Ginny was at the stove, stirring the soup, and he walked behind her, reached his hand between her legs, grabbed her. She yelled for him to knock it off and practically hit him with the spoon, a spattering of hot soup hitting his cheek. "Jesus!" he said.
"That'll teach you not to sneak up on me like that."
He wiped the soup off his cheek. "What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing," she said. "I'm making lunch. I wasn't expecting to be molested."
"Who did you think it was? I'm the only one in the house."
"That's not the point."
"I used to do that all the time. You used to like it."
"Well, now I don't." She did not look at him but kept her back to him as she continued stirring the soup. "Wash up," she said. "It's time to eat."
He sighed. "Look, let's not fight. I'm sorry I --"
She turned around, surprised. "Who's fighting?"
"I thought you were angry with me."
"No."
He grinned. "Then how about bending over the table so I can do my manly duty?"
She laughed. "How about washing your hands so we can eat lunch?"
"After lunch?"
She smiled. "We'll see."
They did make love after lunch, a quickie in the bedroom in case Samantha or Shannon came home early, and afterward he decided to get out of the house and take a walk. The rain had stopped sometime in the last hour, and he'd been cooped up inside for far too long and felt like getting outdoors. He asked Ginny to go with him, but she said she wasn't in the mood, and besides, she had some magazines to catch up on.
He walked into town alone, enjoying the smell of fresh rain on the roads and the sight of the clearing sky, the cracks of blue that were peeking out from between the parting grayness. He walked over to Street's store, said hello to his friend, shot the breeze a little, then stopped by Doane Kearns's music shop across the street, digging through the bins of used records against the far wall to see if he could find anything interesting, picking up a bootleg Jethro Tull and an old Steeleye Span album that he'd had in college but had lost somewhere along the way.
Before heading home, he walked into the cafй for a quick cup of coffee. As usual, Buck and Vernon were sitting at the counter, arguing. Today's bone of contention was country music.
"So sue me," Vernon was saying. "I like Garth Brooks."
"Garth Brooks is a pussy! Waylon Jennings. Now there's a real singer."
"Language!" Holly called from behind the counter.
"Sorry," Buck said.
Vernon grinned. "Is Waylon Jennings still alive?"
"You'll rot in hell for that one, son."
Bill sat down at the opposite end of the counter, nodding to the two men, who nodded back.
Holly stopped by, asked if he wanted a menu, but Bill said that all he was after was coffee, and she turned around, poured him a cup, and set it down in front of him.
"Bill."
He swiveled in his seat to see Williamson James, the owner of the cafй, walking out from the kitchen through the door next to the jukebox.
"How goes it?"
Bill shrugged. "Can't complain."
The cafй owner sat down on the stool next to him, motioned for Holly to pour him a cup of coffee as well. "Catch that game on Thursday?"
Bill shook his head.
"That's right. You don't go in much for football, do you?"
"Football, basketball, baseball, soccer, hockey. Don't watch any of 'em."
"You ever even play sports?"
"Nope."
"What about in school?"
"Well, yeah. PE. I had to. No choice. But not on my own."
"Why not?"
"Never liked 'em. Sports are for people who can't handle freedom."
"What?"
"They're for people who need to be told what to do with their free time, who can't think of things to do by themselves, who need rules and guidelines to follow. Like people who spend their free time going to Vegas, gambling. Same thing. Rules. You're told what to do. Other people decide for you how your time is to be spent. I guess for some people it takes the pressure off. They don't have to think on their own; everything's been set up for them already."
The old man thought on this for a moment, digested it. He nodded slowly.
"I can see your point," he said.
Bill laughed. "You're the first person who has."
Williamson cleared his throat, leaned forward. "I'm putting the cafй up for sale," he said.
"What?"
"Shhh. Keep it down." The old man made a lowering gesture with his hands.
"I haven't told anyone yet. Even Holly doesn't know."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter. It's just that . . ." He trailed off. "The Store's going to be opening pretty soon. It'll be putting a lot of us out of business."
Bill shook his head. "That won't affect the cafй."
"They're going to have their own coffee shop. Not just a snack bar. A coffee shop."
"Doesn't matter."
"I'm afraid it does."
"This cafй's a landmark. People aren't going to abandon this place in order to eat and drink inside a discount store. This place is a part of Juniper."
Williamson smiled sadly. "The fact is, no one cares about supporting us local businesses. Yeah, the cafй's a landmark, and when it's gone everyone'll miss it, and your friend Ben'll write a heartwarming story about the way things used to be. But the truth is that once The Store's coffee shop starts offering coffee for a nickel cheaper than mine, or fries for a quarter less, these guys'll be out of here so fast it'll make my head spin." He nodded toward Buck and Vernon. "Even those two."
Bill shook his head. "I don't think so. It's not the prices that bring people here, it's the atmosphere, it's . . . it's everything."
"You're wrong. You might not think it's price. But it is. Everything's economics. And once The Store starts buying big flashy ads in the paper, trumpeting their great bargains, everyone'll flock over there.
"I'm barely making it as it is," Williamson continued. "I can't afford to compete. I'd get my ass whupped in a price war. The Store can hold out forever.
It can lowball me until I'm bankrupt." He sighed. "I can see the writing on the wall. That's why I want to unload this place before the shit hits the fan, while I can still get a decent price for it."
He was silent for a moment, looking around the cafй. "What I wanted to ask you about is advertising on that Internet thing. I figured if anybody'd know how to go about doing something like that it'd be you. I'm going to put an ad in the trades and all that, maybe even one with Ben, though I don't think any locals can afford to buy the place. But I thought I might send it out by computer, too.
See if I get any response."
"Yeah," Bill said slowly. "I could help you do that."
"What if I write out what I want to say? Could you send that out on the Internet for me?"
"Sure, but do you really want to do that right now? Why don't you wait, try to stick it out, see what happens. The people of Juniper may surprise you.
They might rally around the cafй. It could even be good for your business.
Things might really pick up once everyone knows what's going on."
Williamson sighed. "Times have changed, son. Everyone today is so fragmented. This isn't a country anymore. It's a collection of tribes, all competing with each other for jobs, money, media attention. When I was young, we were all Americans. Back then, we did what we had to, or what we could, to make this a better nation. We did what was right, what was moral. Now people do what's expedient, what's 'economically feasible.' " He shook his head. "Used to be, we cared about our community. We were willing to do what it took to make this a better place to live. Now all anyone cares about is how much it costs."