessie turned around from the oven and looked at the judge warily. "Um...drive me downtown?"
"Well, of course. You can't haul all of this yourself."
"Oh. Well...I have to go to the store and get Zac. He has the popcorn machine and the kernels and the trailer to haul it with..."
"Oh!" The judge said, making a dramatic display of covering his forehead with his palm. "Silly me, of course! I'll just follow you in the other car, then."
"Okay. I, um, I suppose we'll need the extra help..."
"Oh, Jim, stop," his wife waved him off as she continued to wrap. "Let our daughter have this time with her beau. A little entrepreneurship will be good for the both of them."
"I'm not trying to bother them. I'm simply...enriching their experience. By helping. And, anyway, you think you're really going to be able to haul a popcorn machine, all these cookies, kernels, and probably soda pops--along with a passenger--in one vehicle?"
"Mr. Anderson does it--"
"Mr. Anderson drives a truck. Not a family cruiser."
"Well...well I suppose you have a point," Bessie mused as she offered her father a cookie and then proceeded to help her mother. "Gee, imagine Zac's surprise when he sees you and me!"
The judge studied her curiously, allowing the sweet, sugary delight to melt on his tongue. "Zac doesn't know you're coming?"
"He doesn't know about the cookies."
"Bess...if you don't mind my asking, what's all this cookie business about, anyway?"
"I don't know, I just...I just decided selling cookies along with the popcorn would be a good idea."
"Sweetheart, I don't want to rain on your parade, but people come to these Thursday night showings because they're free. Because they don't have the money to spend otherwise. I'm sure everyone at the picture will appreciate your hard work tonight, but the truth is, Mr. Anderson doesn't run the popcorn stand to turn a profit--he does it because he wants to. Because he likes being involved in the community. He sells the popcorn for pennies because it's cheap and people can't pay much more than what they are--and I'm willing to bet that he doesn't even charge half his customers."
Bessie's face fell in guilt and his heart wanted to break, however he knew he was right and she needed to be informed. "Um...I didn't think about it that way. I was just so excited about helping Zac and Mr. Anderson that I didn't take everyone else into account. I suppose...I suppose I could donate the cookies. I mean, we can't eat them all..."
"That's my girl," he said gently, walking over to her and placing a kiss on her forehead. "I'm so proud of you. Those movie-goers are in for a real treat."
Her eyes lit up all of a sudden and she smiled up at him, his heart melting as he imagined her at five years old again. "If we have any left over, maybe you can take a plate to work with you tomorrow!"
"It would be my pleasure." Then he glanced at the clock on the wall. "We better get this show on the road if you want to make it in time to set up the stand before the picture. Come on, Cathy. We're gonna need all hands!"
Catherine raised her already flour-covered hands at him and shook her head with a smile. Shoving another cookie in his mouth, the judge started carrying plates out the door. It was the small moments like these when he found it especially rewarding to be a husband and father.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
"What time did you tell Ike to be here before he drove off?" Zac asked Taylor nonchalantly as he did his final register count for the day.
"I didn't," Taylor's nonchalant tone matched his brother's as he straightened the merchandise on a shelf next to him.
Zac closed his eyes and silently counted backward from ten. It had been all day with this. All the long, agonizing day. Zac loved his older brother. He and Taylor stuck together like glue most of their lives. But after today, Zac decided that Taylor was a natural, born illusionist. His life's work should be dedicated to tricky illusions and disappearing acts--like Harry Houdini's was. He was not cut out for small-town life. He was not cut out to stack flour sacks, count cans, or sweep dust off of floors. For someone as talented as Taylor was, as quick and nimble as his fingers were in a room full of mesmerized eyes, Zac wondered where those fingers were that day in a store that Zac had been trusted to take care of. Taylor's presence alone had cost the store several dollars in merchandise, with replacements not coming in for another week. If he knew Taylor hadn't meant well all day, Zac would have strangled him.
Finishing up with the paper and making sure the cash matched the arithmetic, Zac's nostrils flared but he kept his cool. "Why?"
"It's a nice day, I thought I'd walk home."
Calmly, he put the pencil down and he turned to face his brother. "Tay. You just helped me haul a very heavy popcorn machine onto a trailer. What did you think we were going to do with it?"
Taylor stopped what he was doing and stared at the shelf, seemingly in thought. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and faced Zac with a very deliberate expression. "I thought Bessie was picking you up."
Now it was Zac's turn to be dumbfounded. That made too much sense and now he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it himself.
But Taylor wasn't done. "You know what? I know what you're thinking. You've been thinking it all day, with your attitude and your tone--I'm not stupid. Just because some shop keep tossed you a set of keys and told you not to let his store get robbed doesn't give you the right to act like a pretentious asshole. Last time I checked, that sign out there still said Anderson's Feed and Seed. Not Hanson's."
Zac was dumbfounded. Where had this come from?
"I came here to help you out," Taylor continued. "Because you're my baby brother and I actually want to see you succeed. But I'm not going to stand here and be taken advantage of and watch you look down your nose at me. You're no better than me, you know. No better. And so I screwed up a few things. So what? It's hard to keep your brain from getting mixed up when someone's breathing down your neck and eyeballing your every move. You made me nervous, Zac. That's not a fun feeling."
Zac didn't realize his jaw had dropped until he closed his mouth. He had no idea Taylor felt this way--no idea at all. "Tay, I'm--"
"Don't apologize," he spat. "Just don't. It doesn't even matter. Because even with an apology, you're still going to go back to thinking that I'm some brainless fuck-up. It's how you perceive me, anyway, why stop now?"
With that, Taylor went back to straightening the shelves, leaving Zac with his own thoughts. Zac had always admired Taylor--he'd always looked up to him. Hell, he spent half his life wanting to be him. Did he not know that? Did he not realize that he and Isaac were his lifelines?
"Tay," Zac said gently. "I don't think any of that stuff about you."
"Yeah, right," he murmured.
"I don't. Honest. And I'm sorry if I've come across that way today, but I'm under a lot of pressure, here. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. That's my fault. But I've kind of been thrown into...into this situation...you know, like a fish out of water. I don't really know what to do with myself and I want this place to be in one piece when Burt comes back. If it makes you feel any better, if it had been Ike or anyone else in your place, I probably would have been the same way."
Taylor glanced at him in silence and moved on to a different shelf.
"Come on, Tay," Zac urged. "You're my brother. I don't think you're dumb and I don't think you're a fuck up. In all honesty, I...well, I spend a lot of time wishing I was you."
