All These Thrifted Things

Two

Rowan dug his hands into his sweater pockets, not particularly caring if it stretched the woven material.

He could hear his mother's voice now: "You're ruining it by wearing it like that!"

Pockets were for decoration, not personal use. Didn't he know?

No matter. The sweater was already too loose on him as it was.

He ambled down the sidewalk with his head ducked to avoid the chill of the wind. The days were still warm, but the mornings and evenings held the promise of autumn. Flannels had been out in full swing since mid-August, but nature had only started heeding the call of fall fashion just recently.

Rowan tolerated the fall. If it didn't have to precede winter, it wouldn't have been so bad. But dead, empty trees and slick pavement were just depressing. 

His stomach was full from a warm dinner. His new shoes didn't pinch. His mother had grandchildren (his brother's) and grandchildren's clothing to fuss over. Besides, she lived two states away.

It wasn't enough space sometimes, he thought.

He shook his head, deciding instead to focus on the buildings surrounding him. Most of them belonged to him now, after all.

"Two-oh-four A," He whispered. "New yoga studio. Tenant, Cassie... uh, something. Loud, but nice." He peered at the suites next to the studio. "Two-oh-four B. Jones Jewelry. Always pays on time. Account open seventeen years."

He went on, trying to match storefronts to his new tenants' profiles.

There were the Brewers, who ran the hair salon. And the woman who ran the coffee shop with her employee. He couldn't remember their names, but the coffee was pretty good.

Most tenants were up-to-date on their rent payments. Some, like the lady who ran the thrift store, were falling behind.

He saw the sign for Miss Martha's just ahead. Orange twinkle lights framed the windows to greet Halloween, and the store was still aglow inside. Had the employees left the lights on?

He thought back through the tenant's profile. Martha Smith. He recalled that she'd been in business for about eight years. Somehow, the poor woman had fallen behind on rent this year. According to his uncle's records, he hadn't had that problem with her before. Even when rent had been late once in 2020, she'd made sure she caught up before the next month was due.

At present, she'd ignored his emails and hadn't even tried to meet with him about her late rent.

He approached the storefront and came to a stop in front of the windows where he could get a clear view of the space inside. The store was quaint. The products inside, well, they seemed like old useless knickknacks to him. But at least they weren't obviously broken or wrapped up in old plastic sacks. Rolled-up rugs lined the walls and leaned against the shelving in small piles. Clothes hung neatly on racks in the center of the space.

He'd been on hard times financially, just as often as the next guy who'd recently graduated from his twenties. He saw no harm in collecting old plates or the odd table. He just didn't see how someone made a living solely off of selling this much... junk.

Movement deeper in the space caught his eye, and he leaned closer to get a better look. A woman - he assumed it was a woman, though he couldn't see the person's face - with a long, thick braid was sitting on the floor. They were doodling on a sandwich board.

Was this Martha, then? He supposed it could have been, though he'd expected someone older.

Her head was bent, and he watched as she unfolded her legs and spread them wide, knees bent and splayed around the sandwich board so she could get closer to her work.

His hand inched up to knock on the glass, curious to ask her about the rent, part of him irritated. She had blatantly ignored his second email but now was sitting on the floor, every light in the store on and the place shining like a beacon.

Not tonight, though. No. Tonight he'd go home and rest. It was the weekend, after all. He could worry about business tomorrow.

He stepped back before his lingering could look like anything creepier than mild curiosity. In a breath, he'd turned and was making his way back the direction he originally came.

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A/N: I hope you've enjoyed the first two (short) installments of These Thrifted Things. 

If you did like what you read, please vote and/or leave a comment.

Chapter three will be available on Thursday, September 14.

Thank you!