The Scenic Route

Closing Time

I walked over to the window and stood there staring out at the lone car as it crept down Bailey Ave. The pub across the street had the last guy stammering out and patting all over his jacket pockets. No doubt searching for the keys Danny most likely nabbed from him 3 drinks before he cut him off. I lingered there watching him until his eyes looked up and met mine.

We both stood there looking at one another unable to break the gaze until a taxi cruised to a stop in front of him blocking what view we had left. He wobbled a bit and after a few moments I saw him manage to pull the passenger side door open and slide into the backseat. I could see the driver mutter a few words, roll his eyes, and begin to merge back onto the avenue as the rear lights crept further out of distance.

I glanced down at my watch and sighed as I released the curtain and let it glide back into resting position. I turned the upper lock and the damn thing got stuck again. I've told Charlie a hundred times to do something about that damn lock. The last thing we need is some robbery taking only a swift bump from an ass cheek to come waltzing right in. I exhaled annoyed, and gave the door a bump with my hip and turned the lock the rest of the way. That did the trick. I took out my cell and shot Charlie a nice little 3am reminder about the lock.

"Good morning asshole. Guess who's still hip bumping the door to secure our livelihood 3 months later. Fix the damn lock tomorrow Charlie...OR ELSE!"

I wrinkled my brow a little bit frustrated that I didn't even know what the hell "OR ELSE" meant. Hopefully Charlie doesn't want to find out. I stuck my phone back in my front pocket. I knew he wouldn't even glance at his phone unless he was going to take a quick piss before getting back into bed. He had better put the damn seat back down this time too. 6 years of marriage and 1 kid later and he still finds some kinda way to test me. I look up at the ceiling lights and blow out another long, heavy sigh of air. I guess that's what marriage is right. Or at least what my mom kept yammering about.

"56 years of marriage took work Hannah. Love doesn't cut it all the time."

I wanted to ask her if being horrible in bed skewed the formula enough to justify "cutting" it, but I figured I'd keep that little nugget of truth to myself. He's a great dad. I wiped off the counter top after spraying a steady stream across the glass and rolled my eyes.

As if being a great dad gives you a pass on not blowing your wife's back out every now and then. I guess it kinda does because I'm still here. Lock aside, we make a pretty great team in business too.

I wiped the remaining dampness from the counter and tossed the paper towel into the trash can. I flipped the switch and the showroom floor went dark. Light flickered from the televisions and danced across some of the furniture. I made my way around the counter and hit the button to kill power to the outlets.

The televisions all powered down at the same time and I was left surrounded in darkness. Lucky for me I know the path to the back office like I know myself. I started making my way from the front of the store to the back entry way. I bumped my shin on the edge of one of the coffee tables and felt a sharp pain creep up the front of my leg into my knee. I bit down into my bottom lip.

"Shit! Mother -..."

I clenched the front of my leg and let the rest of my words fade into muffled agony from the pain. Guess God has a funny way of reminding you to "honor thy husband". I grimaced a bit, straightened out my leg, and let out a little chuckle. The idea of the supreme being dishing out immediate karma for bad mouthing your husband's sex game was enough to heal whatever lingering sting I had left in my leg or maybe my ego. I limped for a couple more steps then straightened up as I made my way down the hall to the back office.