“Hey, Sam. Help you?
“Howdy, Rich. I just need some screws. I can find ‘em my ownself.”
Sam shuffled down the aisle, and Rich stayed put in his seat behind the counter. Five minutes later Sam reappeared, puffing a little from his walk, and tossed a couple small boxes on the counter. Rich rang them up. “That’ll be $298 even.”
“Now I know why they call them screws,” said Sam, extracting three one dollar bills from his wallet. “You keep the change. Get you somethin’ nice.”
Rich opened the register, tucked in the bills, extracted two pennies, and dropped them into a small dish on the counter. “You just about put me over the top for that Mercedes,” he muttered.
Sam grabbed his screws, walked heavily toward the door and then paused. “Rich, I been wonderin’ about old Charlie. I used to run into him all the time around town. I ain’t seen him in quite some time.”
“Well, sir, come to think of it, me neither. He used to get lunch down at the diner and I would see him down there at least once a week. Hmmm. Not much of a talker. What I really liked about him. But, no idea.”
“You have a good day, and I’ll catch you next time.”
“You betcha, Sam. Stay outa trouble.”
Sam stopped by the library, dropping off a backpack full of mysteries, and checking out another pile of the same. “Excuse me, Ma’am.” The librarian looked up. “Do you know Charlie McKenna? He used to come in here pretty regular.”
“Older gentleman, white beard, likes biographies?” Sam nodded.
“Well, let me check…” She punched her keyboard and squinted at the monitor. “Yeah, he hasn’t checked out a book since…going on three months now.”
Sam’s last stop before heading back home was the diner Rich mentioned. “Hi, Marianne. Could you get me chicken salad on wheat, with some fries, to go?”
“Sure, Sam.” She clipped the order for the cook to see as Sam parked at the counter.
“Marianne, you know Charlie, right?” She nodded. “Know what’s happened to him?”
The waitress leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “Well, I heard…but don’t quote me, okay…I heard that he sold his house, his car, and that broken down old motor home, and left town.”
“Seriously? Why would he do that? Where would he go? Good grief, he must be on the north side of 70.”
“I heard…and again, this could be some kinda tall tale…but I heard he met somebody?”
“Met somebody? Like a mortician?”
“No, and that’s not funny,” she giggled. “I heard he met a woman.”
“A woman? I doubt that Charlie remembers…” he drifted off. “No offence, but what kinda woman would be interested in Charlie?”
He drove by Charlie’s place on the way home, and sure enough, a young family was living there. He waved at some kids in the yard, and drove home, all the while thinking, He sold everything for a woman. No fool like an old fool.
A few weeks passed, and he got an email. He could see it was from Charlie. He clicked it open and read.
Dear Sam.
Sorry I didn’t say goodbye. Guess I thought you’d try to talk me out of this. Maybe I am crazy. But it’s the first time I’ve ever really felt happy. We got us a boat and we’re traveling. If you can meet us somewhere, I want you to meet my new wife. Here name is Pearl. Your old friend, Charlie.
Attached was a picture of a smooth-shaven man, wearing board shorts and a big grin. He looked about 50. He had his arm around a pretty middle-aged woman in shorts and tank top. She had a happy smile and kind eyes. They were both standing on the dock in front of a gleaming sailboat.
“Charlie!” he exclaimed. And then softly, “Her name is Pearl.”
