It’s the epitome of small-town living. One stoplight, everyone knows everyone.
Generally, when I come home, I spend time with Allie and Ma and don't venture much into town because, when I do, I get stopped every five seconds to chat. Most of the people here have known me since I was a kid and they’ve followed my hockey career from college till now, and so I owe it to them. They were the first people to believe in me.
The truck rolls down main street and I see old man Jackson, the same one Allie teepeed in high school. The same man that taught me how to change a tire when I was sixteen and broke down on old Harbor Road with a dead cellphone, and no business being out that late. I raise my hand and wave, and he does the same.
Driving down these familiar streets, I feel a pang of guilt. I should’ve made it a point to be home, to visit more, to spend time with these people who supported me from day one. Lately, I’ve realized that home is where the people you love are. Not where there are four walls and a roof.
Life’s been teaching me lessons more now that my eyes are wide open.
Once I make it to the hardware store, I cut the engine and get out the truck then open the old rickety door of the store. An old-fashioned bell chimes above my head, and the smell of grease greets me as I enter the door.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Russ Mickins says from his barstool behind the counter.
Man, it’s been ten years and he hasn't changed a bit. Maybe a little more weight in his midsection, but he has the same gap-toothed grin that takes up half his face.
“Russ, wow man, how are you?” I walk over and clap him on the back in a tight hug, his arms wrapping around me.
When we pull back, he looks me over, like he can’t believe I’m standing in his hardware store. “You’ve grown six inches since the last time you were in here, Graham Adams.”
I laugh. “Well, I was about twenty when I was last here.”
“That explains it. Doesn’t seem that long ago, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t. Feels like just yesterday old man Jackson was chasing us down the street with his newspaper,” I tell him, reminiscing about my childhood.
“Well, what brings you in here today? I did hear about your ma, and I’m so sorry to hear it, Graham. I love that lady, and I pray that she beats this cancer.”
A constant reminder that my visit home isn’t just a visit; it’s to take care of Ma, who seems to be getting worse rather than better.
“Thank you, Russ. I appreciate that, and please tell all the ladies at bingo that she misses them, and appreciates all the casseroles they’ve been sending over. They’ve been keeping us full for sure.”
He waves his hand. “It’s nothing. The least we can do. Sorry to keep you talking, what brings you in here today? I know it wasn’t just to see my pretty face.”
Pretty is about the last thing that I would call Russ, but whatever.
I grin. “What if it was?” I look around at the top of the aisles for the one that I came for and add, “Just here for a fitting. I’m going to grab it and I’ll be back.”
He nods, and I find the aisle with all of the plumbing things. It takes me a second to find the part because there’s so much damn stuff shoved onto the shelves. I reach for a fitting, and somehow end up knocking over an entire box of PVC pipe.
“Goddamnit,” I curse.
PVC scatters across the floor, and just as I’m bending down to start picking them all up, I hear my name.
“Graham Adams, is that you?”
I look up to see who the voice belongs to, and I see Lane Wilson, my best friend from high school.
Shit, how longhasit been since I’ve seen him?
He’s wearing a sheriff’s uniform, and a lopsided grin that hasn’t changed much since we were kids.
I rise from the floor and walk over, both of us hugging each other earnestly.
“Lane Wilson. Oh, you're a big man in town now, Mr. Town Sheriff?” I smirk, flicking the badge on his chest. I’m teasing him, but him becoming sheriff doesn’t surprise me.
His dad was the sheriff when we were kids, so it makes sense that he followed in his footsteps. Although, looking back, our future looks a lot different than I thought it would. He was an athlete, just like I was growing up, desperate to escape this tiny town. Yet, here we both are. Temporary or not.
“Yeah, who would’ve thought?” He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.