Brother by Ania Ahlborn Page A

Her stick-straight hair was so long it hid her entire back. Henna tattoos spiraled down her bare arms and decorated her hands in intricate paisley patterns. She gave Michael a lazy smile and murmured “Hey, man” while drifting down an aisle of crates.
    Pulling records from the stacks with little to no thought, she created a pile of vinyl that would make Misty Dawn quiver with jealousy. Michael watched her from behind his hair for a while. His eyes occasionally darted to the storage room door, and he wondered if Lucy was going to come back out in time to ring the woman up. With an armload of records, the long-haired lady gave Michael a questioning look. She then moved across the store and dropped the stack onto the checkout counter.
    â€œIs nobody working this place today or what?” she asked. “Where’s Lucy?”
    Michael opened his mouth, not sure how to reply. Explaining that Lucy was in the back room doing God only knew what with Rebel didn’t seem right. Michael didn’t want to get her in trouble, but before he could stumble through an awkward sentence and explain that someone was there, that they were just . . . busy  . . . a sweet voice saved him the embarrassment.
    â€œLucy’s at lunch.”
    Snow White appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Michael imagined her hiding behind a stack of crates, appearing in a puff of glittery smoke like Glinda the Good Witch.
    â€œHi, Barb,” Snow White said, giving the woman a wide smile.
    â€œSeems a bit early for lunch,” Barb said, glancing over her shoulder at Michael. Snow White began to sort through the records on the counter. “Maybe you should hire Robert Plant to help you run the place.” Barb hooked a thumb over her shoulder.
    â€œYeah, maybe I should,” Snow said with a half-smile. She cast a glance in Michael’s direction before punching a series of buttons on the register.
    The attention made him feel self-conscious. He stepped away from the bank of windows and moved down one of the aisles, his back to the girls. Wade had taught him to avoid conversation. People were unpredictable. They asked a lot of questions, and sometimes finding appropriate answers was hard. Reb had agreed on that point up until now, and that left ­Michael in a vulnerable position. He could talk to Snow White and risk her asking about things he couldn’t talk about, or he could ignore her completely and have his brother engage her instead.
    â€œOr maybe Lucy ran off because you’re playing this stuff,” Barb said, pointing to one of the speakers. “A store full of music and you pick this?”
    â€œWe try not to discriminate.” He couldn’t see her, but ­Michael could hear the amusement in Snow’s voice.
    â€œYeah, well, maybe it would suit you to be a bit more choosy. Discrimination is one thing, but free love isn’t unconditional, man.”
    Snow chuckled. “Is that new ink?” she asked.
    â€œYeah. Got it done when I drove up to Charleston. Picked up some new sound equipment for the station. Though I gotta say, we’re probably switching to cassettes soon.”
    â€œAw, what? Tapes?”
    â€œHey, they’re starting to sound better these days. Get your boss to stock ’em, huh? Anyway, say hi to Lucy for me when she gets back,” Barb said. Michael listened to the crinkle of a paper bag. “And put on another record for me. Please.”
    â€œWill do,” Snow singsonged. “See you later, Barb.”
    â€œBack in a few weeks. Later days, babe.”
    Michael chewed his bottom lip as Barb walked his way. She slowed her steps, as if to get a better look at him, then shot a glance over her shoulder, flashing a grin back at Snow.
    â€œHe’s decent,” she announced. “A possible fox.” The chime of the bell marked her exit.
    Michael looked down to the records in front of him. One of the tabs was marked FLEETWOOD .