Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Ash said a relieved goodbye and buried his face in his hands on the counter in front of Truman. Over the last several days, Truman had learned that Ash loved having his hair touched, and he couldn’t help but see this most recent flop as a bid for him to run his fingers through it.
He scratched Ash’s scalp, and Ash let out a rumbling moan that tumbled through Truman from his scalp to his crotch.
The door swung open in a clanging of bells, and Ash jerked upright. It was Carla Muskee, lugging a large cardboard box.
“Hi, Ms. Muskee,” Ash said as Truman said, “Hello, Carla.”
“Heard you were lookin’ for jars,” she said and slid the box onto the counter. “This the kinda thing you’re after?”
Truman peered in at a jumble of different sized glass jars. A few had brands stamped into the glass, but most were exactly what they needed.
“Yes, thank you!” Truman said.
Ash narrowed his eyes. “Who’d you hear that from?”
“Oh, here and there,” Carla said with an expansive wave and a wink at Truman. “Also heard you might be looking for artists’ work to sell in the shop. Ted’s been doing these watercolors lately. Good stuff. Should I tell him you want them?”
“Oh, um…” Ash looked desperately at Truman.
“Okay, so what we’re looking for are greeting cards with original art on the front,” Truman explained. “So that when people come in to buy flowers, they can get a card to go with them.”
Carla nodded. “All right, I’ll let him know.”
“Best if they’re flower related probably,” Truman added. “Wait, is that your son who makes the sweaters?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Truman wondered if there was anything to be made of that. He could see the bullet journal page of artisan craft ideas now…
“So I’ll tell everyone you want more jars, then?”
“Yeah, thank you.”
She gave a crisp nod and moved to the door. At the last moment, she turned back to Ash. “It’s good what you’re doing here, son. I’m proud of you.”
And before Ash could say anything, she closed the door firmly behind her.
Truman caught the soft look in Ash’s eyes before they became shrewd.
“Here and there, huh?” Ash said.
“Well, when I stopped to get coffee at Bob’s this morning, I mentioned it to him because it looked like he had a million jars lying around. I guess I should’ve remembered that if you say something to one person on Main Street, you’ve put out a neon sign.”
“Thanks,” Ash said. “Once Ms. Muskee knows, everyone knows. So I guess I’ll clear out some shelves in the back to store them.”
“Yay!” Truman couldn’t help feeling giddy with excitement. There was nothing like seeing an idea become a reality.
***
By four that afternoon, Truman had to admit they had a huge problem. It seemed like everyone in town had dropped off jars. One after another, they came into Thorn with boxes of jars. And not just business owners but random people on the island.
Truman had turned someone away who’d just brought in a bag of dirty peanut butter jars.
“We need to be clearer about what kind of jars we’re looking for,” Truman said, trying not to breathe in the stench of old peanut butter.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Ash said, and Truman realized that maybe there had been something to his intention to write an email to the local shopkeepers detailing what he wanted.
But the straw that broke the camel’s back was someone named Darnell Waters. There was the beeping that signaled a truck backing up and then a shout from outside that sounded like “Yo, Ashleigh!”
Ash let out a long-suffering sigh, and Truman followed him outside. There, half in the street, was a garbage truck.
A skinny white guy with shockingly blond hair jumped down from the cab and pointed to the back. “You wanna go through and get the jars?” he said.
Truman couldn’t tell if he was serious, joking, or being an asshole.
“You know what, Darnell, I’m actually good on jars for the moment. I’ve gotten a lot of them today.”
“Oh,” he said. “There are some really good ones in there, though, probably.”
“Yeah, I appreciate it, but I’m not going to sort through the recycling for them. That’s why I asked people to save them for me.”
“Oh.” Darnell seemed disappointed. “Maybe next week?”
“Nah, I’m honestly never going to want to sort through the recycling for them. But thanks for thinking of me, Darnell.”
Darnell climbed back into the cab and rolled the window down.
“Okay, well, I’ll save you some good ones, though. See you next week.”
He waved and drove away.
Ash let out a bone-deep sigh and lifted his face to the sky.
“I’m sorry,” Truman said. “I did this, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Ash said. “It was nice of you to tell people for me, really. You couldn’t know that people really, really like to help.”
He said help like you might say desecrate the dead.