Jim Maxwell is walking down Main Street, having just left the law offices of Satchel and Howell, when he distinctly detected the aroma of fresh baked apple pie. He reflexively flicked his arm to extend his watch past the cuff of his Burberry cashmere and camel coat. He looked at his watch and after finding that it was 9:34 he realized that he actually had nothing else scheduled for the entire day. Nothing for Saturday or Sunday either until his flight back to New York on Sunday at 5:15pm.
His office was unlikely to call him today. He did have a number of open sales contracts and a new product review pending but the other vice presidents and officers were all aware that his aunt had recently died and would not disturb him while attending her funeral which was yesterday. It was a small event with only a few locals from the town and a preacher. Jim had never met the young preacher. In fact, he only knew Luke Artes, a friend of his aunt, who would visit occasionally during the two years Jim lived with his aunt when he was a boy.
The town was only slightly smaller 35 years ago. They now have a Lowes hardware store and a Walmart is currently being built on the top of a large hill outside of town on what used to be Luke’s Christmas Tree farm. At the funeral, Luke mentioned that he wanted construction to wait until he could harvest the trees for this Christmas but they really wanted to break ground as soon as possible. About a fourth of the trees were stripped off, along with a pretty good chunk of the hillside when they started carving out the entrance ramps. Fortunately, these were younger trees not ready for harvest anyway and the prime 7 ½ foot trees in the back were still standing and will be spared until he can harvest them in a few weeks just in time for this season. Some of them he will have to cut earlier than he likes though to meet the construction schedule.
Thinking back, Jim mused about Luke’s actual relationship with this aunt. He was too young to really understand what might have been going on between them but now he smiled and thought ‘good for her.’ Then he started to remember that Luke was not his aunt’s only gentleman friend. There was Mark, a blonde man who rode a motorcycle. Mark died by crashing his motorcycle into a massive pin oak that first autumn Jim was staying with his aunt. His aunt took him to Mark’s funeral. Jim remembered that he didn’t feel sad, rather bored, and spent the entire funeral just looking at the wet grass and mushing his new dress shoes into the soft, muddy lawn until it was time to go. By the time he needed to wear those shoes again, he had already outgrown them.
And then there was Matt, maybe Mathew, another man who stayed for a while and painted the south side of the house. Now he started wondering just what his aunt was really up to and if there may have been one or more Johns to finish out the rest of the gospel. Then he changed the subject in his mind and started to seek out a slice of that apple pie.
Walking further along Main Street, he looked at the street, which had mostly dried after last night’s rain but had streaks of dampness where car tires picked up water from shallow spots and tracked it down the street. The red leaves that had fallen were not blowing around because they were now pasted to the sidewalk. Those on the street were being churned into a brown mush by the slowly moving line of cars of the autumn tourists that were just arriving. In the next few days, the town will be quite busy and then the tourists will be gone, returning to the tree-less city hours away.
Main Street. Unimaginative as it is, it is fitting that it is called that as it is the major street though this New England town and, well, it has always been the main street. Many small shops lined both sides. There was Nathan’s Hardware. Even when Jim was a boy, Nathan was not the owner. Nathan was the father of the owner and Nathan’s gravestone is just a few rows away from where Jim’s aunt is now buried. The current owner might not even be related to Nathan. The hardware store used to be a wonderful place for Jim. They had all kinds of tools, a towering bin full of nails that spun around, and a scale with a large tin scoop pan hanging nearby. Even though there was never any actual cattle feed for sale in the place, it smelled like cattle feed. They also had pocket knives and the one in the top spot in the glass display case was a massive bowie knife that came with a black sheath. Jim really wanted that knife but what he got was an Old Timer pocket knife with 3 blades. Jim carried it everywhere. He could never get the smallest blade to fold out without using a screwdriver to pry against the small slot on the side of the blade so he didn’t use that one. That first winter snow after he got it, while sledding down the hill at the lake, the pocket knife fell out of his pocket when he stood up at the end of the run. He picked it up and put it back into his pocket but later could not find it. He was certain that it had fallen out again and he searched the many pockets of his pants and coat without success. Four days later, he miraculously found the knife in a pair of pants that he had not worn that day. Perhaps something happened in the wash. After that, he attached a lanyard to the knife’s metal loop so he would not lose it again. Brought back to the present, Jim thought that it was much more likely that his aunt had bought him a replacement knife and put it where he would find it. He still had that pocket knife but he had not seen it in years. It is probably in a drawer somewhere. Just a bit of childhood stored away; an old memory now.
There is a flower shop where there used to be an arcade. Jim never spent much time in the arcade. His aunt didn’t allow it, saying it was a dirty place. And it was. It was dark and there was popcorn or something ground into the reddish carpet. Back then you could smoke inside so teenagers were smoking in there because the owner didn’t care about them being under age. There were pinball machines and the new video games. And besides the loud games, the owner was playing loud music from a stereo system as well. Jim would sometimes get to sneak in while his aunt shopped at nearby stores but he could not stay long. He only liked one game. He couldn’t now remember the name but it had a greenish blue spaceship that blasted things.
There is a Domino's pizza where a deli used to be. That deli had the best hoagies. No idea what happened. Maybe the owner retired. And across the street on the corner is the old drug store with Pebbles Drugs forever named in a cracking mosaic of tile in the entryway, now an ‘art gallery’ featuring framed giclees and ‘folk’ art that is probably also mass produced.
Finally, Jim located the source of the apple pie aroma and pushed open the glass door of the shop. A small brass colored bell tied to the inside bar on the door dinged and then bounced rudely against the glass. Jim walked to the counter and stood in front of the only open space which was to the left of an old NCR steel gray cash register. He didn’t notice what was occupying the remaining counter space, figuring it was just plastic souvenirs for the tourists. On the wall behind the counter was a chalkboard mounted near the ceiling. Jim assumed it was a menu but he didn’t have to bother reading it. It was easier just to ask anyway. His astigmatism made it difficult to read things printed in red and the chalk writing was heavy with red and orange in honor of the autumn season. He could smell the apple pie and he assumed that the price would be high for the tourists but still reasonable. After all, he was more of a tourist now and whatever it cost he could afford it.
A moment later a woman came out of a back room near the far end of the counter and walked the length of it to the cash register. She was wearing a brown apron with a red flame logo that Jim dismissed as being an autumn leaf.
The woman asked ‘May I help you?’
‘Yes’, Jim replied, ‘I would like a slice of apple pie.’
The woman stared at him, looked him up and down and finally said, ‘You are not from around here are you?’
‘No. Can you tell that from my accent or something?’
The woman smiled and said, ‘No. It is just that most people around here know that this is a candle shop and not a bakery.’
The comment broke Jim’s nostalgic tunnel vision and he slowly turned completely around to take in a shop full of candles. There were candles on shelves. Boxes of candles. Books on candles. Candles on books. Candles on small tables. There were candle kits. Candle molds. Candles with multiple wicks. Candles hanging in bunches from hooks. Candles mounted on sconces on the wall. Candles that were short. Candles that were tall. Candles on the counter. And a candle on the woman’s apron.
Before he could even say anything, the woman continued, ‘I just got a shipment of candles that smell like baked apple pie and I have been burning a few of them just to try them out.’