Memorial Day weekend was busy, as expected, and with Maury, two retirees who helped out from time to time, and myself, we were run off our feet. But that meant sales, and sales meant job security, so it was all good.
Monday wasn’t the busiest day because everyone was either watching the parade, lounging at the beach, or enjoying the huge barbecue fest. That evening after we closed the store early, Maury went to the shore to hang out with his boyfriend, and I grabbed some barbecue to take with me for dinner.
When I arrived home, there was Thorn Blackstone, sitting on the steps leading to my door, a small, ragged duffel bag next to him. I stood there, gaping at him, not sure what to say.
The bruises had faded, but he looked gaunt. His clothes were far from clean and his skin was dirty. He
