Chapter 2.

The old cow bell tied to the screen door of Merle’s Misplaced Merchandise clanged loudly in the silence of the late afternoon lull. The proprietress and namesake Merle Malone looked up from her tattered copy of The Thorn Birds to observe who was disturbing her late lunch/early dinner which consisted of a lukewarm can of Diet Rite and a rather crusty egg salad sandwich.

It was a boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen if Merle had to guess and she eyed him warily for a moment as not many teenagers wondered into her quaint little shop unless they were looking for classic albums-which she had none of, or they were hunting for trouble-which she wanted none of.

“Can I help you?” She finally called rather brusquely, when the boy merely skulked in the doorway, looking rather lost and a little more than unsure of himself.

When he lifted his eyes to meet hers the first thought that rushed into her head was that she needed to point his cute little hinny in the direction of Pete‘s Barber Shop. But she bit her lip, reminding herself that kids these days liked that long style and besides it wasn‘t any of her damn business.

At least his hair was a nice, deep shade of chestnut brown, and not some outlandish pink or blue nonsense. It looked clean, too. Not greasy or slicked back or stuck straight up like he‘d jabbed his finger in a light socket. As he got closer, and Merle removed her reading glasses, letting them dangle from their beaded chain, she found herself thinking the style sort of suited him. “I‘m Merleen, Merle for short,” She told him, as he stopped on the other side of her counter. “I own the joint.”

“Sam,” He said, casting a furtive glance to the shelves behind her. “I was just hoping to look around.”

Merle waved her arm in a grand gesture. “Knock yourself out. But I can tell you now that I don’t have any music of any kind, and I don’t bother with prosecuting shoplifters. I just take them out back and feed them to Holiday here.”

The kid looked down at the floor where she was motioning and then glanced back up at her with eyes that she couldn’t help but to notice were the color of the molasses she liked to pour on her biscuits on Sunday mornings. Those eyes seemed to ask if she was serious as they once again went back to the semi-comatose heap of fur at her feet, and Merle harrumphed. “Underneath all that beats the heart of a lion. So don’t test my resolve, kid.”

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

He stepped around the resting Retriever, and made his way towards the back of the tiny shop. To Merle‘s surprise a thump, thump, thump of a tail hitting the hardwood floor heralded his wake and had her sighing into her can of soda. “I suppose that is your way of telling my I should go help the boy.”

The dog whined and stretched out further, his tail continuing it’s staccato tapping. Merle put her drink down and eased her robust bottom from her favorite diner stool, giving Holiday a snort of disgust. “Some partner you are.”

She found Sam looking through the numerous books stacked neatly on the wooden shelves she’d built herself. “So, are you looking for something in particular? Or just browsing?”

Merle eased alongside the boy, taken aback by just how tall and gangly he was now that her rather squat and round self was standing next to him. A smile suddenly sprang to her mouth as she imagined that they might look somewhat like a giraffe and rhino roaming the Serengeti. Of course, she always did have an over active imagination.

“I was looking for something for my Dad.” His reply brought her out of her internal dialogue with herself and she nodded.

“That makes sense. I’d almost forgot that Sunday was the big Dad day. Sears and Home Depot pretty much kill my business for that particular holiday. Now Mother’s Day-that’s a different story.”

“You have a lot of nice things.” He said, gazing around from the books to the perfume bottles and unusual vases and such, before motioning to the books once more. “Some of these are original first publications.”

Merle arched an eyebrow. “You’re a scholarly one, aren‘t ya?”

He grinned then, revealing a dimple that would have been just perfect for poking-that was if she’d been the grandmotherly type and prone to do such things. “I like to read.”

“That’s good, most kids your age just go around with those blasted boom boxes strapped to their shoulders. A person could get mighty rich if they could shrink those things to pocket size and wire them straight into the brain.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Is your Daddy a bookworm, too?”

His smile fell, disappeared like a groundhog scampering into it’s hole at the first sign of its shadow. “Not for pleasure.”

“I see,” Merle put her hands on her hips and looked around. “Well I hate to tell you but I don’t have any power tools or lawn rakes, or barbecuing utensils, not even a box of nails. But there may be a hammer around here that once belonged to Theodore Roosevelt himself.”

“I wasn’t looking for anything like that. My dad’s not really…well he just isn’t your typical kind of father.”

