Hope In Every Raindrop Read Free

screen a couple times, but the map didn’t update. It had stopped working about ten minutes ago, when she’d passed the Bishopville Town Limits sign. She’d left California with no plans of what to do upon arriving in South Carolina.
    She passed a Texaco station on her left, where two black men sat outside the store in lawn chairs. After that, she didn't see anything but farmland and forest for several miles. Katie was about to pull over and attempt to get some type of signal with her phone to locate a nearby restaurant when she saw a small wooden structure a few hundred feet ahead.
    It looked like a convenience store from the 1950s. There was a porch out front, similar to the kind she’d seen on Cracker Barrel storefronts, and a sign above the overhang that read "Pearl's Place." Two cars were parked out front in the dirt lot, and it looked like as good a place as any to stop. If they didn't have any food, at least she could ask for directions.
    The inside of the store was absolutely storybook, and Katie couldn't help but smile after a few steps through the front door. She paused and let the writer in her take over, going through everything in as much detail as possible.
    To her left was a glass counter with wood trim that extended all the way to the back of the store. She didn't see anyone behind the counter or near the cash register, which appeared to be an antique. As she stepped closer, she couldn’t help but think it looked similar to the old-fashioned typewriter that her father had used—though instead of a metal body with plastic keys, the cash register was made of fine wood with different inlay patterns. The numbers and symbols were inset in brass, bronze, copper, and other flat metals with fancy enamel designs.
    On shelves behind the counter sat boxes, bags, and bottles of all the typical home goods: flour, salt, sugar, and a myriad of other indispensable products.
    She took a few more steps into the store and discovered a refrigerated section in the back. It was small, but it had the essentials like bacon, eggs, cheese, and milk, along with a multitude of meats that looked freshly cut and wrapped.
    The middle of the store was full of rows of breads, potato chips, granola bars, and smelled faintly of pure vanilla. One row was clearly marked “Local Goods,” and contained what appeared to be homemade jams or jellies, in particular several different variations of peach.
    As she walked around the store, she used her phone to snap some photos of anything she thought she could use to write about later: brand names she had never heard of, how certain foods were packaged and stacked on the shelves, old pictures and signs that hung from the walls. She also took some quick notes with the pad she carried in her purse, but soon all that took a backseat to her growling stomach.
    A door that led to the back opened and an older man in a white apron and black wire-rim glasses emerged. He was bald except for a short row of hair resting about an inch above each ear, and a bushy white mustache neatly cropped under his nose. Katie couldn’t help but think he looked just like the Monopoly man.
    The man seemed a bit taken aback when he saw a young woman standing in front of him. He adjusted his glasses as if he might be seeing things and then said, "May, uh, I, uh, help you, Miss?"
    Katie smiled and her stomach growled again. "Actually yes, I was just looking for a place to..."
    "Eat," the old man said, finishing her sentence. "I may be old, but I'm not deaf," he added at the confusion on Katie's face.
    "Is there a..."
    The old man again finished her sentence, "restaurant in town? Well, yes and no. We've got food here, but I wouldn't say we're a restaurant. Though I could whip you up a pretty mean sandwich."
    Before Katie could respond he took a few more steps forward, wiped his hand on his apron, and extended it towards her. "I'm Earl, and you are..."
    "Katie," she said, finishing his sentence for a change.
    He chuckled