Little Town, Great Big Life. Curtiss Matlock Ann

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СКАЧАТЬ knew their most intimate likes and dislikes. She began buying for them as well as for herself, and pretty soon she not only had a good personal shopping business going but was supplying the drugstore with all manner of unique specialty and gift items. She installed an entire perfume counter with locally hard-to-find scents such as Coco, Interlude and Evening in Paris. She stocked the favored brand and color dye for every woman in town who did her own hair, and every preferred shade of cosmetic and fingernail polish. The store’s profits soared. Belinda discovered yet another talent—making money hand over fist, and with little effort at all.

      Three years ago, Belinda had finally allowed Lyle to talk her into marriage. They had a small but lovely church ceremony, and in the end Belinda was secretly thrilled. But she insisted on keeping her own name. She felt to change would cause all manner of complications at this late stage of her life. Everyone knew her as Belinda Blaine of Blaine’s Drugstore and Soda Fountain, not to mention that she was of a size to wear a DD cup bra. The name of Midgette just did not fit her at all. It didn’t even fit Lyle, who was six-two, but one could not change what one had been born with. One could only seek to make the best of it.

      When Winston came into the drugstore, everyone went to clapping and cheering him.

      Winston made a courtly bow. “Thank you…thank you. I commend your good taste.”

      At his voice, Belinda laughed right out loud, so rare a happening that she received a number of curious looks.

      Winston said, “I guess I accomplished somethin’ this mornin’. I got a full laugh out of Miss Belinda Blaine.”

      “Oh, yeah, you made me laugh,” she said, with the image in her mind of dropping the pregnancy-test kit in the toilet.

      As Winston held court at his usual table, surrounded by a knot of other gossipy old farts, Belinda brought him a cup of coffee and a sweet roll.

      When her mother had left on her European vacation, she had said to Belinda, “The store and Winston are in your hands. Don’t let either of them die on me while I’m gone.”

      Her mother had meant it as a joke, but they both knew there was a kernel of truth in the sentiment. The store and all who came in it made up their lives.

      The day became quite dreary, and the midmorning lull started early. She had sent Arlo to the storeroom to unpack boxes. All was silent from there. The low drone of the television sounded from the rear of the pharmacy.

      Taking a feather duster, Belinda strolled along the health and intimate products section, whacking here and there, until she came to the pregnancy-test kits. She scratched the back of her head.

      They had three different brands. It had been the $6.99 one that she had dropped into the toilet. The $9.99 product guaranteed to give easy-to-read results.

      Could she read it in the toilet, should she drop it? She really hated flushing money away.

      Just as she reached for the box, the bell rang out over the front door. She snatched back her hand as if from a flame and went to whacking the duster. At the end of the aisle, a familiar figure passed.

      “Emma! Hey, girlfriend! What are you doin’ out this mornin’?”

      “I’ve got to get my hair color.” Emma pointed at her head as if for evidence.

      “Well, come on over and get a cup of coffee on the house,” Belinda called, and headed for the soda fountain counter.

      What a treat! Emma Berry was her best friend, although somehow the two of them had not seen much of each other the past winter. Emma was deeply into her art—she designed greeting cards and stationery that sold in the drugstore—and into her family, which had increased with a new daughter-in-law the past fall.

      And things had just sort of changed, as things often did…but in that instant of seeing her friend, Belinda thought: I will tell her.

      Emma brought the box of L’Oréal light ash blond to the cash register and dug money out of her purse with pretty manicured hands.

      Belinda handed back change, saying, “Latte or coffee? On the house.”

      “Oooh, latte.” Emma scooted her small frame up onto a stool at the counter. “I only like yours.”

      Belinda stuck a large cup beneath the aromatic, steaming machine, while Emma chattered on about needing caffeine because she had been up that morning since half past six, when, over the radio alarm in the new coffeemaker, she heard Winston shouting and then found out that John Cole was already heading off to work.

      “Don’t put any whipped cream on it. Did you hear Winston this mornin’?”

      Belinda, who had paused with the whipped cream can pointed, said, “Oh, yes, I heard.” She brought the steaming cup to Emma at the counter. Her thoughts were in something of a tangle, wondering why anyone would want a coffeemaker with a radio in it at the same time that she tried to figure out how to bring up the subject of her worries.

      “I’m afraid he’s gonna have a heart attack,” Emma said. “Can I have a spoon?”

      Belinda handed her one. “Winston? Well, we all are. He is ninety-two.”

      “No. John Cole. Really? I didn’t know he was that old. He’s workin’ twelve- and fourteen-hour days…again,” Emma added with pointed annoyance.

      Belinda thought, John Cole…Winston…John Cole again. Conversation with Emma was apt to be a little convoluted.

      “I’ve learned by now, though, that I cannot control him,” Emma said, aiming for resignation, although she did not quite reach her mark.

      Belinda agreed, and the two women tossed around comments about how everyone had their own lives to lead, the sort of practical statements that everyone knows but forgets when trying to help other people live their lives.

      Then Belinda leaned forward on the counter. “I’ve been goin’ to call you.”

      “You have?”

      Belinda nodded, then found herself averting her gaze. “Uhhuh. I…” It was just silly. She should not speak of it.

      Just then the bell over the door rang out. Both women looked over. If Belinda had not already stopped talking, she would have then, because the person who came in was Gracie Berry, Emma’s daughter-in-law.

      Emma waved and called out, “Hi, honey!”

      Belinda felt her spirit dipping as she watched the women hug.

      “We’re drivin’ down to Dallas,” Emma told Belinda. “Gracie has a meetin’, and afterward we’re goin’ shoppin’.”

      “Ah-huh,” said Belinda, her gaze moving back and forth between the two women.

      It was somewhat astonishing how much the women, not at all blood kin, favored each other. Emma was fair and Gracie dark, but they were of the same petite size, and possessed of the same sort of innocence and liveliness.

      Belinda offered to put Emma’s latte in a foam cup to go and asked if Gracie would like something to drink.

      “Thank you. I think I would like a latte, СКАЧАТЬ