The Potter's Daughter - A chapter each week - Complete Novel Available on Amazon

Chapter 11

Will pulled his truck up to the Stone Tavern and parked in the space at the end of the snowmobile pack.  He stepped out and looked across the road to see if the liquor store was still open.  The fluorescent light that hung low in the store was on however that did not necessarily mean anything since they left the lights on all night over there.  The watch Will kept on the dashboard of his truck had not worked in five years or been worn in fifteen, even then only on occasion.  Walking across the road, he leaned his neck forward to see any signs of movement a bit sooner.  The face of the wall clock read ten minutes to the hour.  Will took this as a good sign.  When Will opened the door a little bell signaled the counter that someone had just arrived in case they were stocking shelves, in the back, or with a customer.

The Willow Lake liquor store was just that and nothing else.  This was the only place to buy liquor for twenty miles.  The store interior did not need to be upscale or wood trimmed.  The wine section did not need the ends of giant casks on the wall.  The advertisements were even at a minimum because they were not really needed.  The liquor store had been set up by the liquor control commission and was as basic as a store could get.

Inside of the liquor store aisle after aisle of alcohol, the vodka, the whiskey, the brandy, and gin were lined up on the shelves with full cases behind them, in more of a storage facility fashion than a display.  Along the side and back walls, from floor to ceiling, were all of the varietals of wines, the Cabernets, the Chardonnays, the Pinots, and the Chablis from wineries from around the world.  The variety of wine labels to choose from represented a vast collection of wineries, corporate and boutique, with catchy names like ‘Red Juice’, ‘Farmers Dream’, and ‘Devil Dog’.

Will chose his wines for taste and price.  The Argentinian Malbec had a faux French label to appear authentic and the Shiraz had a large black turtle on the label.  Both were under ten dollars and did not taste like varnish.  That pretty much made them his wines.  In what now had become a ritual he swiped one of each off the shelves and went up to the counter.  After setting the bottles down next to the register Will stepped back three steps and picked up a half pint of ginger brandy, elixir as he called the drink, and tossed the bottle hand to hand as he stepped back to the counter.  Will knew what the total would be before Dennis, the cashier, rang the bill up.  Will reached into his pocket and pulled out two twenties and placed them and the ginger brandy next to the wine.  Dennis bagged the bottles and slid them across the counter.  Will did not wait for Dennis to ring in the twenties.  Will scooped up the bag and muttered goodnight as he turned to the door.

Will’s walk back across the street was direct.  His thumb punched the button to the handle of the passenger door and as the door swung open he pulled himself inside.  Will set the bag on the passenger side floor of the truck.  Immediately he reached for the ginger brandy.  He cracked the top and poured some down his throat.  A jolt shot through him.  He cringed.  His body tightened up and then went loose as he shook off the initial bite.  A numbing quiver crept up his spine.  Will put the bottle to his lips and took another drink.  This one went down smooth and brought him momentary euphoria.

Will slipped the brandy into his inside coat pocket, shut the door to the pickup, and then headed to the Tavern door.  Stepping inside Will went right to the end of bar, waved over Jodi the bartender, and ordered a beer and a sidecar of whiskey.  While waiting for his drinks Will said hello to some fellow locals at the bar, undid his coat, and proceeded in small talk with Terry Enders.  The talk was automated though because all Will could really think about was getting the beer and whiskey.  A beer and a shot were part of the formula that would calm his nerves and steady his hands so he could get back to work on the urns.  Urns that were Bellen urns only if they were made by Bellen hands.  This was all part of a ritual.