Traditions

Certain traditions in a family can be so important, and for unexpected reasons. 

Margie Weaver grew up in paradise. Kid's version, anyway, also known as the candy shop. Weaver's Candies was everyone's favorite place in downtown Sedona. Personally, Margie got tired of candy very early in life. Crunching a cold carrot is good, skip the Ranch dip.

At forty-nine, running the store alone now, Margie felt her life was slipping away, one salt-water taffy at a time. She put the key in the store lock each morning with mixed feelings, some not sweet. But, business was good, steady. The store practically ran itself, she mused. Yet, Margie's heart truly longed for change, maybe some adventure? Wouldn't hurt, she thought, distracted from her chores by the store's chimes.

Margie's pulse quickened when she saw it was Mr. Holt. First stopping by a month ago, Mr. Holt, a bored and retired regional sales manager, was looking for something to do. Intrigued by Margie's candy shop, he expressed a serious interest in buying her business. So, they've been talking the past few weeks, and Margie was now pretty hopeful. Mr. Holt could be Margie's ticket to, well, somewhere! Nothing can mess this up, she fretted.

Holt seemed more excited today, as the two talked more details. He's really serious, Margie thought. Just then, the door chimes again. Entering was a young man, brimmed hat and heavy coat, odd for late July. He walked over to the end of the glass cases and just stood, looking about, ignoring both Margie and Holt.

Margie excused herself, as Mr. Holt took out his cell for a quick call. Margie walked over to the young man, "Hi, may I help you?" Turning his back to her other distracted customer, the young man said in a kind of whisper-snarl "Yeah, you can help me with your cash. All of it, now." The coat bulged a bit on one side, the young man's intent clear, but his nervousness only increased, making Margie worried. 

Realizing the moment, she calmly said, "Okay. Look. I'll give you the money. But, do you really want to make a big noise right now? All that attention? So my neighbors hear?" They both glanced down the counter at the same time. Mr. Holt was still on his cell, looking out into the traffic. "Give me a minute to walk him out, okay?"

The young man seemed frozen in place, thinking hard. Attention would be bad, he realized  "Here, have one, I'll be right back." Margie casually pulled out a small tray of watermelon taffy and placed it on the counter, then returned to Mr. Holt. Stalling for just a minute, chatting about nothing, then Margie eventually walked him out- she was sure their mutually lucky sweet deal was only a matter of time.

Closing her shop door again, Margie turned back to her cases. The nervous robber was safely collapsed on the cotton candy display, out cold, but snoring like a bubbling kettle of caramel. He must have had a few, Margie thought, pulling out her phone to call the police.

You see, Margie's grandpa first owned a drugstore. He detested guns, but knew all about sleeping powders, enough to snooze a charging rhino, safely of course. While old school grandpa never had to use his laced taffys, most fortunately, Margie continued the family tradition.