Constance had a town square that consisted of a Main Street two blocks long, with small, two-story buildings dotting each side of it. There was the Mayor’s Office, which also doubled as the official Government building. It housed the DMV, the Post Office, and the County Clerk’s office. It was the busiest building on the square, but compared to the same kind of office in a bigger city, it was quiet.
Next to the Mayor’s Office was a small sundry store, owned by Blake Shylock, and its purpose was fairly covered by its name: Blake’s Sundries. Next to Blake’s was a small fabric and dress shop, run by Sadie Mills. She did alterations, adjustments, and created clothing from the power of her imagination. Across the street was Arthur’s Drug Store, run by Tom Arthur, the resident pharmacist.
It had everything a good pharmacy store should have, from medical supplies, knick-knacks and seasonal goods, to an aisle full of candy to make sure they got repeat visitors. Next door to the pharmacy was the medical office of Doctor Charlie Sizemore.
He employed a nurse and saw to the medicinal needs of the community and even did a little veterinary work on the side.
Next to those stores, on the same side of the street, was Dobson’s Grocery, not really in competition with Blake’s because they, by agreement, offered different items for sale. What Blake’s didn’t have, Dobson’s did, and vice-versa. Dobson’s took up most of the block, with a good sized parking lot that served the entire street right next to it.
Across from Dobson’s sat the police station. It was a flat, red-bricked building that housed an office for Sheriff Monroe, a small reception area, and a two-person jail in the back. It was mostly Sheriff Monroe in the office during the day, although he occasionally had his cousin Mavis sit in so he could have a day off.
Next to the police station was Drake’s Diner, a short, squat building, covered in flaking pink neon paint. This was where the old folks held court, every morning, there at the counter, wielding cups of coffee and opinions about everything, good and bad. It was run by Sam Drake and he was known to all as being a fair man.
On the other side of the diner was the United Bank. It was open Monday through Friday and of course had heavy foot traffic.
That was the downtown of Constance; small and to the point, a microcosm of the town itself.
The outlying areas were mostly suburbs, with houses and a few trailers, where the majority of the residents of Constance lived. Just outside them, up in the hills, a few others lived, mostly the poorer folks that kept to themselves.
The majority of the residents worked over in other, bigger towns close by, like Elkton and Hazard. Constance was a community that had just gone through a major transition as its biggest employer, Sears Coal, had pulled out two years ago due to lack of production. This had left the small community reeling, with half of the residents following the company to work in other, more fertile mines. The rest of the folks banded together and determined not to let Constance become a ghost town.
The city commission met and discussed plans and schemes to make Constance attractive, to draw industry and investment in their community. They didn’t make much headway until Toyota came along, bought up a patch of land, and decided it was going to build a small auto plant.
It was going to bring jobs and money into the area, making the city commission quite happy. That was still two years away, however, so in the meantime, they did the best they could to hold on.
II
Sadie Mills
Sadie Mills, the owner of the alterations shop, was taking her lunch break the same way she usually did every day, by walking down the block and paying a visit to the diner and, in turn, Sam Drake, a man she had an acute crush on. Sadie was twenty-eight, pretty and slim, although love handles were forming like soft pillows above her hips and, despite rigorous usage of the treadmill she’d bought and installed in her living room, didn’t seem to be going away.
She had blond hair that rolled in long curls just past her shoulders and bounced when she walked, just like her ample breasts, and, unfortunately, the fat on her hips. Deep brown eyes teased with mystery, a curved nose that kids used to tease her about when she was a child and was a constant source of self-doubt, a pert mouth and a sharp chin all marked her facial features. Her skin was milky and smooth, like her mother’s, and though her features were delicate, she was quite a bit tougher than her outer wrapping would lead someone to believe.