Taylor's expression softened as he glanced at his brother again. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. You taught me a lot, growing up. You still teach me a lot. And--and I really do appreciate you being here today. I don't know what I would have done in here by myself. We may be getting older now, but I still need you just like I always did."
Taylor kept his eyes on him for a moment before he smirked and went back to the shelf. "Stop trying to get all soft on me. I'm not in the mood for it."
Zac grinned with a nod and packed up the money, shoving it in the safe that was kept locked in the cabinet under the register. No sooner had he stood back up, the bell on the door rang and Bessie and Judge Harlow walked through it.
Zac's heart palpitated upon sight of Bessie, just like it always did, and a smile crept across his face. "Hey," he greeted them. "You're just in time, we just closed up."
She approached the counter and he couldn't take his eyes off of the baby blue day dress that she wore. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but having Taylor and her father in their midst rendered it impossible. "How was your day?" She asked, her smile aiming straight for his heart.
"Long. Busy. If all his Thursdays are like this, we're going to have to reevaluate my schedule." Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. "What's with the escort?"
A grin spread wide across her face as her cheeks blushed a little. "I made cookies."
"Cookies?"
"Oh," she blinked, the red in her face darkening. "I'm sorry. I mean Mama and I made cookies. For the picture show tonight. Lots of them, a whole kitchen full. I wanted to sell them with the popcorn and give Mr. Anderson the money, but Daddy mentioned that people might not be able to afford to buy both. So I'm going to give them out as free treats. There are so many, though, Daddy offered to help us carry them there."
Why? Why wasn't he ever allowed to sweep her off her feet whenever he felt the urge? Why couldn't he squeeze her and hold her and kiss that cookie scent right off of her body?
That cookie scent...on her body...damn it, her father was there.
"Zac," the judge finally spoke up, sliding his hands in his pockets and looking around. "So you're running the place."
"Yes, sir. Just temporarily. Burt will be back in a few days."
The judge nodded as he listened, turning around and inspecting the entire front room of the store. "Looks right."
"Well, we did a little reorganizing, but nothing major. Everything's still the same--"
"No, I mean you," the judge interrupted, his eyes finally meeting Zac's. "You look right in here. I can see buying feed from you week after week. Gotta say, I kind of like the idea."
Zac was struck speechless by the judge's confession. Did he mean that? Did the judge really believe he could be around that long? That he could run the place full time? "Uh, thank you, sir," he sputtered.
"Don't thank me," the judge said. "I've seen a lot of good things here since Mr. Anderson hired you. Even some good things in the old man, himself." Then he looked up at Taylor and smiled. "Taylor, it? Zac's older brother?"
As the judge crossed the floor and extended his hand to Taylor, Taylor shook it with a renewed confidence that made Zac envious of him. Taylor had always been such a people person, so classy, so smooth, so polite and professional. Taylor was the heart of their act--he always had been.
"You here to help out with the popcorn stand, too?" The judge asked him.
"No, sir," Taylor said, adjusting his cap. "I came to help Zac with the store today."
"Good. I'm sure he's kept you busy."
"Yes, sir."
"You going to the picture show tonight?"
Taylor smiled and shook his head. "No, sir. I don't really care much for talking pictures. Never really saw the appeal."
The judge nodded in thought as he rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "I see. I'd imagine you wouldn't. Well, I can give you a lift home, if you like. I'm helping these two carry cookies along downtown, it's on the way."
"Oh, please take a plate of them for yourself and Isaac!" Bessie exclaimed suddenly, not giving Taylor the opportunity to answer her father.
Taylor blushed as he shook his head. "That's not necessary..."
"Please take them. I've been baking them all day, since early this morning."
"You won't regret it," the judge smiled.
Taylor's eyes darted around at the three of them before he finally smiled and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Sure. Thanks."
"Come on, son," the judge said to Taylor. "It's time we start making our way, it's getting late."
Zac watched his brother and Bessie's father as they walked out of the store, completely in awe of the pleasant exchange that the judge had engaged both of the brothers in His heart was warm and his mood was light and he was still on cloud nine over the comment that he "looked right" in the store.
Bessie's mind apparently wasn't running that deep at the moment. She nearly clamored over the counter to get to him as she leaned her body over it, taking his face in her hands, and planting a whopper of a kiss on his lips. When she released him, she grinned at him, her eyes dancing with pure joy. "I thought they would never leave!" She exclaimed.
He smiled as he circled the counter and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her into his chest. "Mmm," he groaned. "I've waited all day for this. And you smell so good..."
She giggled as she looked up at him. "My hair will probably smell like cookies for days."
"I am completely okay with that." Then his expression softened and he pecked her lips once more. "I can't believe you did that," he said softly. "You're a remarkable woman."
"Well, Mama helped," she replied humbly. "I couldn't have done all that alone. Anyway, we should go, I'm so excited to do this tonight!"
With a smile, Zac followed his love out the door, locking it behind them.
The judge was already driving away with Taylor when Zac and Bessie made it out to her old car. He took a couple of minutes hitching the small trailer that carried the popcorn machine to it, making sure it was securely in place and wouldn't topple over. Getting inside, his stomach rumbled at the sweet smells of sugar and cinnamon that filled the small space coming off of the multiple plates of cookies that were stacked in the backseat. Before he had a chance to shut the door, Scout's large body came out of nowhere and barreled into the car, right into Zac's lap.
Bessie's eye widened in sheer horror. "Where did he come from? I thought I left him at home."
Zac looked at Bessie as she sat rigid behind the wheel. Scout ignored her and turned his smelly body around in Zac's lap, turning his attention contently on the open door, his tongue hanging happily from his mouth, ready for his adventure. As Zac took one more look at the mortification on his love's face, the corners of his mouth turned up in sweet, devious delight. Ah, there it was. Revenge. Glorious, canine revenge. Deliberately, Zac closed the door, shutting the large, brown beast in the car with them.
Bessie looked on in shock. "Zac!" She hissed. "We can not have the dog with us while we're handing out food! And people might be scared of him."
"You know what, Bess?" He replied with a satisfied smirk, making himself comfortable in the seat and resting his elbow on the inside of the car door. "This is us. This is our little family, this is what you wanted. And this is everything that goes with it."
She looked back at him, her mouth hanging open.
"Drive," he commanded.
Without another word, Bessie pressed the gas and headed down the road while Zac rolled down his window so that their large mutt's ears could flap in the wind.
***********
Zac might as well have not existed.
