Francis gave him a friendly goodbye and reached over to take a bite of something from a bowl, trying to get in his own dinner break during a busy day.
I plunked down an apple and a bag of oats, a fat writing tablet, and a package of envelopes. Pulling out the paycheck, I handed it to him. He sat down the bowl he was eating from and pushed it aside.
“What’s this?” He was tanned and looked fit from the early spring sunshine, and he grinned and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “Permission letter to date ya from your pa?” he teased.
I could feel the heat rising on my ears and face, his kiss still buzzing on my mouth. “Maybe,” I teased back. “I’ll let you know soon.” I met his smile with a shy, friendly one.
“That’d be real nice,” he said.
I pointed to my paycheck. “Miss Foster said I could cash it here.”
“Sure thing.” He glanced at the paycheck and flipped it over. “See here, Honey.” He tapped the signature line, then grabbed an ink pen. “You need to sign it before the store will let me cash it.”
“Oh, I was in a hurry and forgot,” I said, dismissing it with a wave, wanting to act smart for this man. “Let me take care of it. And that’ll be cash, no scrip, Francis.” I grabbed the pen and added a fancy signature. After he cashed the check, he handed me back the stub, and I paid for the groceries.
“Anything else for ya today, Honey?”
I looked longingly at a shelf stacked with lipstick, nail polish, rouge, and other cosmetics. Someone came in behind me and took a Coke out of the red Coca-Cola cooler.
The man reached around me, plunked a nickel on the counter, and passed the bottle to Francis. He picked up a church key, opened it for the customer, and put the money into the cash register.
“Filled it just last night,” Francis said. “Nice and cold, if you want one, Honey.”
It was tempting and I could taste the ice-cold liquid sugar biting at my tongue. I counted my money, then slipped it inside my satchel.
“Anything else I can get ya?”
“I need to buy a headstone, Francis. For Miss Adams.”
“Heard she passed.” His face grew somber. “Real sorry to hear that. Sears and Roebuck stopped selling them in their catalogs in ’49, so you’ll need to see Old Man Geary down the road. Let me get you his address.” Francis scribbled his name and address down inside a matchbook. “Down on Bridges Road, you go past the county cemetery where you’ll see a big barn on the right and Willard’s cow pasture on the left. There’s a big stone at Geary’s entrance.”
He grabbed my paper bag and walked around the counter, escorting me to the door. Francis handed me the goods and said, “Wanted to let you know my mama mixes up a delicious bowl of her prized banana pudding for picnic baskets.” He pointed to the bowl he’d been eating from. “Right tasty. Matter of fact, the best in Kentucky, the country even,” he said, a playfulness in his eyes.
It was daring and a little too bold, but I answered, “Much obliged. I’ve been fancying some good dessert lately.” He passed me the matchbook.
“Well, the delivery driver’s waiting on me. Don’t you wait too long.” He stuffed his hand into his pockets, jiggling the coins in his britches, and then hurried to the back of the store.
I slipped out the door and made it a few steps before Perry Gillis blocked me. A few men guffawed, and one other miner chided Gillis, calling him lewd names.
I tried moving in another direction but Gillis stepped in front of me each time, a hardness etched into his face. Then he put a cigarette up to his mouth and pulled out a blackened silver lighter, flicking the toothy wheel once, then twice again, holding the quivering flame inches from my face, slowly circling the lit lighter around my face, the smell of burnt flint and wick stinging my nostrils.