Page 15 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“Good morning. It’s nice to see you again,” the petite blonde behind the counter says. “What can we make for you?”

“Iced Americano, splash of almond milk,” I say.

“Are you new to town or just passing through?” she asks, beating me to the punch.

This is a trick question for me at the moment, and I think of clever ways to explain the circumstances that have brought me here, but that is not small talk. Josh would probably say I’m overthinking it. Keep it simple.

“New to town for the summer,” I say. “I own a home on Wilson Street, and I’m spending the summer here while my kids are at camp. My name is Gracie.”

I hold out my hand to make the introduction formal, and a look of recognition comes over the barista’s face.

“Oh, you’re Gracie Harris!” she exclaims. “Josh is a friend of mine, and he mentioned that he was working at your place. I’m Sunny—I own The Drip.”

“You own this slice of heaven?” I respond, mirroring her excitement. “I hope you’re ready to see me here almost every day this summer. Something about the vibe in here just works for me.”

This makes Sunny glow with pride. She then shares something that I don’t expect.

“I’m really glad Josh has someone new to keep him company—I hope that’s not weird to say. It’s just that he’s had a rough few years, and a new face is sometimes helpful,” she says, while making my coffee.

Don’t I know it , I respond in my head at first but then decide to share it out loud. Open and honest, just as Dr. Lisa would like it.

As Sunny works, I slide down to the pick-up area.

A moment later when she hands me my coffee, she adds, “I’m only here a few days a week, but if you ever need a break from writing, just pop over to the counter.

I can give you all of the good Canopy gossip and gush about how much I love your work.

A little while back, Kendell—James’s wife—convinced our book club to read a handful of your essays instead of one of our normal selections.

I’ve been hooked ever since. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you at first! ”

“I haven’t met Kendell yet,” I say with a smile, “but I’m fairly convinced she’s my unofficial hype woman.”

I walk over to the same table as yesterday and it dawns on me that Sunny’s name is literally perfect for her. She brightened my day and gave me the slightest bit of confidence that, yes, I am capable of the small talk needed to survive my interviews and maybe even enjoy Canopy this summer.

I set my phone alarm for two hours, open my laptop, and get to work.

—

In the blink of an eye, the two hours are up.

I’m in a groove, so I hit Snooze on the alarm a few times.

Slowly but surely, I will catch this memoir up to the present day.

I just need to take it word by word, page by page.

In a few weeks, maybe a little longer, I’ll officially be living in real time with my writing.

That also means I’ll need to find and fix all the gaps and, even more intimidating, figure out how to end the book.

All problems for future Gracie to worry about.

I repack all of my stuff and walk the dirty glass to the bar, thanking Sunny and telling her I look forward to seeing her again soon.

It takes just a few minutes and one corner to get to the hardware store. From what I can tell, the store doesn’t have a real name. There’s just a big sign outside that reads Hardware . Speaking as the least handy person on the planet, I appreciate the simplicity.

The bell rings as I open the door, announcing my arrival. Looking around, it appears that I’m the only customer in the space, when a man with a kind face and workman’s apron walks up to greet me.

“Mornin’. Welcome in,” he says. “What can I help you find?”

“You,” I respond, then instantly realize it is a slightly strange thing to say, so I try to fix it with a smile.

Hardware Man gives me a funny look and holds up his hand so that I can see his ring finger. This makes me giggle. I like him instantly.

“My name is Gracie,” I say with a huge grin on my face. “My contractor, Josh, has sent me in to set up an account so that he can come in here and shop to his heart’s content like some kind of kept man.”

Now it’s Hardware Man’s turn to chuckle. His head tilts back as he laughs and says something quietly about Josh having his hands full this summer.

“Josh certainly can be high-maintenance, but I think you’ll be able to handle him,” he says. “Let’s get this sorted out. Follow me. I’m Brian, by the way.”

We weave our way through the tight aisles of the store.

What it lacks in size it makes up for in perfect curation.

There might not be a hundred of everything like in a big-box store, but the variety is astonishing.

Someone like Josh—or Ben, for that matter—could get lost in a place like this, thinking up tons of projects to do just for fun.

