Page 2 of Ghost Town Boogie

Maude danced to Billy’s Boogie which was, in Colt’s opinion, not a proper boogie at all. The old shellac album had been released in 1947, long before any boogie he’d recognize as such had been written, but he played the record when she asked. He’d seen Maude around town before her passing. She’d had a hard time standing for more than a few minutes, and in her final years when he’d seen her on the street she’d been in a scooter. Now she danced without pain, without stiffness. She moved to the music with joy. If she wanted a boogie, she got it. Even if it was this one.

Gerald tapped one foot and swayed on occasion, which was about as animated as he got.

Tuesday mornings were usually quiet, and today was no exception. Weekends were always bustling, and the shop was closed on Monday because even Colt, workaholic that he was, needed a day off now and then. Wednesday might be a bit more lively, and by Thursday business would start to pick up.

When Billy’s Boogie was done Colt plucked a Frank Sinatra record from his personal collection, which was kept on a shelf behind the front counter, and placed it on the turntable. Ol’ Blue Eyes wouldn’t be his first choice for morning listening, but Maude was thrilled. It could be worse. Much worse.

His dad had loved jazz. Modal jazz and avant-garde stuff, as well as good ol’ Dixieland jazz. Hence the name Coltrane for his only child, in honor of John Coltrane. The name hadn’t influenced Colt’s preferences in music, to his father’s dismay. In his opinion, now and always, a little jazz went a long way.

The front door swung open; Colt turned to watch the pretty blonde walk inside and glance around as if she were entering a museum.

“Ooh, she’s pretty,” Maude whispered, as if there was a chance anyone else could hear. “You should ask her out.”

Colt looked down at the old woman. “Go away,” he said softly.

She did. For now.

Had the man behind the counter just ordered her to leave? Anna almost backed out of the shop. She could get coffee at the bakery down the street. She’d passed by because there was a line at the bakery’s front counter, and she remembered that the sign on this old depot advertised coffee. She was in no mood to wait for caffeine, and her mother’s coffee was terrible. It was like she just waved a bag of grounds over the pot and called it done, the coffee was so weak. What was the point?

There was an eclectic vibe to the record store, a mix of vintage and new in a very old, just short of rundown, setting. Several recent releases were displayed not far from the front door, but she was pretty sure that was Frank Sinatra playing in the background. Weird. There were bins of records, some arranged alphabetically, some by era. A few sale bins seemed to be catch-all.

The man who’d whispered for her to go away fit in with it all in an off-beat way, with his ACDC t-shirt and relaxed pose, with his hair a little too long. He needed a shave. Was that stubble by design or was he lazy?

He smiled a little, in silent welcome. Hmm. Maybe he hadn’t told her to go away. She might’ve misheard, she supposed. That was not a go away grin. It was charming, familiar. And then it hit her. He was older and his hair was longer, but she’d never forget that smile.

“Coltrane Hart?”

Her big brother’s best friend from too many years ago looked startled when he recognized her. “Anna?”

So far the return to her hometown had been nothing but frustrating, but she smiled as she walked toward Colt. What to say? I didn’t think you’d still be here. You’re even hotter than you were at eighteen, and that’s saying something. I had the biggest crush on you, twenty plus years ago…

Instead she said, “Yep.”

He walked around the counter and met her halfway for a quick, friendly hug. She was tempted to hold on for a while, but she didn’t. What would be the point? Like her brother, Colt would be forty-two, now. Years ago she’d heard about the accident and his wife’s death. Surely he’d remarried by now. Married with kids, probably. Guys like this didn’t stay single for long.

“You were fifteen years old last time I saw you.”

“Fourteen,” she said. As teenagers, the six year age difference had been insurmountable. As adults…

Not why she was here.

“What brings you to Seawolf Beach?” he asked.

“Mom’s selling the house. The place needs a lot of work before it can be listed.” She hadn’t realized how much work until she’d taken leave from her job and moved – temporarily – back to Seawolf Beach, back to the house she’d grown up in to help get it ready for sale. Everything was falling apart. And the stuff! So much stuff.

“Where’s she going?” Colt asked.

“To live with her sister in Florida. Aunt Sally hasn’t been well for a while. She needs help, and since Dad passed last year Mom doesn’t like living alone.” Neither do I, Anna almost said, but she bit her tongue. She’d been on her own since the divorce, which had been so ugly she never wanted to go through it again. The occasional bout of loneliness was better than dealing with betrayal and bitterness.

“Is Jack coming down to help?” Colt asked. “I haven’t seen him in years. We emailed and texted for a while, but since the last time he was in town — what was it maybe five years ago? Six? — he’s ghosted me. I guess the big shot investment guru doesn’t have time for his old small town friends.” It sounded like a joke, not a jab or a complaint.

Again, what to say?

She settled on a simple, “Jack’s not coming.”

Anna took a moment to glance around the shop. There was a long counter to one side for coffee. It looked like a simple setup; a couple of coffee pots and the usual fixings, disposable cups and lids. It was the sign advertising that coffee that had brought her in. She’d had no idea what else… well, who… she’d find here.

Colt Hart — Cold Heart in her young mind, since he wouldn’t give her the time of day — was a distraction she didn’t need. He still did something to her insides, even after all these years. It was a revival of memories, she supposed, a call back to the young naive girl with a monster crush on her brother’s best friend. When she’d been twelve and he’d been eighteen, she’d been so sure that one day she’d be Mrs. Coltrane Hart.