Fred and Annabelle needed tender cuts of meat and things that he could easily make in a slow cooker and set and forget. I was happy to help him and all the customers that came into the shop. Hazenberg really was a nice town and I appreciated the kindness shown to me by the people who supported my grandpappy’s shop for so many years.
“You know, when I was your age, I had muscles like that,” Fred said, pointing at my upper arms. “Wore my T-shirts tight too...rolled up a pack of Kool’s in the sleeve.”
“I’d say you still have some guns and just don’t want to show them off,” I said and teased him. His chuckle was a nice sound.
I handed him the bag of meat we had picked out and we went over to the register.
“Now, you know all the recipes for this week by heart...nothing new today. And I already called Ellie Beth over at the grocery and she’s gonna have a cart ready with the rest of your ingredients. You’ll just need to pick up any extra things you need on your weekly shopping trip.”
“You’re too good to this old man, Drake. I appreciate your kindness.” Mr. Griffith was genuine. He paid for his purchases and I reminded him I would do the same for anybody else in town who came in and needed help.
He left and I had a few minutes alone in the shop to regroup. I just had a large drop off from Stonewall Farm before Fred came in and needed to get it inventoried and put out pretty quickly. I tied on my red apron over my tight white shop T-shirt, as Fred had pointed out, and got busy. Some days I wondered how I got it all done, running the shop all by myself, but the days went by quickly and I always had the company of Chuck, my short-haired orange tabby cat.
She (yes, my little Chuck Roast was a she) went anywhere she wanted. She wore a harness and walked with me better than any dog companion. Chuck knew her boundaries and stayed out of the processing area, knowing where her cat hair was not allowed. She rarely shed though, for which I was thankful given the business I was in. And she didn’t grow to be a typical adult-size cat either. She was five years old and still little. I got her after my grandpappy passed away. My little six-pound Roast filled a little bit of the void from missing him, I think.
Chuck was a good greeter. Everyone always asked where she was if she wasn’t at the door to greet them upon arrival. Even if it wasn’t intentional, Chuck was good marketing for the butcher shop. She wore a red collar and I had a special tag made that was shaped like a steak with her information printed on it.
The bell that hung above the door jingled whenever someone came in, so I always knew if I was in the back when it was time to come out. But Chuck also greeted everyone with a good headbutt and a meow.
I had the inventory down to a science when deliveries were made during the day. I could put it in the computer later, but I needed to make sure I knew how many of each item came into the shop so I could get the cold things sorted and in the refrigerated cases out front without delay.
Stonewall Farm supplied me with beef, mostly, but their canned goods and fresh items like butter and eggs were things I could always count on. I never tried to take away business from the local grocery or the Walmart in town, but I could sell local items much easier than the others and I had regular customers who preferred to buy local.
Meat was about 80 percent of where I made my money. The other 20 percent came from the sale of local items.
Chuck sat by and watched while I stocked the fridge with cartons of eggs. I noticed it was time to add more jerky to the display case too. Selling a pack or two of my award-winning jerky was normal with just about every order.
Even Fred bought some to gnaw on with his dentures.
I thought about Fred back in his prime. I bet he and my grandpappy stirred up all kinds of trouble. I’d been known to stir up some in my day too.
Chapter Three
Aggie
I pretended like everything was just fine. Hunky-dory. Nothing to see here. But I was a hot mess inside. I purposely planned a stop on my 10-hour drive to Kentucky. I did not want to arrive in the dark of night to an apartment I had never seen before and to meet a landlord I had only spoken with once. So I stopped near Knoxville, Tennessee.
The drive lasted most of the day and the hotel I picked right off the interstate was welcoming. Even had fresh chocolate chip cookies and, surprisingly enough, room service.
“Just be sure to order before 10 p.m., honey, that’s when they close the kitchen,” I was told at the front desk. Any other time and I would go explore around a little bit. But I was too tired from the long drive and nervous about arriving in my new town.
Hazenberg was my first home away from home...alone. Even having a roommate in college sometimes felt like I was on my own, but there was always someone else there to talk to, to eat with, or just be with. I’d have to make all new friends and learn to start doing things on my own.
I was ready to welcome the challenge, yet my nerves were getting the best of me. Swimming was an outlet I used to relax quite often. Our condo complex had a decent-sized pool and Lindsey and I would go at odd times when fewer people were around. We'd swim laps together and then lay out on the chairs in the gorgeous Florida sun. We’d hit the university pools at times too, more when we wanted a good workout.
In my overnight bag just for this purpose, I tucked in my swimsuit in case the hotel I stopped at had a pool. The front desk attendant pointed me toward the fitness center, and I had a look before heading up to my room to change.
A few kids stalked the water, but my timing was good in hopes they would clear out for their bedtimes by the time I got changed and back downstairs. I could swim for an hour or so and then have plenty of time to still order room service.
I was wrong.
Children at hotels do not apparently have regular bedtimes. There were even more of them than when I first looked inside the glass when I came down the second time.
The one saving grace I had was the whirlpool. It was empty and I hoped the little hoodlums would stick to their side.
I turned on the dial which only went up to 30 minutes and hopped in the whirlpool. I realized I forgot to take off my smartwatch and also that I forgot to let both my mom and Lindz know I had arrived. What better time than the present? I sent them both a text before taking my watch off and setting it on the table beside the hot tub.
Just as I was getting my soak on, the text message vibration kept going off on my smartwatch. It was too far to reach so I hoped it would stop, knowing it was probably just them responding to my messages. After several times, I finally got up to go see what the fuss was about...when I slipped.
The slick concrete made me lose my balance, and in the process of catching myself before I completely hit the ground, I dropped my watch.
Screen cracked.
And into the water it went.
“Fuck,” I said.
“Happy adulthood, Aggie!” I thought.
Guess I'd be looking at the budget and trying to decide if a bed for my new apartment was more important than a new smartwatch. At least my phone was in the hotel room, so I wasn't completely helpless.
I got back in the whirlpool embarrassed and mad and sat there until the timer went off. I had scraped up my hands, catching my fall, and the sting of the chlorine was rather unpleasant. Luckily, the families with their splashing children left soon after, and I was able to let some frustration out in the pool.
Back in the hotel room, I quickly ordered dinner, with a side of Neosporin and band-aids, and splurged for dessert. Eating my feelings through a maple bacon ice cream sundae would hit the spot after a quick shower.