There’s No Rush Around Here

Some days start with a plan. This wasn't one of them.

There were things that could have been done. A shelf that had been waiting to be fixed. A half-finished project on the workbench. A list somewhere that neither of us was particularly interested in finding.

So we didn't.

We headed out instead.

No destination. No real reason. Just the feeling that staying home would be a waste of a perfectly good day.

It was Ash who spotted the sign.

ANTIQUES — 2 MILES

The arrow leaned a little to the left. The sign leaned considerably more.

Poe looked at the sign.

“Absolutely not.”

Ash kept looking at him.

Two minutes later, they were headed left.

The shop turned out to be less of a shop and more of a building that had been collecting things for longer than anyone had been keeping track. There were chairs hanging from the ceiling, boxes beneath the chairs, and narrow paths through stacks of things whose usefulness was, at best, debatable.

In other words, it was excellent.

---

Poe found it near the back.

It was sitting on a shelf between a brass candlestick and a stack of old fishing magazines: a wooden duck decoy, worn smooth in places and chipped in others. Someone had painted it once, although time had apparently taken some liberties with the color.

Poe picked it up.

Ash stared at him.

“Look at the craftsmanship.”

Ash continued staring.

“It's got character.”

Nothing.

Poe tucked the duck under his arm.

That was that.

By the time they got home, the duck had acquired a place of honor on the mantel.

Ash objected to the location.

Poe moved it to the bookshelf.

Ash objected to that too.

Eventually, it landed on the little table by the window, where Poe declared it looked as though it had always belonged.

Ash disagreed.

Loudly.

The next afternoon, Poe walked into the room and found Ash asleep beside it.

He didn't say anything.

Neither did Ash.

Some things just take a little longer to admit they belong.