How Was Your Day? - Chapter 9.2

A young man, probably in college, entered the store, looking around curiously. Spotting Mr. Vaughn, he grinned and walked directly to him. Finnley suddenly felt very invisible beside the older man.

"Mr. Vaughn!" the man exclaimed, shaking the aforementioned's hand.

"Henry," Mr. Vaughn replied with a crinkly smile. "How have you been?"

"Fantastic, sir. I just came in looking for something for my fiancé. She'd love this place; I'll have to bring her in sometime." Henry was already looking around, eyes wandering over the tables as if they were already familiar with their contents.

"I would love it if you did," said Mr. Vaughn. "Henry, I'd like to introduce you to Finnley Bale. I'm going to take him on as a part-time assistant." Finnley blinked- Mr. Vaughn had done it again. He couldn't recall having given him his last name, and yet he knew it. There had to be a reconciling sometime soon. Mr. Vaughn knew more than he should, and his mysteries were intriguing but mildly troubling.

As Finnley was contemplating Mr. Vaughn's secrets, Henry turned to him in surprise, noticing the scruffy haired boy for the first time. "Hi," he said, abandoning his search for a gift in order to talk to Finnley. "I'm Henry. It's a pleasure to meet you. I used to work for Mr. Vaughn, you know, back when I was your age." Finnley didn't think Henry was old enough to say 'back when I was your age', but refrained from saying so.

He said politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you as well."

Henry laughed loudly, filling up the tiny shop with the sound. "My! So quiet, so polite! Seems like a good kid you found, Mr. Vaughn."

Finnley opened his mouth to say that he had found Mr. Vaughn, not the other way around, but thought better of it. He had the oddest feeling that perhaps he had not wandered into the antique shop on accident the day before. He shut his mouth and decided to watch Henry as he continued his search.

His fingers passed over objects lovingly, as if he, too, knew all their stories. Finnley wondered what he and Mr. Vaughn had been through together, which stories Henry had seen. His fingers stilled over what seemed to be a music box. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand, then turned the key. A beautiful melody twinkled out of box, which was painted with fields of bluebells.

Henry and Mr. Vaughn shared a smile. "How much will it be?" he was asking when the bell at the front door interrupted. The three of them turned to the door, where an old lady was standing. She was wearing a long raincoat which was drenched, though the September sun shone brightly outside. Her face was puckered in worry, her white hair floating around her face in the static from pulling her good back.

Mr. Vaughn's face changed and he immediately rushed over to her side and lead her up the staircase in the corner without a word. "I'll be a little while," he called down. "Henry, I hope you don't mind waiting. Just stay here with Finnley; you know how to deal with my customers."

With Mr. Vaughn on done strange errand, Finnley and Henry were left facing each other. Henry sat on the edge of Mr. Vaughn's desk and ran a hand through his neat brown hair. He sighed, just a bit, and eyed Finnley. "You've got questions about him, don't you? About Mr. Vaughn?"

"Yes," Finnley answered carefully, eyeing Henry back. He stood a little ways off, watching him. Something about this encounter struck him as a test. "He- he knew things he shouldn't. Things that he couldn't. And if he sells things based on need, rather than the physical worth of the object, how in the world does he make money? The work seems so interesting, but-" Finnley swallowed hard; these words were always difficult to say, especially when it was a stranger, and he was already bracing himself for that terrible look of pity. "But I need the money. It's just my mom and I, and she doesn't like to tell me, but I need a paying job in order to keep the two of us afloat." He looked Henry dead in the eyes. "And if this job doesn't pay somewhere above minimum wage, especially if it doesn't pay anything, then no matter how much I love it I'm going to leave."

Henry leaned back and raised an eyebrow. "Is that all, kid?"

Finnley crossed his arms and added, "Oh, and there's some sort of monster in the forest that wore the face of my sister and my friend had to hit it with a baseball bat and Mr. Vaughn just casually has a drawing of it in his shop."

Finnley didn't think he'd ever said so much all at once. He wanted to grab the words out of the air and stuff them back in his mouth, but he couldn't, so he just kept his arms crossed and pretended like he meant to let all that come out. Henry's eyes glinted with amusement.

All he said was, "You weren't going to mention the lady in the raincoat? You weren't wondering why it was so wet?"

Finnley breathed in sharply. Everything he said, and this man only noticed what he hadn't said? How peculiar. Finnley was certain he knew a lot about Mr. Vaughn, and was probably much more likely to tell him. "I'll admit, it wasn't at the forefront of his mind."

Henry laughed, quieter this time. "She used to come in a lot, even when I was working here. She's from Seattle." He looked pointedly at Finnley, as if he was supposed to understand something he didn't. "As for me," he continued, brown eyes glittering, "I'm from Canada. My fiancé's expecting me back within the hour.

Finnley frowned. As far north as they were, he didn't think that Henry could possibly make it. Nor did he think he would've come all this way just to see an old friend. Henry's smile widened as he saw Finnley's troubled expression. "Now you're seeing it," he said. "This store isn't stationary."