Chapter 21: The Store

The store was nearly empty when I walked in on the first Friday of February.

Three weeks ago the lot had been full on a Monday.

Now there was one pickup outside.

A woman at the register bought a single bag of layer pellets.

She left without a word to the man behind it.

My father sat on the tall stool with the cushion.

He had lost weight, and the grey crew cut had grown out soft.

The sign over the door still said Cheadle Feed & Supply.

Under it, someone had stuck a paper sign on the glass in marker: Closed Sundays.

They hadn't been closed Sundays in forty years.

"Della," he said.

I stopped at the end of the counter and put my hands in my coat pockets.

"The county attorney called me on Tuesday," he said. "The insurance company's lawyer called Wednesday."

"And the sheriff's coming Monday," he said. "He wants a statement about the form."

"I'd imagine."

"They say it could run a year or more. They're going to talk about restitution."

"Dad."

"Daisy's with a lawyer in Casper." His voice was dry.

"Your mother's at Peg's old house with the curtains drawn. I've got a pill organizer and a store nobody comes into."

I waited.

He drew a long breath and folded his hands on the counter, and I saw them tremble.

"I've been thinking," he said. "I want to put the store in your name."

I didn't say anything.

"The business, not the building. The building's Peg's."

"The accounts, the customer list, the name. You know every rancher in the county."

"I'm done. I can't stand behind this counter another week."

"You want me to take it."

"I want you to have it."

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