The slight hint of contempt might have been imagined, but the brooding look of disapproval that stormed through those dark eyes was not. “I see,” Merle said with another nod of her head. “He a business man? Work a lot?”

“Something like that.” Sam looked down at the floor as he spoke and Merle had a good hunch there was an interesting story behind that statement.

“Well, I do have some unique desk things that I got from an estate sale. Stuff like paperweights and pen and pencil holders-even a letter opener.Got a couple of ties, too- one belonged to Nixon- I think.”

The boy shook his head. “He travels a lot for business. Not really an office-type of guy. And I've never seen him in a tie.”

“Okay,” Merle sighed. “How about you tell me a little about the things you two do together and then maybe we can go from there.”

The boy looked at her like she’d just asked him to stand on his head and juggle some knives with his feet. “Things we do together?”

“Well-yeah. You know…father and son type stuff. Are you sports fans? Because I have some signed baseball playbills from the forties with the Babe’s signature.”

Sam shook his head. “My Dad’s never taken me to a ballgame.”

“You’ve never been to a ballgame?” Merle shook her head and clucked disapprovingly. “That’s un-American.”

“Oh, I’ve been to a game,” Sam rushed to explain, a hint of smile finding its way back on his face. “My brother Dean took me to a Red Sox game once. They were playing the Yankees.”

“Sweet,” Merle whistled, and then looked around her shop again. “Well, what about fishing? Lots of boys and their dads like to take to the rivers around here? Best catfish East of the Mississippi. Why my own daddy taught me how to tie the most-irresistible fly around. Fish see it, and practically jump right up in your basket. I have some of those for sale.”

Sam shook his head again. “Dad’s not much of a fisherman.”

“But you’ve been fishing, right?” Merle asked.

He nodded. “My brother use to take me a lot when we were kids.”

“I see. How about hunting? You don’t really look like a Bambi killer but, then again, I’m not the best judge of character. Just ask my four ex-husbands.”

The boy swallowed hard and seemed to pale a bit. “My father hunts, but he’s got just about every piece of equipment he could need.”

“That’s good, because I don’t sale guns or knives or any of that stuff, Sam. Although I do have a hat supposedly worn by Davy Crockett. He was from around these parts you know.”

When the teen only shook his head, Merle rubbed her chin. “How about games? I have an antique chess set and a card deck that was used back in the Wild West.”

“No, Dad doesn’t play games-at least not for fun.”

“You’re not a lot of help here, Sam.”

“Sorry. My dad and I haven’t gotten along for the last few years. I‘m not usually in to the whole Father‘s Day thing.”

“Ah, puberty,” Merle sighed, remembering her own discomforts with her father when the horrible hormones had swarmed down upon her. “Just be glad you didn’t get boobs.”

“Excuse me,” Sam stuttered.

“I said-then what put you in the mood.” Merle waved her hand in the air, when Sam didn’t seem to get it. She spoke slowly. “Then what’s so different this year?”

“My brother asked me to do it. He thinks it’s important.”

“Your brother, huh?” Merle watched the boy’s face tense up, bringing a pained look that shouldn’t have been present on someone so young. “Why isn’t he here, if he‘s the one who thinks it’s such a big deal?”

“He’s in the hospital, just around the corner.” Sam shifted from one foot to the other. “I told him I’d come look for something.”

Merle wondered if the kid‘s brother had cancer or something-maybe even drawing his last breath as they spoke-that overactive imagination in full swing again. “I guess he didn’t have anything in mind either?” She knew she was grasping at straws, when the boy shrugged with his whole body.

“Just something Dad would like.”

“Well, you’ve told me your Dad doesn’t really care for sports, or fishing, or reading, or games. Do you happen to know what he does like, besides hunting that is?”

Sam’s frown deepened. “He was in the Marines. He liked that because he got to yell and boss people around a lot. And my Mom. He loved her.” Another shrug. “And Jimmy Buffet, but you said you didn’t have any music.”

Merle felt her heart clinch slightly and she was almost afraid she was having another heart attack, because she hadn’t really let herself feel empathy towards another person in a long time and it kind of took her by surprise. But the sudden open and vulnerable look in Sam’s eyes, sort of jolted her out of her stupor. “Parrot Head and a Jar Head, huh? That’s an odd combination. How about a soap on a rope. I have one in the shape of an anchor.”

The kid shrugged again. “Maybe I’ll just look somewhere else.”

