Page 59 of Error Handling
She gasped. “I’m not that kind of girl, Chris. It wasn’t like that. I just—”
“I know what kind of girl you are,” I said, and then I hung up on her.
I tried to put Allison behind me, but for two years I thought about her every day. As time passed, I thought of her less and less, until now, I’m able to go days, weeks, months without thinking of her at all.
Being with Sarah brings thoughts of Allison to the forefront again, as much as I want them to remain tucked in the farthest recesses of my mind. Sarah is different in so many ways. Brunette, not blonde. Shorter than Allison, with more delicate features. Dark eyes lined with long dark lashes.
As we drive to Leeman’s, I’m acutely aware of her presence beside me, how her hands rest in her lap, one on top of the other. How she occasionally reaches up to twist a lock of hair but quickly discards it. How her chest gently rises and falls as she silently watches the commercial and light-industrial buildings go by.
“Why don’t we just go to Lowes?” Sarah says as I turn into the parking lot in front of Leeman’s.
“I like to support local businesses. This place has been here for seventy years, in the same family the entire time. Plus, it has way more character.” Something I have a hunch Sarah will appreciate.
The front of the building looks like a western saloon, despite the stucco exterior. A larger, modern steel-framed building stretches behind it, multiplying the original hardware store’s footprint.
I back into a spot toward the rear, near the warehouse doors where it will be easy for me to load the OSB. Then I escort Sarah to the front, wanting her to fully experience Leeman’s character.
The original store’s high ceiling angles toward the back. Tall shelving units hold screws, clamps, power drills, hand tools, decorative hardware, all of it wrapped in a welcoming oily, woody scent.
I glance at Sarah as she takes in her surroundings. She’s wide-eyed like a kid in a candy store.
“I feel like I just stepped back into 1950,” she says.
“And I know the owners here, unlike Lowes where you wait twenty minutes for some kid to tell you he doesn’t know where to find what you’re looking for.”
“Oh,” Sarah says when she sees the decorative hardware sign above aisle three. “We’re going to need knobs for the bottom cabinets.”
“I was going to salvage the old ones.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Those are atrocious. They look like 1980 had a baby and named it Tammy.”
I laugh.
“I’m going to go look. Do you think we could fit them into our budget?”
Ourbudget?
“Maybe,” I say. “Why don’t you look while I order the OSB?”
She dashes to Aisle 3 before I finish my sentence.
I chuckle as I head toward the customer service desk. Jack Leeman is behind the battered, wood counter, perched on a stool and reading a well-worn paperback. A western. He sets it on the countertop.
“What can I do for you and the little lady today?” Jack says. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. By the looks of her, she’s a keeper.” He speaks in his usual loud tone, and I hope the shelving and merchandise muffle his voice so Sarah can’t hear.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I keep my voice low.
“Are you sure about that? I think you’re blushing.”
Maybe I should have gone to Lowes.
Jack’s face, which is mostly wrinkles, wrinkles more as he eyes me knowingly, though I’m not sure what Jack knows that I don’t.
“Okay, if that’s how we’re going to play,” Jack says. “What do you need?”
I put in an order for six sheets of OSB, and then I ask to look at the cabinetry. Leeman’s doesn’t display any models like the big box hardware stores. Instead, Jack keeps a tattered catalog that lists prices, dimensions, and styles.
“Are you ordering the cabinets today?” Sarah asks.