He had hoped that teaching Bessie how to operate the popcorn machine would be romantic and special. He hoped to see the magic in her eyes as he taught her the inner workings of one of the things she loved most on the earth. He looked forward to her beautiful smile, to her joy, and...well, he hoped she would be especially appreciative of him. He'd imagined this moment for several days now.
Except that nothing that went on was anything like his fantasies.
The crowds came fast and early in preparation for the picture show. Due to complications in setting up the popcorn machine, Bessie resulted to offering out her cookies until Zac could get the machine up and running. Thankfully, after turning a part around, and flipping another one the other direction, he was making popcorn and getting ready to get comfortable with Bessie as they served it up.
Except that Bessie didn't have a boyfriend anymore--at least not for the first hour or so.
Zac tried not to let it get to him. It was true, they had a job to do, in Burt Anderson's name, and nether one of them wanted to disappoint him. Admittedly, he enjoyed watching her give her cookies away. She was sweet to the children, even sweeter to the elderly, and made animated conversation with everyone else in between. Her smile never wavered and he found himself mesmerized by her, stars in his eyes, as she talked in great length about cookie ingredients with a small group of middle-aged women.
As he watched her, his chest filled with emotion. This could be his life. This could be the two of them, every Thursday night, husband and wife, running a concession stand, the dog at his feet, the wife swapping recipes. They would do this after he had a long, busy day at the feed store, not caring about his aching feet and back because he would spend the day wanting nothing more than to be right there at that popcorn stand with her. The picture would end, they'd pack up and go home, and then he would make sweet love to her in the darkness of their quiet bedroom, in the house that he'd built for her, long forgetting about the aches and pains that came out of his workday.
Zac had lost himself in imagining how the sun would reflect off of her wedding ring as they sat under their tree when a child's voice brought him back to attention. "Sir? Hey, mister! Your popcorn's overflowing. Can I have extra?"
He stared at the small boy's eyes for a moment before his situation registered with him and he realized he'd let the machine run too long. "Bessie," he hissed frantically. "Get over here, hurry!"
This was their night. Cookies, popcorn, soda pop, and townsfolk. Bessie didn't even get to enjoy the picture, but she didn't seem to mind. By the end of the night, she had more energy than ever. "Oh, Zac, this was so much fun! I'm going to bake cookies every single Thursday--ooh, Mrs. Farnsworth gave me the best idea..."
Zac could only remove his cap and run his hand over his hair. Personally, he would do just fine never seeing another cookie or bag of popcorn for as long as he lived.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Joey Martin spent more time away from home than being home. In fact, he spent a lot of time alone. Most times, alone was the only way he got any peace. He was different. He knew he was different. His parents knew he was different. And it wasn't just because of his tall, thin frame or his pale skin or his red hair. It had more to do with the fact that he'd gone through high school never attending a prom or a dance or a party--because he couldn't find a suitable date.
But what he considered suitable and what the rest of society considered suitable were two completely different things. His father never acknowledged it, but always made sure to make plenty of backhanded comments about the things God considered shameful and sinful. And his mother only shook her head at him. He swore sometimes the only people who kept him above ground were Bessie Harlow and Millie Jennings--and they were both about to disappear off to college.
Where was Joey going? Straight into the family business--carpentry.
Joey hated carpentry. His father always said building a sturdy piece of furniture put hair on your chest. Joey never cared much about that. Nobody was going to be seeing his chest, anyway.
He wanted to paint. And sculpt. That was how he met Bessie--by sitting next to her in art class at school. She was a class below him and a brilliant sketch artist. The pair became fast friends and soon discovered they were neighbors, the farms they lived on adjacent to each other's.
But he just couldn't find it in himself to be physically attracted to her. She was definitely pretty, he could recognize that. But that was a far as it went. And she and her cousin, Millie, were the only ones who knew why.
Joey was lonely. He'd been lonely for a very long time. He learned about himself when his father hired a young farmhand several years ago. He was the only one who understood Joey's unique feelings, and taught him that it was okay to feel them. Sure, God frowned upon it--but a lot of good, Christian people did a lot of things that God frowned upon, too, some of them much worse than his own sin. So why did that make it okay for them to repeatedly sin, but it wasn't okay for him to be his natural self? If God didn't want him to be the way he was, why did he make him that way?
Joey stopped going to church after the farmhand was let go.
Tonight, he had gotten into a fight with his father. Their fights were always the same. His father called him "a sissy for wanting to draw flowers." Joey argued that it wasn't about drawing flowers and there was nothing sissy about creating art. "One of these days, the good lord above is going to damn you straight to hell!" His father had exclaimed. His mother had only shaken her head like she always did.
Joey had left the house and now he was walking. It was dark outside, nearly pitch, but he didn't care. He wanted to go to Bessie's house, but she was downtown at the picture show with Zac Hanson, running Burt Anderson's popcorn stand. He should have gone there, but he didn't want to interrupt her time with her beau. He also didn't want her asking him any questions because he knew she would pick up on his mood immediately.
So instead, he walked. His hands shoved in his pockets, his brain running a mile a minute, fantasizing about what it would be like if he actually found the means to leave town and make a new life somewhere else, with people who might not look down their noses at him and judge him so quickly. Maybe he could go to Las Vegas. Or Hollywood! Maybe along the way, he would meet a beautiful man who looked like an angel and could take him away from this small-town hellhole that was Tulsa, Oklahoma.
His fantasies were interrupted as he walked along the dirt road in front of Anderson's Feed and Seed. He heard the voices before he saw their silhouettes, but he recognized them immediately. He didn't realize how close he was to them until he smelled the cigarette smoke and heard the liquid swish around in the bottle that one of them drank out of. For fear of being caught, Joey quickly slipped across the street and behind a tree, much too curious to walk away. What were they doing here, anyway?
"You sure this is the way to go?" The blonde one asked. Joey knew he was blonde--he knew exactly who he was.
"I'm running out of options," the other one spat, inhaling and exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. "And I don't hear any of you boneheads coming up with anything better."
"I don't know, I think--I think it's best that we lay low for awhile. I'm still getting looks from people--"
"If you do it right this time, nobody will know. No, it has to be now, while the old man's out of town. It's the only chance we have."
"Billy, I--I'm not trying to go soft on you, but I just--I just don't understand what this is gonna accomplish--"
"Are you really that dense? That gypsy's running the place right now. And then what's gonna happen next? Someone like old Anderson goes trusting him, there's no telling what other people will start to think. Before we know it, those damn Hansons will be running the whole god damned town--"
"I thought you only had a problem with Zac?"
