Free Finding Me by Kathryn Cushman Page A

Once her eyes adjusted to the interior lighting, she saw a long shop with five or six rows, each overflowing with merchandise of all imaginable kinds. Behind the counter, just to the left and in front of the door, was the man she believed to be Ken Moore. This was her first stroke of luck. At least he wasn’t back in an office somewhere.
    In spite of the fact that he had to be in his sixties, there wasn’t a single apparent gray hair in his sandy-blond mop that hung just a little too long across his forehead. He looked like an old surfer, or hippie, or some combination of the two. He wore little reading glasses, which he peered over.
    He looked at her and nodded a greeting, and at that moment, she lost her nerve. She turned right down the first aisle and scanned the snack foods and small grocery items on the shelf, then she turned to look at the drink cooler behind her back. Her mouth had gone completely dry, so she reached for a water bottle, took it in her hand, then meandered around the store. There was everything from plumbing and painting supplies to sewing goods andknickknacks. It was a conglomeration unlike anything she’d ever seen—at least for its size.
    She started back up the aisle, realizing she was not acting like a job applicant, so that plan was blown. Plan B would involve improvising.
    “Looking for anything in particular?” He was watching her approach with a puzzled expression on his face. They appeared to be the only two people in the store.
    “Well, uh . . . no, not really. I was just looking around. You’ve got a little bit of everything here. It’s a really interesting store.”
    “Why, thank you. You’re not from around here, are you?”
    “No. Not yet anyway.” With a last jab of determination she plunged forward. “I was kind of thinking of moving to this part of the country for a while. I, uh . . . make jewelry, you see, and I live in California, which is beautiful, but I’ve been thinking of moving out this way and seeing if I can find new forms of inspiration.”
    “California, you say?” His eyes narrowed just a fraction. “What part?”
    “Central coast. Just outside of Santa Barbara.”
    “I see.” He studied her face for several seconds too long. “Well, I think you’d like it around here if you decided to stay. Lots of natural beauty, if that’s the kind of thing that inspires you.”
    “Yes, yes it is lovely. Thing is, I’d need to find a job. Are there many available in town?”
    “Thought you designed jewelry.”
    “I do, but, you know, it doesn’t really pay the rent yet. I’m hoping it will, someday. But I’ve got bills in the meanwhile.”
    His eyes had never left her face. He cocked his head to the side and said, “I’m sure you could find a place to work without too much trouble.”
    “Good to know.” She nodded back toward the store. “This is an amazing place. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
    “So you said.” He gestured around with his hand. “This store is the place the country folk come to when they don’t want to make the thirty-minute drive into Lawrenceburg to go to the Walmart.”
    “Makes sense.” She nodded, frantically trying to come up with more conversation ideas. “Have you always worked here, at this store?” She knew the second she asked it, the question was too prying, was going to tip him off that she was up to something. And he did pause a long time before he finally answered.
    “You ask a lot of questions.”
    She shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “I guess I do. It’s just that I’ve never been in the South before. This is all so new and different. Yet something about it feels so—” she paused, thinking about what she might say, when the word just seemed to pop out—“familiar.”
    “That so?” He continued to study her. “Well, to answer your question, yes and no. It’s my family’s store, has been since my father was a young man, so I grew up working here. I moved on for a while,