The Twin Who Got The Ring And The One Who Got The Altar Chapter 10
A month in, the shop had its first regulars. Not many–maybe a dozen. But they ordered regularly, left long reviews, the products were good, the flavor was right, they wanted more.
I screenshotted every comment, printed them out, and took them to Old Man Jessup.
He put on his reading glasses, held the paper up to
the window, studied it for a long time. “City people wrote this?”
“Yeah. City people.”
He set the paper down and cleared his throat. “So
it’s really good, then.”
“It’s really good,” I said. “You’ve been making quality stuff for decades.”
He didn’t answer. Just turned his head to look out
at the mountain. Fog had rolled in, white, covering the peak, leaving only a band of green.
“When I was young,” he said, “I wanted out too.
Never made it.”
“Now,” he paused, “my products did.”
I didn’t say anything. I just sat with him and watched the mountain for a while.
Two months in, I got my first bulk call–an organic food co–op that found my online store and wanted to talk.
We met in town. I wore my most professional
outfit, laid out my plan at the only decent coffee shop in the area.
They sent two people–both in their thirties, casual but focused.
We talked for two hours. At the end, one of them said, “Have
you done this before?”
“Studied it,” I said. “Never actually worked it.“
He gave me a once–over. “First negotiation and you held it together.” He nodded. “Not bad.”
I said, “The product’s good. That makes it easy.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
By month three, things started shifting in the
hollow. A few people who’d been holding back came to
ask if I’d list their products too. Then the younger ones
-those who’d stayed behind asked if they could learn.
I said, “You can learn, but you work. This isn’t a lecture.”
They said, “Fine. We’ll work.”
So I had help. I taught them product photography, copywriting, customer service, order management. Some of them caught on fast–more detail–oriented than me.
Elder Granger walked by one day and looked in
through my door. I was gathered around a laptop with a few of the kids, tweaking packaging design. He didn’t come in. Just stood there a moment, then left.
The next day, he called me to Granger Hall. I thought something was wrong. When I got there, he
was sitting with a cup of coffee. “Sit,” he said.
I did.
He took a sip. “How much more did Old Man Jessup make last month?”
I gave him the number.
“Dottie?”
I gave him that one too.
He nodded, said nothing, had more coffee.
“You’re doing well,” he said after a moment.
“We’re only three months in,” I said.
“Nine left. Don’t get cocky.”
“I’m not.”
He looked at me again, then said,
“Go easy on your parents.”
I blinked.
“They play favorites,” he said. “But it’s because
they’re afraid for Sera, not because they don’t want you.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid she won’t make it out,” he said. “Afraid
she’ll spend her whole life trapped in this hollow, married to some local boy, having kids, and that’s it.”
“But,” I said, “what if I was the one trapped here?”
Elder Granger was quiet a moment. “Then they owe you an apology.”
I didn’t answer.
“But that apology,” he said, “you have to go get it.
No one’s going to hand it to you.”
I looked down at my coffee. The leaves—or grounds–settled at the bottom, then spun slowly with
the liquid’s motion.
“I know,” I said.