"They're all one in the same."
"So, what, we make it look like a robbery--?"
"Burn it down," Billy Connors said, menacingly.
"Billy, no. No, man, I'm sorry. Zac Hanson done you wrong and I'm not too happy about getting caught with him at the picture show, but I am not gonna commit arson for that guy. And I won't encourage the boys to do it, either. That's too much, even for me."
Billy flicked his cigarette down on the ground and smeared it out with the toe of his shoe. "Do whatever you want, then. I don't care. If anything devastating happens to that store while he's running it, he'll be ruined. Nobody'll trust him after that, not even his own girl--maybe even accuse him of an inside job, trying to steal Anderson's money or something. Give them enough to speculate about. Make it look convincing."
"Well...o-okay. When should I get them together?"
"Before the old man comes back. Now, get out of here, we'll talk tomorrow."
Quickly, the two young men parted ways and Joey's eyes were wide, his jaw open. His body trembled, though there was no chill in the air. He had to find Bessie and Zac. He had to warn them. But, then...if it got out that he'd overheard, Joey would for sure end up in worse shape than Zac did when the ball team had gotten ahold of him.
Nervously, he looked around, not sure which direction to go in, as both the talkers had gone in opposite directions. He chose to take the path Lawrence Baker had gone in. He was less afraid of him than he was Billy Connors. Now, as he took this new path home, new worries troubled his mind. Did he warn his best friend's beau? Or did he risk more public humiliation than he was already so used to experiencing?
Oh, how he'd wished he'd gotten a time frame out of them...
Zac looked around the store as he stood alone in the silence. It was a peaceful, eerie silence. Eerie because he'd been left solely responsible for someone else's livelihood. Someone's full trust rested on his shoulders. He was depended on, believed in, and counted on. He only wished he could feel these things about himself.
As he looked around, he could hear a pin drop. The feed store was large, with high ceilings and shiny, hardwood floors. Shelves lined the walls to the ceiling, filled with canned and jarred goods and general, basic household necessities. He remembered when he was a small boy, when his father would bring him and his brothers to the feed store every week for supplies for the farm. Back then it was nothing more than farming tools and animal feed, the only thing different Burt sold being the candies he would give the boys for free. Zac shook his head and smiled at the memory, wondering if Burt remembered Zac coming to see him as a child. Zac had always liked old Burt Anderson, just as the rest of Tulsa did.
In his ponytail and his apron, Zac didn't quite know what to do with himself, having a clean wardrobe at the store. He looked around one more time as he unlocked the front door and then he winced at the sound of the crash in the stock room as Taylor's voice rang out, "I'm okay!"
Zac scowled at the doorway, unconcerned with his brother's well-being and more worried about whatever merchandise he put his hands on. He shook his head again, hoping he could prove Burt wrong about Taylor. Unfortunately, Taylor wasn't quite starting off on the right foot.
When Burt said he couldn't pay his brothers if they helped in the store, Zac took it as an open invitation to enlist their help. He didn't let on, however, that he needed them for moral support. He merely lamented about the help he would need if someone needed an order loaded and he couldn't leave the front. Honestly, he didn't understand how Burt operated when he wasn't there.
Thankfully, Taylor didn't care about getting paid. He was just happy to have something to do. Zac was grateful for the help but prayed he wouldn't regret it. He hoped that the crash he'd heard in the stock room wasn't serious and that he hadn't broken anything. He wanted to show Burt that he could generate a profit, not put him in debt with damaged merchandise that couldn't be salvaged.
Walking toward the back and peering into the doorway, Zac witnessed Taylor straightening up and adjusting his cap on his head. His blue eyes danced as he smiled at his brother and placed his hands on his hips. "No big deal," he breathed. "I got everything under control."
Zac surveyed the room around him suspiciously. "What happened?"
"I was, uh, moving some of this, uh...flour..."
"It's meal," Zac corrected. "Cornmeal."
"Right. Cornmeal. That's what I meant."
"It's two different things."
"Why do you have cornmeal in a feed store?"
"Burt sells everything."
"Anyway, I was moving the cornmeal and knocked a couple of cans off the shelf. But I fixed it, no big deal."
"Did you dent them?"
"I don't think so."
"Because if you dent them, I have to discount them. We don't want to discount anything."
"Yeah. Got it. No sweat."
"Why were you moving the cornmeal? I just asked you to count it."
"To make room," Taylor said, looking around. "You can hardly move around in here. You should thank me, you know."
"I should?"
"Yeah."
Zac looked at his brother dead in his innocent eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "So you moved the cornmeal...over there?"
"Yeah."
"And...stacked it on top of the flour..."
Taylor shrugged. "Yeah, sure. If that's what that is."
"It is. In the same color sacks."
"Yeah. See, I'm helping you organize already."
"So...when I go to do inventory...or ask you to, which, you know, I did...and I go to count the cornmeal, or the flour, or both, they will be together. In sacks the same color. Which will, in turn, make it difficult for me to count. Which will, then, cause the orders to be wrong, the books will be off, and the profits will suffer. All because you wanted to make a little room."
Taylor's eyes widened and he blinked at Zac, his expression blank. "Uh..."
"All I asked you to do was count it."
Taylor's jaw dropped as if he were going to speak. Then he sputtered out, "Well--well, shouldn't you have done that last night?"
"I wasn't here last night. You know that."
"Oh. Right. You were out making it with your girlfriend."
"Watch your mouth," Zac threatened.
"You know, l don't understand why you're so weird about talking about that. It's natural, it's life. It is what it is."
"It's my girlfriend. And I really don't want to listen to you disrespect her. What we do is none of your business."
Taylor's eyes widened in objection. "I'm not disrespecting her!"
"Will you please put the cornmeal back where you found it and finish counting it? I think I just heard the bell on the door."
Taylor's eye glittered mischievously. "If it's a lonely, old housewife, send her my way."
Zac glared at him and shook his head. "You're such a whore."
Taylor raised his eyebrows and tipped his hat at his younger brother before he went back to the cornmeal sacks. Shaking his head, Zac left the stock room and walked to the front, witnessing the two older men who'd just walked through the door.
Plastering a smile on his face, Zac took his position behind the counter and greeted the two leisure suits as they removed their hats. "Morning, gentlemen. What can I do you for?"
The two middle-aged men looked at Zac in surprise for a moment before exchanging their own glances. "Um, where's Mr. Anderson?" One of them asked.
"Had to leave town on a family emergency. He'll be back next week."
"Is that so," the other one said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the store. "So, uh, he got you keeping the place for him?"
