The Other Side

Paul blinked and then stared back. "You sure you want me to?"

Della was silent a moment before nodding. "We've got to get in," she decided.

"Okay, stand back," Paul warned. Della stepped off the steps as Paul took a step back and braced himself. He took a few steps back and then flung himself at the door. It shook somewhat, and he repeated the process two more times before the door gave in under the pressure.

Paul found himself inside George's house. It was dark. "George?" he called into the darkness. "You okay?"

There was no response. Della entered behind Paul and flicked on the light switch.

"George?" she called, her soft accent carrying her voice through the house. "Are you in here?"

Once again there was no response. Paul glanced around the room. He pointed to his left. "You go that way," he ordered. "I'll head this way."

Della nodded and agreed. She was unaware that Paul had heard something coming from the opposite direction and had purposely told her to go the other way.

Paul followed the low, soft, almost inaudible sound into the bedroom. The door was shut, so he knocked before turning the handle, and then stepped into the room.

Paul knew it wasn't exactly appropriate to be thinking such a thought at that point in time, but he thought that Della looked positively stunning in black.

His thoughts were darted away from that particular idea as he stared towards the coffin in the middle of the room. George probably wouldn't be happy to know that he was thinking about a girl during a funeral. A few other people wouldn't be too happy about it either.

Since the morning three days ago when he and Della had come across George, lying unconcious in his bedroom, the town had been in a state of shock.

Despite immediate rushing to the hospital and the best doctors working on him, they'd been unable to save him from the sudden heart attack. And the town was shocked.

George had never been the most pleasant person but he had also never been mean. Grumpy, yes, but never mean to anyone. And his music store had been a thriving business for many years - a fixture on the landscape.

But now George was gone. The store had been closed for three days. And no one was certain what would happen to it.

Paul stood to the side of the room, watching the stream of people go in and out of the funeral room. The whole town came out to pay their respects. George hadn't had any family. He hadn't had any children with either of his wives, the first one was dead and the second one's parting hadn't been amiable.

Paul watched the flow of people go in and out of the building in silence. He didn't feel like he belonged in the town quite yet, but at the same time, he didn't feel as though he was left out or unwanted. He found he could recognize many of the people as customers from the store.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice when Della stepped up behind him and coughed slightly to get his attention.

He turned, shocked, as he almost jumped out of his skin, and tried to calm himself down. "Della," he gasped. "Didn't hear you come up."

"Sorry," she apologized. "I think we need to talk."

"About what?"

"Well...the store," she replied as if it were obvious. Which it sort of was. "I mean about what's going to happen to it."

"Oh," Paul replied dumbly. He didn't really no what to say.

"George left it to me," she stated.

"Are you sure?" Paul asked.

"Yes. He told me a few years back when he was making out his will. I told him then I didn't want it and I still don't. But I don't want to see it close."

Paul nodded in understanding. "I see," he replied.

"I know about music, Paul. I know how to teach it. I don't know how to sell it. I don't know how to run a business."

Paul nodded. "So what are you going to do?"

"I was hoping you'd take care of it," she replied.

That shocked him. "ME??" he repeated, almost forgetting to whisper in the funeral home. He looked around, embarrassed, hoping no one had seen. Then he led Della outside.

"Della, I don't know any more about running a store than you do," he told her when they were outside.

"But you do, Paul. You've been running it the past month."

"I've been running it for George, yeah," Paul admitted. "But I couldn't do it on my own. I'm terrible at math and I'm a horrible businessman."

"Paul there's no one else," Della told him.

"I'm not planning on staying here forever, either," he told her. "I don't belong here. I want to go back out, try and find wherever I come from."

"You're not leaving right away, are you?"

"Well, no, I was gonna hang around for probably another month," he admitted.

"Great. Look Paul, just help me out running it for the next month. 'Till I find a buyer," Della pleaded. "If I haven't found anyone in the next month then I'll figure out what to do with it then, and you can move on."

Paul looked doubtful. "I don't know."

"Here, have a few days to think about it. Let me know, okay?" Della asked. Then she turned and headed back in to the funeral home, leaving Paul to think about the prospect.

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