One Friday night, two weeks later, Brandon heard a big box truck pull up behind the shop just after six o’clock. Celeste was in the storeroom, looking for paper towels. When Brandon looked up from counting out the cash drawer, Ramon stood there, fidgeting.
“Hey, uh, como esta?”
“Fine.”
“Listen, uh, I was hoping you might have some boxes I could have for packing. I’m moving this weekend.”
It had been a long week. Celeste had missed three days work for jury duty, so Brandon had worked eight hours every day, plus his normal store management routine, and taking care of the horses. He still had quarterly payroll taxes to figure out tonight at home, something Paul had always helped him with. Brandon wasn’t in a charitable mood, even for Ramon.
“Check by the back door. You can have whatever