"Yes, sir."
"You know what you're doing?"
Zac felt his cheeks grow hot with anger. However, he fought with himself to remember where he was and remembered that Burt always told him that customer service was the key to any successful business--now matter how big of an asshole the customer was. So Zac swallowed his pride and kept the smile on his face. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't."
The men looked at each other again. "Well," one of them said. "If old Burt trusts you, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't. Whatcha got for me today?"
Zac's smile returned, genuine this time, appreciative of the sentiment. "What are you after?"
"The missus is after a specific jam that she says only Burt sells. I told her I could find it at the grocer just the same, but she insists on getting it from here. Says Mable Tucker makes it and Burt sells it for her."
Zac's grin widened. "Well your wife's a wise woman and Mable Tucker is as talented as your wife is wise. That's the best stuff we have on the shelves here. I know exactly what you're talking about."
The two men looked pleased as Zac felt as he came from behind the counter to retrieve the item the man was looking for. With this, Zac's nerves disappeared and was replaced by a sense of self he hadn't felt in quite awhile. His apprehensions and his fears seemed to melt away as he decided that overseeing the store might not be as bad as he feared. Just because a couple of people in Tulsa didn't care for him didn't mean that all of Tulsa was against him. This would be something he'd have to get used to.
Interrupting his thoughts as he rang up the jam for his customer, the other man said, "Well, if old Burt is out of town, I guess that means there won't be popcorn at the picture downtown tonight. That's a shame."
Zac's grin returned as he bagged up the jam and handed it across the counter. "Not to worry. I'm on that, too."
The two men smiled at each other. "Well, I'll be. Burt's got himself a regular apprentice, it seems."
"Sure, if you want to call it that."
"I like you," the man with the jam said. "I hope the old man keeps you around for awhile."
"You and me both," Zac agreed.
Zac smiled as the men left the store and he felt a sense of incredible accomplishment. He was excited and he was giddy and he just knew that this day was going to be a good one.
His joy was short-lived, however, when Taylor came out from the back, smelling strongly of camphor, with a perplexed look on his face. Zac's heart sank. "So, uh, what exactly is liniment?"
"Ointment," Zac stated dryly. "Antiseptic. Why?"
"Is it expensive to order?"
"What did you do?"
"Where do you keep your mop?"
And with that, Zac let out an exasperated sigh, collapsing his head into his hand. This was going to be a long week.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Thursday was a beautiful day. Much better than the day before. The birds sang, the sun was hot, the air was fresh and clean...and Judge Harlow's mouth watered at the scent of fresh sugar and vanilla that wafted from the house as he stepped out of his car.
Upon entering the house, he heard the hustle and bustle in the kitchen, delightfully hit with the scent, strong and sweet, as he removed his hat and jacket and made his way to the kitchen.
Both of his best gals were in aprons, busying themselves with more cookies than he'd ever seen in his life. They barely noticed his presence as Catherine took a batch from the oven and Bessie sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on another batch and put them right into the oven, neither woman ever missing a beat--or a cookie.
"Whoa!" Judge Harlow let out a loud chuckle as he walked into the kitchen that Thursday afternoon. "What in the world is going on in here? I could smell the goodies all the way from the road!"
Bessie's mother smiled and kissed her father hello and Bessie grinned happily at her father. "You can taste test if you like, but you can only have one. The rest is for the picture show tonight."
"The picture show?" The judge asked. "Downtown? You're having a bake sale at the picture show? I'll be...what's the occasion?"
Bessie beamed proudly. "Well. Mr. Anderson had to leave out of town to visit his sick brother in Oklahoma City. So he left Zac in charge of the store while he's gone."
The judge's face went from a smile to screwed up curiosity. "Zac? He left Zac in charge?"
"Why not? He's been working there long enough, he knows what to do. If Mr. Anderson didn't trust him, he wouldn't have left him in charge."
The judge nodded. "True. True..."
"Anyway, so Mr. Anderson said that if we wanted to, we could run the popcorn stand at the picture show tonight. He was supposed to teach us both to use the popcorn machine, but I think he only showed Zac because it rained yesterday and I couldn't go..."
"Popcorn machine?" The judge laughed. "Mr. Anderson trusts you with his popcorn machine?"
Bessie glared at her father, but she couldn't keep a straight face for long. "I won't eat it all..."
"I see your angle here," he teased. "Get everyone good and full on these delicious cookies of yours so you can keep all the popcorn for yourself."
"So?" Bessie joked innocently. "They're getting something out of it, too, aren't they?"
Catherine breezed by him with a smile and she stopped at the table to begin individually wrapping each cookie and setting them aside, her fingers nimbly wrapping each one with efficient quickness. "I'm so sorry about dinner, dear. We've been at this since early this morning, your daughter is just so relentless..."
The judge smiled at his wife. "I raised her well!"
"We'll just have to go out or have something pre-prepared..."
"Nonsense. I'll drive Bessie downtown with all these cookies and then I'll take my best gal for a night on the town. How's that sound?"
Bessie turned around from the oven and looked at the judge warily. "Um...drive me downtown?"
"Well, of course. You can't haul all of this yourself."
"Oh. Well...I have to go to the store and get Zac. He has the popcorn machine and the kernels and the trailer to haul it with..."
"Oh!" The judge said, making a dramatic display of covering his forehead with his palm. "Silly me, of course! I'll just follow you in the other car, then."
"Okay. I, um, I suppose we'll need the extra help..."
"Oh, Jim, stop," his wife waved him off as she continued to wrap. "Let our daughter have this time with her beau. A little entrepreneurship will be good for the both of them."
"I'm not trying to bother them. I'm simply...enriching their experience. By helping. And, anyway, you think you're really going to be able to haul a popcorn machine, all these cookies, kernels, and probably soda pops--along with a passenger--in one vehicle?"
"Mr. Anderson does it--"
"Mr. Anderson drives a truck. Not a family cruiser."
"Well...well I suppose you have a point," Bessie mused as she offered her father a cookie and then proceeded to help her mother. "Gee, imagine Zac's surprise when he sees you and me!"
The judge studied her curiously, allowing the sweet, sugary delight to melt on his tongue. "Zac doesn't know you're coming?"
"He doesn't know about the cookies."
"Bess...if you don't mind my asking, what's all this cookie business about, anyway?"
"I don't know, I just...I just decided selling cookies along with the popcorn would be a good idea."