It’s obvious now why Ben bought all those tools.

He couldn’t help himself once he stepped into this man’s paradise of plywood and power drills.

While Brian and I pass my credit card back and forth and I fill out forms, he asks me lots of little questions about how I found myself here in Canopy for the summer.

I stick to the short version of my very complicated story, and he listens intently.

Bought a house, husband died, became a writer, got internet famous, needed to escape to the aforementioned house but realized it was a mess, used limited connections to find resources, and ended up here in this very hardware store to tell the tale.

“Gracie, I bet you’re a good writer. I’m going to have to google you.

You sure can tell a story,” Brian says sweetly, before adding, “I’m really glad someone like you got that house.

The last owner was loved by many of us, and it’s good to see it in the hands of someone determined to restore it to its proper glory and not turn it into a short-term rental. We hate those.”

“That means a lot to me, Brian,” I respond, purposefully saying his name back so it will embed itself in my brain and I won’t forget.

“My late husband and I spent a lot of time looking with James for the right place, and the Craftsman was perfect for us. Well, now just me and the kids, of course, but still perfect.”

“Life sure can be unpredictable,” he says in a soulful way that conveys there is no need for me to respond.

He’s about to wrap up when I decide small-talk practice should really end with me asking Brian a perfectly simple question.

“What’s your favorite thing about Canopy, Brian? If I told you I was leaving tomorrow and had just one day to do something or eat something while I was here, what would it be?”

He doesn’t even stop to think, just dives right into an answer after glancing at his watch.

“When you leave the shop, turn right instead of going left back to your house. Walk to Lenny’s Diner on Main Street and order the BLT. The ripest, thickest tomatoes and homemade garlic mayo. It’s pure heaven. Nothing makes it feel like summer quite like a Lenny’s BLT.”

As if on cue, my stomach growls and I tell Brian that my best friend’s mom used to make BLTs for us as kids, so this will be a hard barrier to clear, but challenge accepted nonetheless.

He walks me to the door and just as I’m about to leave, he says, “Josh loves those BLTs. Why don’t you grab one for him? ”

—

It’s 12:45 by the time I walk back through the front door.

Josh is at the sink, rinsing out a paintbrush for what must be the fifth time in the short period he’s been at the house.

Apparently, my approach of just buying new brushes isn’t the only option.

Ben used to tease me relentlessly about this.

“I have good news to share,” I say triumphantly. “Not only did I write a full chapter this morning, but I kicked some small-talk ass.”

I walk to the kitchen island and put down the Lenny’s take-out bag, which catches Josh’s attention, and I watch his eyes dart between jealousy and hopefulness thinking about the contents of the bag.

I would’ve been home sooner, but Lenny and I spent a half hour talking about our college basketball fandoms. We talked for so long that he had the kitchen remake the sandwiches so they would be fresh.

“You’ve been quite the social butterfly,” he says in a knowing tone. “Brian, Sunny, and Lenny all texted me to say what a nice woman I’m working for this summer.”

“I am a benevolent and kind employer, Josh,” I say in the most faux charming voice possible as I reach into the bag and pull out two huge BLT sandwiches. “One for me and one for you. The giant fries are to share.”

A look that can only be described as pure childlike joy crosses his face.

“Occasional deliveries of my favorite food in the entire universe definitely make up for the terrible working conditions,” he says playfully.

I toss a fry at him, and he ducks with alarming reflexes, but it still hits him in the shoulder.

“Just so you know,” he adds, picking the weaponized fry off the counter and eating it, “there is absolutely no way to eat this sandwich gracefully. Just embrace the mess.”

“I was about to grab a fork and knife,” I say.

He shakes his head in mock disgust and tells me in no uncertain terms that this behavior simply won’t be tolerated.

Before I dig in, I grab my instant camera from my bag on the other stool.

I carry it everywhere with me, despite the fact that it’s bright pink with stickers all over it, courtesy of the kids.

“Listen, I think the BLT is a thing of beauty, but are you really taking a photo of it?” he asks with a puzzled look on his face.