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Hanson's wasn't any busier than usual. With the sun down, the stars out, and the fading crimson hues poking just above the tips of the trees, there weren't many too apt to spend their Friday night at a corner store.
The arcane building smelt solely of old books, and perhaps that was due to the ample supply of aging novels, Hanson's looked more like a shopworn bookstore. I didn't complain. I liked the smell, it reminded me of home, or the hundreds of stories I'd explored.
Dallas strolled in with a hunch in his back, hand shoved in both pockets, and if I didn't know him I would have thought he was robbing the place.
"Holly and Dallas," Hanson greeted, smiling as wide as his aging skin would allow. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual and I wondered if he'd been getting enough sleep. He worked too hard to keep the store open.
"Hanson," I responded, ambling up to the front counter. Dallas followed behind me and gave Hanson a once over. He was clad in a tucked dress shirt, adorned with a colorful blue tie and grey slacks. His hair was neatly slicked back and glasses sat atop his polished head.
"What's the occasion?" Dallas asked. "Dressed to the nines. You going partying, Mr. H?"
The old man waved his hand in the air, as if swatting an invisible fly, and scrunched his face. "No, no. I'm much too old for that kind of behavior."
"What are you on about, man? You don't look a day over thirty."
Mr. Hanson emitted a sonorous laugh, hand pressed to his stomach. "My son's wedding is tomorrow morning. I'm closing the store early today," he said, then squinted at his watch for a few ticks, "in about an hour."
"You have a son?" I stepped forward with raised brows. I'd never been told about a son, only a wife, the one who'd passed from lung cancer, and might have heard about a daughter, but never a son. Hanson averted his gaze to the floors.
"This is the first time I'll be seeing him in many years. We haven't had the best relationship, him and I, but I received an invitation the other day. I'm driving down to Louisiana tonight."
I was silent for a bit. Dallas was minding his own business, dangling the end of an unlit weed between his lips, shuffling through the lighters. I wasn't sure why I was so bothered by the information. Hanson's brows knitted when he spoke of his son, his lips turned downwards in a slight frown, like there was something digging into his skin. I wondered if he'd done something wrong, to make his son leave him. I wondered if it wasn't his fault. I wondered what it was like to have somebody you love leave you.
"What's his name?" I asked. It felt important to know.
"Charles. The woman's name is Barbara. Quite young, the two, only twenty-one."
