Mike Frazier breathes in deep the air of the town he loves and promptly forgets every moment he spent outside of Amorea. Like a dream, it fades the moment he comes awake.
MIKE SHAKES his head as he walks toward the bookstore, wondering how time got away from him this morning. The clock outside of the bank has its hands pointed just this side of noon, and he’s a little embarrassed. He doesn’t know why he wasn’t at the bookstore right at eight, when most of the businesses open in Amorea. Sean is probably wondering why he didn’t stop in for his morning cup of coffee. He hopes Sean didn’t worry too much. He hates when Sean worries about him. He’ll stop by later and—
There’s a note on the door of the bookstore, slid into the space between slats and the glass of the window. He sees a familiar scrawl and he can’t help but smile at the sight of it. He plucks the note from the door and reads:
Hey. Didn’t see you this morning. Everything okay? You probably slept in, lazy bones. If that’s the case, you earned it. Come see me later.
It’s not signed, but doesn’t need to be. He knows who it’s from.
He’s about to push open the door (for a moment thinking, What if it’s locked? which is an odd thought because doors in Amorea are never locked), when a friendly voice calls out, “Mike!”
He looks up with a grin.
It’s Happy of Happy’s General Store fame, a barrel of a man in his sixties with a sloping gut and great tufts of white hair sticking out haphazardly from the top of his head. He’s dressed today as he usually is, in wrinkled tan slacks and a stiff white collared shirt, open at the throat with little wiry hairs curling out. A black apron sits on his front, cinched back around his middle. It says only Happy in embroidered red lettering.
“Happy,” Mike says in greeting.
“Just getting in, then?” Happy asks, holding his hand out for a shake. It’s a good grip, a firm grip, and it’s three pumps as per the usual before Happy pulls his hand away.
“Looks like,” Mike says.
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“Everything okay?”
And Mike… well. Mike frowns. “Sure,” he says while thinking, It is, right?
Happy nods. “Just… it’s just that you’ve never been late before, and I guess I was worried.”
“Yeah, I was….” And he trails off because he was what? He can’t quite remember what he was doing to be late this morning, but he’s sure he was doing something. There’s the briefest remnants of a headache, and he remembers having a beer last night with dinner. Maybe he had a couple more after that? He doesn’t drink to excess, not usually. But it’s hazy.
Happy waits, brow furrowing slightly.
Mike says, “Took the morning off,” because Happy is waiting for some kind of answer and Mike has to give one. People have already noticed. He has evidence of it in the note in his hand.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” Happy says, face relaxing. “Everyone should get a bit of a lie-in every now and then.”
And any unease Mike feels is gone at that, because he doesn’t really have a headache, now, does he? It’s like the ghost of one, and maybe he can’t quite remember what he did this morning or when he got up or if he remembered to feed Martin, but that’s okay. It’s not like he was blackout drunk. He’s not as young as he used to be. It’s possible that time just… slipped.
“We still on for the poker game tomorrow night?” Happy asks.
Mike nods. “Thursday as always. We’re at my house this week, right?”
“Oh sure,” Happy says. “You gonna make beans and weenies?”
Mike chuckles. “Always do for you, Happy.”
“Good man,” Happy says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll let you get to it, then. Just wanted to make sure everythin’ was all right. You should probably stop in and see that fella of yours. I know he was worried when you didn’t come in this morning.”
“He’s not my fella,” Mike says, though he knows he’s flushing brightly. It’s the Irish curse, something he’s never been able to escape.
Happy rolls his eyes. “Don’t we all know it. You’re sure takin’ your sweet time. Reminds me of my own courtin’ days, when we pretended to be all innocent about things. You two are slower than molasses.”
“It’s just,” he says. Then, “It works. For us. We have time. Slow and steady, I guess.”
“That right?” Happy says. “Well, I’ll be a pig in shit. Any slower, you two’d be goin’ backward.”
Mike groans. “Happy.”