“Ready to see other people?” I looked puzzled at his question. “I mean the people in the town.”
I couldn’t do anything but smile. “Sure and I want to see these two stop lights you told me about. Do you mind if I play some music?”
“I don’t mind at all. That’ll be nice. No classical though.”
“Rats. How did you know?” I smiled up at him pretending to be happy. There was no sense in arguing with him or trying to explain what I meant. I had bruised his ego, now he needed time to repair it. Hmm… I guess I knew more about men than I thought. “So, no classical. How about classic rock?” I flipped through the channels searching for a classic rock station.
“That would be great although you might have better luck if you put it on satellite. These local stations play nothing but country. I like the occasional country ballad, but not for more than a few minutes.” I tuned in to Kansas playing “Dust in the Wind.” It was a beautiful tune and I loved the soaring violin solo in the middle. This passage plucked at my soul. I closed my eyes, just like the song said, and listened to the music. When the song ended, I turn the volume down a little and tried my best to start a conversation with Bullet.
“So I think you told me you didn’t come to town much? Is there a reason why? Are the good people of Blue Lake unfriendly?” That was as good of a conversation opener as I could think of.
“I have been into town probably six times, mostly to get supplies for the cabin, a few times just to socialize. They have a convenient pub, which serves great chicken wings. I’ve been there a couple of times but as far as really getting to know anyone, I haven’t done that. Not like community leaders or shop owners or anything like that, anyway.”
I could totally interpret what he was saying. He did not go to town very much but when he did, it was to a local bar where he did meet a few people that he did not want to tell me about. I laughed to myself.
“Did I say something funny?” His bruised ego was still bouncing up and down on his brain. I quickly offered up a little white lie to avoid telling him what I was really thinking. So much for the honesty pledge. I figured we had both already broken that. “With just two stop lights, I guess there aren’t many people to get to know in the first place.” That was weak but that was all I had.
Bullet agreed with me. “Yeah, compared to Des Moines and Kansas City, Blue Lake is just a dot on the map. It is kind of wholesome though. I think you’ll like it.”
“So you think I’m wholesome?”
“Yes! Except after two beers or three Cosmos.” I loved seeing his smile even if it was a rueful one.
He was right, Blue Lake was very small compared to the locales we lived in; however, it had its nice points. The shops Bullet had mentioned were open, and each had a quaint wooden sign hanging above the walkway of the storefronts. They were open for business and I wanted to go check them out. I loved shopping but I was frugal. I told him so and he said, “Let’s drive through town first and park and then we can walk through. It’ll be good exercise and you’ll get to see everything. Have you ever been to Gatlinburg, in Tennessee?”
“No, I can’t say that I have.”
“Blue Lake is a lot like Gatlinburg—they both have a lot of craftsmen and a lot of great food. Here’s a good place to park. Bring your ID just in case we decide to stop by the pub. They have wonderful food; it might make a great place to stop for lunch.”
“That sounds great!” I dug in my purse and retrieved my ID and some cash. The idea of getting something to eat sounded great — my stomach was rumbling and we had skipped breakfast. I knew that by the time lunch came around I would be starving. “Wait!” I took Bullet by the hands. “No thinking about anything. Let’s just enjoy this little bit of time we have together. Okay? Right now, this minute, it is just Bullet and Lilly. Two friends having some fun.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. With a distant smile, he agreed and took my hand.
One of the first places we passed was the pub that Bullet mentioned, the Blue Lake Bar. A neon sign flashed above the door—it was a curled wave with a beer sitting in the center of it. Well that was pretty self-explanatory. We did not stop there but continued on to a candy shop, and a microbrewery next. I was surprised at the amount of tourists that were walking along the sidewalks and checking out the shops. “Yes, these aren’t just for Blue Lake tourists. People from surrounding areas come here too because of all the unique outlets. You’ll see in just a minute. They have a guy here that can sculpt anything with a chainsaw. Now that’s doing some surgery.” As if she heard us talking, Bullet’s assistant called his phone. He stepped away for a minute leaving me to window shop in front of a thrift store. I found some things that interested me, like an antique violin case so I waved at him to let him know that I was going inside.
I stepped into the shop and it was like stepping back in time. A turn-of-the-century dressmaker’s dummy stood in the window and a collection of lace gloves lay on a nearby velvet covered display case. They reminded me of Kate who loved all things lacey. I looked at the tag. That seemed reasonable and Christmas was only a few months away. Before I made the purchase I had to check out the violin. What were the chances that this instrument would be in good working order?
“Ma’am, I was wondering, may I open this case? I would like to see the condition of the instrument.” The shopkeeper walked around the counter to the display I stood next to. I had not noticed before but she was wearing Victorian era clothing, a long skirt and a long-sleeved shirt with ruffles at the neck and the wrists. Her hair was piled into a Gibson girl style and she looked like someone who stepped right out of the past. I think the fact that she did not wear any makeup made her look even more like an antique.
“Yes, it is a lovely instrument. I think that you will find that it works beautifully. Do you play, dear?” She had a lovely soft, feminine voice. She opened the case carefully and gently lifted the violin out of the velvet lined box. The instrument shone in the light. I turned it over looking for cracks but found none. This was not a violin for an adult; rather this piece was for a child. I found it all that much more endearing knowing that this beautiful instrument probably had been handled by a child that lived during the turn-of-the-century. We should never forget the children of the past. I pushed back images of my little sister, her stringy blonde hair and her trusting dark eyes. I plucked at a string and then another. Of course these needed to be replaced but the instrument itself was perfect.
“Did you find something interesting?” Bullet slid his phone in his pocket and touched the violin gently with his fingers.
“It is a child’s violin. Turn-of-the-century, probably one from a local school, a music school that closed in the 50s. It is a nice piece to have for a collector of antique musical instruments. Although, I bet this young lady could coax some sound out of it. You look like you know how this is played, my dear.”
“Yes, please play something.” Bullet looked curious and I had to admit I felt like showing off a little. I was tired of him having the upper hand when it came to careers. The instrument was smaller than the one I normally handled by not by much.
“The strings seem a little weak. I wouldn’t want to break one,” I said to the shopkeeper as I lifted the bow and the violin.
“No worries about that my dear. My husband knows how to replace a violin string. He can play every instrument in the shop and I have quite a few. Go ahead, play something.”
“All right, if you’re sure.” I played the Vivaldi piece since it was the one I had been rehearsing most recently. I closed my eyes at the beginning, pretending that I was by myself. I always did that unless I was performing — then you didn’t dare close your eyes because conductors frowned on that sort of thing. But when it was just me, it was just me. Towards the end of the passage I had selected, I opened my eyes. The shopkeeper was wiping tears away and Bullet had a strange look on his face. I had seen many of his expressions, self-confidence, his proud demeanor, but never this one. What was it? Had I impressed h
im or did my playing turn him off? Who knew and who cared? I played the last note and allowed it to hang in the air before I returned the instrument carefully to its case.
“You must be a professional. That was the loveliest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Thank you my dear for stopping by and sharing your gift with me today. Would you like to take this home with you? It seems to like you.” She rubbed away more tears; I could tell that the words were sincere but I decided against purchasing the instrument. Not because I didn’t love it—I did! But it didn’t belong to me. It belonged to some lost child, somewhere.
“No, I don’t think I will, although it is a lovely piece. I will take those lace gloves in the front window. I have a friend who loves English lace.”
The shopkeeper smiled and brought me the selection I wanted. She offered to gift wrap them and placed them in a white box with a gold bow. “Come back soon,” she said as we stepped out of the store.