She walked proud and wishful on this sunny day, hoping today would be the day she caught Sam’s eye. She was wearing a special summer dress she’d created just for him, although the old fool wouldn’t know it. Her dress was yellow, cut in the front down to the tops of her breasts, tapered at the arms just above her biceps, hung down to reveal her shoulders, flared out at the hips, and long enough to cover her knees. It had an alternating pattern of white and lighter yellow flowers that danced just above the hemline. The dress didn’t take long for her to make, but she was right proud of it.
The sun was high in the cloudless sky and it was already steaming hot and promising to be a scorcher by mid-afternoon. Sadie loved the way the sunlight fell on her face and she could almost feel the nurturing vitamins as the light kissed her skin. Of course, too long out in it and those kisses would turn to bites and that creamy skin she was so pleased with would turn beet red. That was okay, though, because she wasn’t going to be out in it for very long. Just the stroll to the diner, the walk back, and then to her car and the ride home. She was taking the rest of the day off, this being Friday, and had big plans to do a whole lot of nothing. Actually, she planned to do some work around her house, but that was for Saturday and Sunday.
Tonight—if Sam didn’t make a move—she was going to cook herself a nice supper, crack open a bottle of red wine, and laze around on her couch and watch a couple of chick flicks and cry her eyes out. It was something she liked to do every last Friday of the month. Sadie didn’t know why it worked that way, like her needs were set to a timer, but it did. She’d cry and feel lousy for a bit and wake up Saturday morning and feel a whole lot better, if more than a little hung over.
There was always Tate Stevens, her brain reminded her. She groaned, thinking of the last message he’d left on her machine. Tate was a rich guy from over in Hazard who’d taken a liking to her and insisted on dating her. She refused, mostly because he was an ass, but there were times, in her darkest, loneliest moments, she did reconsider. Then she would remember Sam, and those black clouds swept far, far away.
Willy Perkins, he of the stooped shoulders, the shock of white hair that blasted underneath his cap, and the big bag of mail, toddled by. He waved his hand and she smiled. As she walked on, she could feel Willy’s eyes on her ass and it kind of made her mad, but she was at least partially pleased that somebody still found her posterior of interest. Sam sure didn’t, it appeared, and just thinking about it brought a grumble to her mouth. What was his problem, anyway? She was still young enough and pretty enough. So why was he dragging his feet?
His dead wife, a little voice inside of her said. It was still too soon for him, the voice said. Sadie didn’t like that voice; she was sick of hearing it, like it was a preacher stuck in her head, humming a sermon as fierce as it was true. It was the voice of reason and understanding, but Sadie hated it anyway, precisely because of the truth it spoke.
Sam Drake had lost his wife and child in a horrible car wreck five years ago. He’d been driving them back from seeing a movie over in Hazard when they got caught in a sudden thunderstorm that poured rain in buckets and creased the sky with long strands of lightning. Sadie remembered the night well, the crash of the thunder and the brilliance of the lightning; it was beautiful and deadly all at once. Sam had lost control of the car and it skidded off the road, slid down a hill, and slammed into a tree. On the passenger side. The side where his wife and daughter were sitting. Sam walked away without a scratch while his wife and daughter were killed instantly.
It was a cruel and remorseless universe, Sadie knew, and it had struck o
ut and taken the lives of the most important people in Sam’s life. She understood how a tragedy like that would not only be hard to overcome, but to also recover from. She was no stranger to heartbreak, though she had never experienced a calamity of such magnitude. The worst that had happened to her was pretty bad, for sure, but not nearly like losing her family.
Her disaster had been named Coyle and he’d swept into her life in her last year of college and wormed his way into her heart like a tick in a thick head of hair. Coyle knew exactly which buttons to push to make her not only fall for him, but get wrapped up in him, as well. And she fell hard. Part of her, that little voice that was advising her about Sam, had also spoken up about Coyle and how she ought not trust him so completely. But the heart is a foolish thing, and she ignored the voice.