"Sweetheart, I don't want to rain on your parade, but people come to these Thursday night showings because they're free. Because they don't have the money to spend otherwise. I'm sure everyone at the picture will appreciate your hard work tonight, but the truth is, Mr. Anderson doesn't run the popcorn stand to turn a profit--he does it because he wants to. Because he likes being involved in the community. He sells the popcorn for pennies because it's cheap and people can't pay much more than what they are--and I'm willing to bet that he doesn't even charge half his customers."
Bessie's face fell in guilt and his heart wanted to break, however he knew he was right and she needed to be informed. "Um...I didn't think about it that way. I was just so excited about helping Zac and Mr. Anderson that I didn't take everyone else into account. I suppose...I suppose I could donate the cookies. I mean, we can't eat them all..."
"That's my girl," he said gently, walking over to her and placing a kiss on her forehead. "I'm so proud of you. Those movie-goers are in for a real treat."
Her eyes lit up all of a sudden and she smiled up at him, his heart melting as he imagined her at five years old again. "If we have any left over, maybe you can take a plate to work with you tomorrow!"
"It would be my pleasure." Then he glanced at the clock on the wall. "We better get this show on the road if you want to make it in time to set up the stand before the picture. Come on, Cathy. We're gonna need all hands!"
Catherine raised her already flour-covered hands at him and shook her head with a smile. Shoving another cookie in his mouth, the judge started carrying plates out the door. It was the small moments like these when he found it especially rewarding to be a husband and father.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
"What time did you tell Ike to be here before he drove off?" Zac asked Taylor nonchalantly as he did his final register count for the day.
"I didn't," Taylor's nonchalant tone matched his brother's as he straightened the merchandise on a shelf next to him.
Zac closed his eyes and silently counted backward from ten. It had been all day with this. All the long, agonizing day. Zac loved his older brother. He and Taylor stuck together like glue most of their lives. But after today, Zac decided that Taylor was a natural, born illusionist. His life's work should be dedicated to tricky illusions and disappearing acts--like Harry Houdini's was. He was not cut out for small-town life. He was not cut out to stack flour sacks, count cans, or sweep dust off of floors. For someone as talented as Taylor was, as quick and nimble as his fingers were in a room full of mesmerized eyes, Zac wondered where those fingers were that day in a store that Zac had been trusted to take care of. Taylor's presence alone had cost the store several dollars in merchandise, with replacements not coming in for another week. If he knew Taylor hadn't meant well all day, Zac would have strangled him.
Finishing up with the paper and making sure the cash matched the arithmetic, Zac's nostrils flared but he kept his cool. "Why?"
"It's a nice day, I thought I'd walk home."
Calmly, he put the pencil down and he turned to face his brother. "Tay. You just helped me haul a very heavy popcorn machine onto a trailer. What did you think we were going to do with it?"
Taylor stopped what he was doing and stared at the shelf, seemingly in thought. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and faced Zac with a very deliberate expression. "I thought Bessie was picking you up."
Now it was Zac's turn to be dumbfounded. That made too much sense and now he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it himself.
But Taylor wasn't done. "You know what? I know what you're thinking. You've been thinking it all day, with your attitude and your tone--I'm not stupid. Just because some shop keep tossed you a set of keys and told you not to let his store get robbed doesn't give you the right to act like a pretentious asshole. Last time I checked, that sign out there still said Anderson's Feed and Seed. Not Hanson's."
Zac was dumbfounded. Where had this come from?
"I came here to help you out," Taylor continued. "Because you're my baby brother and I actually want to see you succeed. But I'm not going to stand here and be taken advantage of and watch you look down your nose at me. You're no better than me, you know. No better. And so I screwed up a few things. So what? It's hard to keep your brain from getting mixed up when someone's breathing down your neck and eyeballing your every move. You made me nervous, Zac. That's not a fun feeling."
Zac didn't realize his jaw had dropped until he closed his mouth. He had no idea Taylor felt this way--no idea at all. "Tay, I'm--"
"Don't apologize," he spat. "Just don't. It doesn't even matter. Because even with an apology, you're still going to go back to thinking that I'm some brainless fuck-up. It's how you perceive me, anyway, why stop now?"
With that, Taylor went back to straightening the shelves, leaving Zac with his own thoughts. Zac had always admired Taylor--he'd always looked up to him. Hell, he spent half his life wanting to be him. Did he not know that? Did he not realize that he and Isaac were his lifelines?
"Tay," Zac said gently. "I don't think any of that stuff about you."
"Yeah, right," he murmured.
"I don't. Honest. And I'm sorry if I've come across that way today, but I'm under a lot of pressure, here. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. That's my fault. But I've kind of been thrown into...into this situation...you know, like a fish out of water. I don't really know what to do with myself and I want this place to be in one piece when Burt comes back. If it makes you feel any better, if it had been Ike or anyone else in your place, I probably would have been the same way."
Taylor glanced at him in silence and moved on to a different shelf.
"Come on, Tay," Zac urged. "You're my brother. I don't think you're dumb and I don't think you're a fuck up. In all honesty, I...well, I spend a lot of time wishing I was you."
Taylor's expression softened as he glanced at his brother again. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. You taught me a lot, growing up. You still teach me a lot. And--and I really do appreciate you being here today. I don't know what I would have done in here by myself. We may be getting older now, but I still need you just like I always did."
Taylor kept his eyes on him for a moment before he smirked and went back to the shelf. "Stop trying to get all soft on me. I'm not in the mood for it."
Zac grinned with a nod and packed up the money, shoving it in the safe that was kept locked in the cabinet under the register. No sooner had he stood back up, the bell on the door rang and Bessie and Judge Harlow walked through it.
Zac's heart palpitated upon sight of Bessie, just like it always did, and a smile crept across his face. "Hey," he greeted them. "You're just in time, we just closed up."
She approached the counter and he couldn't take his eyes off of the baby blue day dress that she wore. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but having Taylor and her father in their midst rendered it impossible. "How was your day?" She asked, her smile aiming straight for his heart.
"Long. Busy. If all his Thursdays are like this, we're going to have to reevaluate my schedule." Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. "What's with the escort?"
A grin spread wide across her face as her cheeks blushed a little. "I made cookies."
"Cookies?"
"Oh," she blinked, the red in her face darkening. "I'm sorry. I mean Mama and I made cookies. For the picture show tonight. Lots of them, a whole kitchen full. I wanted to sell them with the popcorn and give Mr. Anderson the money, but Daddy mentioned that people might not be able to afford to buy both. So I'm going to give them out as free treats. There are so many, though, Daddy offered to help us carry them there."