“Now don’t go rushing off,” Merle held up a hand to stop him. “I might not be the all mighty Sam Walton- but I’ve never sent a customary away unhappy.”

“And besides, your brother’s right. Father’s Day is important, and dads deserve some respect for all they do.”

When the boy frowned again as if she were speaking in some foreign tongue, she continued. “Well, you know what I‘m talking about. Dads teach their sons to catch a football, and throw a baseball, ride a bike. They talk to them about girls and teach them all that scratching and spitting stuff.” Merle sighed. “Who the hell taught you to tie a necktie? Or how to shave?” She waved her hands in front of Sam’s face. “Were you raised by wolves, kid?”

Sam finally smiled. “No, but my Dad didn’t do all those things. My brother did.”

Merle put her hands on her hips. “Then maybe you should be buying this sickly Dean a gift, instead of your old man.”

“Maybe.”

Merle had a sudden idea and motioned for the kid to follow her back over to the counter, where her abandoned sandwich should have been, but was not. Holiday was also conveniently missing “Damn dog,” she muttered unlocking the back and pushing the hinged doors to either side.

Sam came up beside her and leaned his elbows on the top of the glass case peering down at the contents inside. “I just remembered that some old guy brought this in a few months back, pawned it for enough cash for a beer and some smokes and never picked it back up.”

Merle found what she was looking for and stood back up, holding her hand out so that Sam could see the shiny silver lighter laying against her palm. “Vietnam vet,” Merle told him. “Lost his leg and everything.” She nodded to the lighter. “Semper Fi engraved right on the side. That’s the Marine motto-isn’t it.”

Sam nodded, picking the lighter up and turning it over in his hands.

“Your Dad smoke?”

Sam looked at the store owner. “No. But he’s been known to burn things from time to time.”

Merle raised a brow, but decided to let the comment on the tip of her tongue slide on back down to the fiery pit it came from. “Then maybe that’s the thing for him.”

His dark eyes held her gaze for a moment, and then he nodded again. “Dean will like it.”

She didn’t miss the fact that the boy said nothing about whether the intended recipient would agree or not. “Well then. Another satisfied customer served. Be sure to tell your friends.”

Merle bent down to close the doors, but a hand on her arm stopped her. “What’s that?”

The teen pointed to a bronze circular item tossed on the bottom shelf, and Merle knew exactly what it was without picking it up. “Ah, one of my favorites.” She picked up the compass and handed it to Sam. “I’m not sure how old it is, and I don’t even know if it works to tell you the truth , but I’ve always liked the inscription” Merle opened the compass, and read the swirling writing. “True North- So you always know where you are, and where home is.” She smiled up at Sam. “A little sappy, but nice.”

Sam took the compass from her, and turned it over in his hands much like he’d done the lighter. “You can’t actually find True North with a compass, you know.”

Merle shrugged. “You don’t say?”

The teen glanced up at her. “No, a compass works with the magnetic field of the Earth, which isn’t exactly where the North Pole is. Pilots and Captains use to have to adjust their course for the difference, depending on where they were located at the time because Magnetic North fluctuates. If you follow a compass based on it, you'll get lost.”

“Well, Mr. Scholarly, I’m guessing whoever wrote that, probably meant it more figuratively. Home isn’t always a co-ordinate on a map, you know.”

Sam looked up at her sharply, and Merle shrugged. “I get a little sappy from time to time. Especially after reading the Thorn Birds.”

When the boy glanced back to thebrass compass, Merle cleared her throat. “So, what’s it going to be, kid. The compass or the lighter?”

Seeing the struggle register across the handsome features, Merle leaned on the counter next to Sam. “ You know, I was just thinking that not all fathers are cut out to be dads, Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a smart kid. I think you know what I mean. A Dad does all those things we were talking about. All those little things that we remember as we get older. All those things that bring us comfort and help us muddle through the kind of person we’re going to be when we grow up.”

“Then there is a Father-who protects and supports a family. Maybe only financially. He might seem cold and distant at times, harsh even, but he has a function, too. They both are important. In a perfect world, you get the combination all rolled into one Bill Cosby. In a not so perfect world you may get one or the other-hell, some people don‘t get neither. But it kind of sounds like to me that you got both-just in different packages. And you can honor them in different ways.”

Sam ran his teeth over his bottom lip, glancing out the door, before looking back to Merle. “How much for both?”

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