Sadie didn’t count on Coyle’s pleasure in manipulating girls, that doing so was his thing, what got him hard in the mornings and let him sleep like a baby at night. He got her good, too, leaving her standing at an altar he never planned on stepping up to, embarrassing her in front of her friends and family. She never saw him again and that was probably for the best. If she did, she might put a bullet in his ass for the pain he’d caused in hers.
She’d since put her life back together, starting up her business, buying her own house, and doing pretty well for herself. She wasn’t the happiest person in the world, but she was coping, and she’d made something of herself in the process.
Mildred Barkenbus crossed the street and stopped in front of Sadie, offering a hopeful smile full of dentures and wrinkled cheeks. She was eighty-seven, had permed gray hair, and commonly wore dresses that were as old as she was. Mildred was one of Sadie’s best customers, always bringing in her ancient fabrics for repair. She was also a very nice lady that, once a month, brought her the best homemade vegetable soup she’d ever had. Mildred cooked up so much soup that it usually lasted Sadie a week before she ran through it all.
“Are you through for the day, dear?” Mildred said. She wore large, round glasses that magnified her eyes so that they looked bugged-out.
“Not just the day,” Sadie said. “But the weekend.”
“Oh,” Mildred said. “I was going to bring a dress by for you to work on later today.”
“Can it wait until Monday?” Sadie said.
Disappointment flashed across Mildred’s face, but it was more than that. Her eyes teared up behind her big glasses.
“I tell you what,” Sadie said. “I’m going to lunch. When I finish, I’ll head over to the bank and pick it up. You have it with you, don’t you?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Mildred said.
“Oh, I insist,” Sadie said. “I’ll go back to the shop and get the adjustments done in no time at all.”
“I only need the length taken in some,” Mildred said. “That’s why I didn’t rush it to you.”
“It’s no problem.”
A smile worth a few thousand dollars swept across Mildred’s face. “You are just the nicest,” Mildred said. “I’m going to make some soup next week. I can count on you taking some, can’t I?”
She patted Mildred’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mildred.”
That great grin spread even further. Mildred waved and sauntered off. “See you soon.”
Sadie said goodbye and turned back towards the diner. Mildred gasped and Sadie spun to see a chubby woman with a close-cut perm bristle past Mildred and storm into the Police Station. She watched for a moment, curious. The woman was a stranger, and rude on top of it. Mildred recovered and stumbled back to the bank as Sadie waited to see if any drama developed in the station. When nothing did, she turned back and went to the diner.
They were busy, but they always were at lunchtime. She looked for an open booth, couldn’t find one, so she headed to the counter where a stool was available.
Drake’s Diner was a throwback to the old diners of the fifties. There was a row of booths, sitting up to four people each, running along the outside wall, the large windows right next to them, offering the feasting patrons a nice view of the town square. In the corner next to the entrance sat an old jukebox, fat and warm, stuffed full of 45’s, rock and roll records from the fifties and sixties, something Sam insisted on despite the protestations of many who wanted some country and western on the box. Next to the juke was a station where the hostess was supposed to stand and a register behind that. On the other side of the register ran the long counter with stools bolted into the floor. The seats of the stools were ruby red, matching the soft seats and backings of the booths. The walls were dotted with pictures from the fifties and sixties; old rock photos mixed with film stills and posters. As Sadie looked around, she was struck by how much this diner would fit into the American Graffiti movie. If they ever wanted to film a remake, she thought, they could do it here.
The diner was full to bursting with workers from the town square shops. A group of strangers, a family of four, husband and wife, son and daughter both under five years old, sat in the farthest booth back.
Mayor Harold Reed held court in one booth, regaling his office workers with stories of his triumphs dealing with the state legislature. Next to Mayor Reed sat Tina Jacobs, a nice looking girl just out of college who worked as the Mayor’s secretary. She was a bit plump around the thighs, had long brunette hair that went to the middle of her back, a cute face and pretty smile. Sadie wondered how qualified she was to do her job, and she also wondered if Mrs. Reed was aware that her husband, the Mayor, often sat next to Tina with his hand resting on one of her knees while they enjoyed their lunches together. Two office workers, John Thomas and Sally Brady sat across from them, soaking up the Mayor’s every word and gesture. They weren’t from Constance but had moved there recently, so Sadie didn’t know them very well.
