He looked up from his newspaper when I walked in, his weathered face breaking into a genuine smile.
Dela Henderson, haven’t seen you in a dog’s age. How have you been? I’ve been better, Pete, but I’m working on that. I explained what I needed, and Pete didn’t ask questions. He just nodded and pulled out his sample book of lock sets explaining the differences between standard locks and deadbolts, between basic security and high-end protection. This one here, he said, pointing to a brass deadbolt system. This is what I’d put on my own house. Solid construction, pick resistant, and it comes with five keys so you can control who has access. Five keys. I thought about that as Pete rang up my purchase. Five keys for five people I trusted. Not five people I was obligated to trust, but five people who had earned it.
My next stop was even more liberating.
Branson’s consignment shop had been on Main Street for decades
Branson’s consignment shop had been on Main Street for decades, run by Martha Branson, a woman my age who’d built her business from nothing after her divorce 30 years ago. She looked up from sorting through a rack of winter coats when I walked in. Dela Henderson as I live and breathe. What brings you to my little corner of capitalism? I laughed. Actually laughed for the first time in weeks. I need to sell some furniture, Martha. Quite a bit of it, actually. Well, you’ve come to the right place. What kind of pieces are we talking about? I pulled out my phone and showed her the photos I’d taken that morning. Rya’s precious living room set, the one she’d insisted on buying last year despite my protests about the cost.
The formal dining room furniture that no one ever used except for company because Rya said the kitchen table was too casual for proper meals.
The guest bedroom set that stayed perpetually pristine because Rya discouraged visitors. Martha whistled low. This is high-end stuff, Dela. Where did you get furniture like this? It was purchased for my house, but I’ve decided it doesn’t suit me anymore. Martha’s eyes sharpened. She’d been in business long enough to read between the lines, and she’d probably heard the town gossip about how Rya treated me. Small towns had few secrets. I can give you good money for pieces like this, she said carefully. But are you sure? Some of these look practically new. I’m sure. How quickly could you arrange pickup for furniture this nice? I can have my boys there tomorrow morning if you want.
That afternoon, I drove to every furniture store within 50 mi, looking for pieces that spoke to me.