Why? Why wasn't he ever allowed to sweep her off her feet whenever he felt the urge? Why couldn't he squeeze her and hold her and kiss that cookie scent right off of her body?
That cookie scent...on her body...damn it, her father was there.
"Zac," the judge finally spoke up, sliding his hands in his pockets and looking around. "So you're running the place."
"Yes, sir. Just temporarily. Burt will be back in a few days."
The judge nodded as he listened, turning around and inspecting the entire front room of the store. "Looks right."
"Well, we did a little reorganizing, but nothing major. Everything's still the same--"
"No, I mean you," the judge interrupted, his eyes finally meeting Zac's. "You look right in here. I can see buying feed from you week after week. Gotta say, I kind of like the idea."
Zac was struck speechless by the judge's confession. Did he mean that? Did the judge really believe he could be around that long? That he could run the place full time? "Uh, thank you, sir," he sputtered.
"Don't thank me," the judge said. "I've seen a lot of good things here since Mr. Anderson hired you. Even some good things in the old man, himself." Then he looked up at Taylor and smiled. "Taylor, it? Zac's older brother?"
As the judge crossed the floor and extended his hand to Taylor, Taylor shook it with a renewed confidence that made Zac envious of him. Taylor had always been such a people person, so classy, so smooth, so polite and professional. Taylor was the heart of their act--he always had been.
"You here to help out with the popcorn stand, too?" The judge asked him.
"No, sir," Taylor said, adjusting his cap. "I came to help Zac with the store today."
"Good. I'm sure he's kept you busy."
"Yes, sir."
"You going to the picture show tonight?"
Taylor smiled and shook his head. "No, sir. I don't really care much for talking pictures. Never really saw the appeal."
The judge nodded in thought as he rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "I see. I'd imagine you wouldn't. Well, I can give you a lift home, if you like. I'm helping these two carry cookies along downtown, it's on the way."
"Oh, please take a plate of them for yourself and Isaac!" Bessie exclaimed suddenly, not giving Taylor the opportunity to answer her father.
Taylor blushed as he shook his head. "That's not necessary..."
"Please take them. I've been baking them all day, since early this morning."
"You won't regret it," the judge smiled.
Taylor's eyes darted around at the three of them before he finally smiled and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Sure. Thanks."
"Come on, son," the judge said to Taylor. "It's time we start making our way, it's getting late."
Zac watched his brother and Bessie's father as they walked out of the store, completely in awe of the pleasant exchange that the judge had engaged both of the brothers in His heart was warm and his mood was light and he was still on cloud nine over the comment that he "looked right" in the store.
Bessie's mind apparently wasn't running that deep at the moment. She nearly clamored over the counter to get to him as she leaned her body over it, taking his face in her hands, and planting a whopper of a kiss on his lips. When she released him, she grinned at him, her eyes dancing with pure joy. "I thought they would never leave!" She exclaimed.
He smiled as he circled the counter and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her into his chest. "Mmm," he groaned. "I've waited all day for this. And you smell so good..."
She giggled as she looked up at him. "My hair will probably smell like cookies for days."
"I am completely okay with that." Then his expression softened and he pecked her lips once more. "I can't believe you did that," he said softly. "You're a remarkable woman."
"Well, Mama helped," she replied humbly. "I couldn't have done all that alone. Anyway, we should go, I'm so excited to do this tonight!"
With a smile, Zac followed his love out the door, locking it behind them.
The judge was already driving away with Taylor when Zac and Bessie made it out to her old car. He took a couple of minutes hitching the small trailer that carried the popcorn machine to it, making sure it was securely in place and wouldn't topple over. Getting inside, his stomach rumbled at the sweet smells of sugar and cinnamon that filled the small space coming off of the multiple plates of cookies that were stacked in the backseat. Before he had a chance to shut the door, Scout's large body came out of nowhere and barreled into the car, right into Zac's lap.
Bessie's eye widened in sheer horror. "Where did he come from? I thought I left him at home."
Zac looked at Bessie as she sat rigid behind the wheel. Scout ignored her and turned his smelly body around in Zac's lap, turning his attention contently on the open door, his tongue hanging happily from his mouth, ready for his adventure. As Zac took one more look at the mortification on his love's face, the corners of his mouth turned up in sweet, devious delight. Ah, there it was. Revenge. Glorious, canine revenge. Deliberately, Zac closed the door, shutting the large, brown beast in the car with them.
Bessie looked on in shock. "Zac!" She hissed. "We can not have the dog with us while we're handing out food! And people might be scared of him."
"You know what, Bess?" He replied with a satisfied smirk, making himself comfortable in the seat and resting his elbow on the inside of the car door. "This is us. This is our little family, this is what you wanted. And this is everything that goes with it."
She looked back at him, her mouth hanging open.
"Drive," he commanded.
Without another word, Bessie pressed the gas and headed down the road while Zac rolled down his window so that their large mutt's ears could flap in the wind.
***********
Zac might as well have not existed.
He had hoped that teaching Bessie how to operate the popcorn machine would be romantic and special. He hoped to see the magic in her eyes as he taught her the inner workings of one of the things she loved most on the earth. He looked forward to her beautiful smile, to her joy, and...well, he hoped she would be especially appreciative of him. He'd imagined this moment for several days now.
Except that nothing that went on was anything like his fantasies.
The crowds came fast and early in preparation for the picture show. Due to complications in setting up the popcorn machine, Bessie resulted to offering out her cookies until Zac could get the machine up and running. Thankfully, after turning a part around, and flipping another one the other direction, he was making popcorn and getting ready to get comfortable with Bessie as they served it up.
Except that Bessie didn't have a boyfriend anymore--at least not for the first hour or so.
Zac tried not to let it get to him. It was true, they had a job to do, in Burt Anderson's name, and nether one of them wanted to disappoint him. Admittedly, he enjoyed watching her give her cookies away. She was sweet to the children, even sweeter to the elderly, and made animated conversation with everyone else in between. Her smile never wavered and he found himself mesmerized by her, stars in his eyes, as she talked in great length about cookie ingredients with a small group of middle-aged women.
As he watched her, his chest filled with emotion. This could be his life. This could be the two of them, every Thursday night, husband and wife, running a concession stand, the dog at his feet, the wife swapping recipes. They would do this after he had a long, busy day at the feed store, not caring about his aching feet and back because he would spend the day wanting nothing more than to be right there at that popcorn stand with her. The picture would end, they'd pack up and go home, and then he would make sweet love to her in the darkness of their quiet bedroom, in the house that he'd built for her, long forgetting about the aches and pains that came out of his workday.