In the next booth was Tom Arthur, the head pharmacist and owner of Arthur’s Pharmacy. He was joined by his co-workers, mostly high school kids. Sadie always liked Tom because he seemed like a good guy. He was handsome for a man in his forties, with graying hair at his temples and midnight-black on top. He was skinny but not boney, with a gaunt face etched with laugh lines along the corners of his lips and his eyes. Tom was always laughing heartily about something, it seemed. His wife, Nancy, helped run the pharmacy and did the books. She was not with them that afternoon; probably back minding the store.
Next to them was a group of women who worked as checkers at Dobson’s Grocery: Betty Graybeal, Gretchen Smalls, Lana Whitlock. All of them were in their twenties, married, and resigned to their lives in a small town. Not resigned in a sad way, but more of an accepting one; this was their lot in life, and they were content with it.
Some of the workers of Blake’s were in the next booth, two men and two women she didn’t know very well. It wasn’t from any enmity; their paths just didn’t cross much.
In the next to last booth was Blake Shylock and his wife, Edith. Between them on the table sat a giant piece of apple pie with a chunk of vanilla ice cream melting on top. They shared it, both digging in, their eyes never leaving each other as they smiled, enjoying the moment. Blake was dark-haired and short, with a pot-belly and thick glasses on a fat nose with a thick mustache as its foundation. Edith was small also, and skinny, one of those women that could have made a great model, had she not been so short. Well, that and her hawk-nose and swollen eyes. She was smart and nice and she and her husband were very much an odd couple, completely in love with each other. Sadie stared at them for a moment, jealous of their joy.
She finally sat on the open stool next to Burke Wigglesworth, a farmer who lived outside of town and made his money raising tobacco. He was in his sixties and had dull gray hair, bright blue eyes, a thick white beard, and always smelled of cherry pipe tobacco. He turned and gave Sadie a grin, his large eyebrows rising with his smile as he patted the counter.
“How are you today?” Burke said. He sipped a cup of coffee and looked down at his half-finished plate of food. He had eggs over easy,
bacon, hash browns, and four slices of toast with apple butter. Sadie looked down at his meal.
“You having breakfast? Isn’t it lunchtime?” Sadie said.
Burke laughed. “I like breakfast. I could eat it four times a day, I bet. Especially the bacon. Bacon is the greatest food ever.”
Sadie grinned. She gazed over the counter and into the kitchen where Sam was talking with his cook, Aggie Marshall, an old war veteran from Korea with a bald head, scrawny body, toothless grin, and almost constantly drunk. Aggie kept to himself and he cooked a mean meal, so Sam kept him on as help, despite his love affair with the bottle. Sam himself had his back to Sadie and as she glanced down at his ass, she felt a flutter in her stomach. She’d love to get that in her hands.
Sam turned, saw Sadie, and grinned his easy grin. Everything about Sam was easy-going: he was thirty-seven, had an outdoorsman’s body, always wore flannel shirts and blue jeans, dark hair studded with dots of gray that tapered into a ducktail in the back, dark brown eyes, and a face like the Marlboro Man from the old magazine ads. Sam was clean-shaven and clean-living and Sadie wanted him to ask her out so bad sometimes it hurt.
He said something else to Aggie and walked out from behind the wall separating the kitchen from the restaurant as Aggie turned, dumped some hash browns and eggs on a plate, and set it on the counter. Sam picked it up and handed it to somebody down the counter that Sadie couldn’t see. He turned to her and his eyes twinkled.
“What can I get you today?” Sam said.
“You’re busy. Where’s your help?”
“Ah, Maude was under the weather this morning, so I sent her home. I figured I could handle it, but now I’m wondering how stupid I really am.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sam laughed.
Men of Perdition Page 6
