Gerald Smith looked up from his ledger at the tinkling of the bell, pausing in his work to see who had entered. Corinne Pruitt Johnson. He smiled with pleasure.
“Corinne! How are you this fine mornin’?” Squinting, adjusting his glasses to take a closer look, he noticed that Corinne’s face was drawn and pale. “Are you feelin’ okay, dear?”
Corinne smiled at the grocer, touched, as always, by his kindness.
“Just a little tired is all,” she answered. “It’s cannin’ time.”
“What can I get for you?” asked Mr. Smith. “Salt? Lids?”
“I need a dozen more jars with lids and about a pound of salt” said Corinne. “I got to get all the beans in before they freeze.”
As Mr. Smith selected the supplies, he glanced covertly at Corinne. He felt sure she knew Billy May had been to town the week before. He didn’t know how this affected Corinne, but he suspected it had more than a little to do with her wan appearance this morning. She was still lovely, of course. Corinne had always been lovely. But this morning she looked worn down and a little too thin, as if she had been worrying herself sick over something.
Throughout the years, as he witnessed Corinne marry, have babies, and settle into middle age, Mr. Smith had never been able to see her without also seeing a shadow of Billy May. Those two girls had really been something, he thought as entered the storage room in search of a box of canning jars. One light and the other dark, one rambunctious, the other timid, both as sweet as could be, and both loved dearly by his wife, and by himself, too. He smiled at the memories. How many times, he wondered, had he snuck them a lollipop or a handful of gumdrops? And Mrs. Smith, too. More than a few times he had caught her slipping the girls some sort of treat. They had been impossible to resist, those two girls.
He had watched Billy May grow up, too, from the day she was born until the day she left town amid a storm of averted glances and knowing whispers. Like most folks in town, Mr. Smith didn’t know exactly what had happened. He had only heard the whispers, and he didn’t put much stock in idle gossip. What he did know, however, was that the town was a sadder place with Billy May gone. Corinne, in particular, seemed to suffer, and the death of her brother Willy shortly afterward certainly hadn’t helped matters. Neither girl had had an easy time of it; they’d both experienced more death and tragedy than either should have had to bear. No, life hadn’t been fair to them, but life was rarely ever fair, and even less so in these mountains. If it were, he would have children of his own, and his beloved wife would still be with him, working by his side as she always had.
Returning to the counter he rang up the purchases and then, on a whim, reached into one of the candy jars that had lined the counter of the General Store for decades. He reached towards Corinne with a handful of Mary Jane’s. He didn’t know what possessed him, other than the nearly palpable presence of Billy May.
Once, when Billy May and Corinne were just little things, Corinne had pulled out a baby tooth on one of the sticky candies, later showing it proudly to Mr. Smith. He could still remember Billy May’s excited chatter, “Corinne done lost a tooth. She pulled it out on that there candy. She took a bite an’ wham! It just come right out. I ain’t never lost a tooth yet. Can I have some candy so I can try?” Exchanging an amused glance with his wife, he had handed both girls a handful.
Smiling at the memory, Mr. Smith folded Corinne’s fingers over the candy and then grasped her hand within his in a quick embrace. When she met his eyes, he saw that hers were full of tears.
“Now, honey,” he said, at a loss for words.
“Did you see her?” she asked. “I did, but she won’t talk to me.”
Understanding she meant Billy May, Mr. Smith nodded. “She came by for some supplies,” he answered. “Had a little run in with Jimmy Williamson, but he let her go without too much trouble. I do believe she would have killed him if he hadn’t.”
Corinne closed her eyes briefly. “Did she seem all right?” she asked.
Again he nodded. “Looked fit as a fiddle, as always. Didn’t say much. Never does, anymore.” He smiled. “Asked for some Mary Janes, though.”
Corinne nodded then, her expression relieved, and looked down at the Mary Janes in her hand. “She don’t forgive me, you know, which I understand because I don’t forgive myself, either.” She chewed at her lip as she put the candies in her purse and snapped it closed. She picked up the box of canning jars.
“Honey, whatever happened, you cain’t blame yourself forever. It don’t serve no purpose for anyone. You’re a good girl. You always have been.” Mr. Smith found himself inexplicably on the verge of tears himself as he held the door open for Corinne in the bright morning sunshine.
Corinne didn’t reply, only offered him a tired smile before heading home for a final day of canning.