Zac had lost himself in imagining how the sun would reflect off of her wedding ring as they sat under their tree when a child's voice brought him back to attention. "Sir? Hey, mister! Your popcorn's overflowing. Can I have extra?"
He stared at the small boy's eyes for a moment before his situation registered with him and he realized he'd let the machine run too long. "Bessie," he hissed frantically. "Get over here, hurry!"
This was their night. Cookies, popcorn, soda pop, and townsfolk. Bessie didn't even get to enjoy the picture, but she didn't seem to mind. By the end of the night, she had more energy than ever. "Oh, Zac, this was so much fun! I'm going to bake cookies every single Thursday--ooh, Mrs. Farnsworth gave me the best idea..."
Zac could only remove his cap and run his hand over his hair. Personally, he would do just fine never seeing another cookie or bag of popcorn for as long as he lived.
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Joey Martin spent more time away from home than being home. In fact, he spent a lot of time alone. Most times, alone was the only way he got any peace. He was different. He knew he was different. His parents knew he was different. And it wasn't just because of his tall, thin frame or his pale skin or his red hair. It had more to do with the fact that he'd gone through high school never attending a prom or a dance or a party--because he couldn't find a suitable date.
But what he considered suitable and what the rest of society considered suitable were two completely different things. His father never acknowledged it, but always made sure to make plenty of backhanded comments about the things God considered shameful and sinful. And his mother only shook her head at him. He swore sometimes the only people who kept him above ground were Bessie Harlow and Millie Jennings--and they were both about to disappear off to college.
Where was Joey going? Straight into the family business--carpentry.
Joey hated carpentry. His father always said building a sturdy piece of furniture put hair on your chest. Joey never cared much about that. Nobody was going to be seeing his chest, anyway.
He wanted to paint. And sculpt. That was how he met Bessie--by sitting next to her in art class at school. She was a class below him and a brilliant sketch artist. The pair became fast friends and soon discovered they were neighbors, the farms they lived on adjacent to each other's.
But he just couldn't find it in himself to be physically attracted to her. She was definitely pretty, he could recognize that. But that was a far as it went. And she and her cousin, Millie, were the only ones who knew why.
Joey was lonely. He'd been lonely for a very long time. He learned about himself when his father hired a young farmhand several years ago. He was the only one who understood Joey's unique feelings, and taught him that it was okay to feel them. Sure, God frowned upon it--but a lot of good, Christian people did a lot of things that God frowned upon, too, some of them much worse than his own sin. So why did that make it okay for them to repeatedly sin, but it wasn't okay for him to be his natural self? If God didn't want him to be the way he was, why did he make him that way?
Joey stopped going to church after the farmhand was let go.
Tonight, he had gotten into a fight with his father. Their fights were always the same. His father called him "a sissy for wanting to draw flowers." Joey argued that it wasn't about drawing flowers and there was nothing sissy about creating art. "One of these days, the good lord above is going to damn you straight to hell!" His father had exclaimed. His mother had only shaken her head like she always did.
Joey had left the house and now he was walking. It was dark outside, nearly pitch, but he didn't care. He wanted to go to Bessie's house, but she was downtown at the picture show with Zac Hanson, running Burt Anderson's popcorn stand. He should have gone there, but he didn't want to interrupt her time with her beau. He also didn't want her asking him any questions because he knew she would pick up on his mood immediately.
So instead, he walked. His hands shoved in his pockets, his brain running a mile a minute, fantasizing about what it would be like if he actually found the means to leave town and make a new life somewhere else, with people who might not look down their noses at him and judge him so quickly. Maybe he could go to Las Vegas. Or Hollywood! Maybe along the way, he would meet a beautiful man who looked like an angel and could take him away from this small-town hellhole that was Tulsa, Oklahoma.
His fantasies were interrupted as he walked along the dirt road in front of Anderson's Feed and Seed. He heard the voices before he saw their silhouettes, but he recognized them immediately. He didn't realize how close he was to them until he smelled the cigarette smoke and heard the liquid swish around in the bottle that one of them drank out of. For fear of being caught, Joey quickly slipped across the street and behind a tree, much too curious to walk away. What were they doing here, anyway?
"You sure this is the way to go?" The blonde one asked. Joey knew he was blonde--he knew exactly who he was.
"I'm running out of options," the other one spat, inhaling and exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. "And I don't hear any of you boneheads coming up with anything better."
"I don't know, I think--I think it's best that we lay low for awhile. I'm still getting looks from people--"
"If you do it right this time, nobody will know. No, it has to be now, while the old man's out of town. It's the only chance we have."
"Billy, I--I'm not trying to go soft on you, but I just--I just don't understand what this is gonna accomplish--"
"Are you really that dense? That gypsy's running the place right now. And then what's gonna happen next? Someone like old Anderson goes trusting him, there's no telling what other people will start to think. Before we know it, those damn Hansons will be running the whole god damned town--"
"I thought you only had a problem with Zac?"
"They're all one in the same."
"So, what, we make it look like a robbery--?"
"Burn it down," Billy Connors said, menacingly.
"Billy, no. No, man, I'm sorry. Zac Hanson done you wrong and I'm not too happy about getting caught with him at the picture show, but I am not gonna commit arson for that guy. And I won't encourage the boys to do it, either. That's too much, even for me."
Billy flicked his cigarette down on the ground and smeared it out with the toe of his shoe. "Do whatever you want, then. I don't care. If anything devastating happens to that store while he's running it, he'll be ruined. Nobody'll trust him after that, not even his own girl--maybe even accuse him of an inside job, trying to steal Anderson's money or something. Give them enough to speculate about. Make it look convincing."
"Well...o-okay. When should I get them together?"
"Before the old man comes back. Now, get out of here, we'll talk tomorrow."
Quickly, the two young men parted ways and Joey's eyes were wide, his jaw open. His body trembled, though there was no chill in the air. He had to find Bessie and Zac. He had to warn them. But, then...if it got out that he'd overheard, Joey would for sure end up in worse shape than Zac did when the ball team had gotten ahold of him.
Nervously, he looked around, not sure which direction to go in, as both the talkers had gone in opposite directions. He chose to take the path Lawrence Baker had gone in. He was less afraid of him than he was Billy Connors. Now, as he took this new path home, new worries troubled his mind. Did he warn his best friend's beau? Or did he risk more public humiliation than he was already so used to experiencing?
Oh, how he'd wished he'd gotten a time frame out of them...