“We don’t have anything left.
My mom, Marilyn, said she gets paid tomorrow. I’ll come back. I promise.”
Something in me twisted.
I leaned down a little.
“At home. She’s sick.
My brother is sick too. They both have a fever.”
The people in line behind her started sighing.
That was when I noticed the man standing right behind her.
Dark coat. Expensive watch. Clean shoes that had never seen our neighborhood.
He was not annoyed.
He was staring at the girl as if the world had just tilted under him. I did not like that.
I caught my manager’s eye, lifted one finger, and said, “Can you hold my lane for 30 seconds?”
He looked at the girl, looked back at me, and nodded. I stepped away from the register, grabbed bread, soup, crackers, bananas, children’s cold medicine, and another jug of milk.
I paid for it myself.
When I handed her the bags, her eyes filled up with tears. “I can’t take all this,” she whispered. “Yes, you can,” I said.
“Go home.
Take care of your brother.”
She nodded fast. Then she ran.
The man stepped forward next. He put a pack of gum on the conveyor belt and barely seemed to know where he was.
“You only want this?” I asked.
He blinked. “Yes.”
He paid, took it, and went out after her. That should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
I got home after midnight, checked Dana’s temperature, made sure she took her pills, and listened while she apologized for being expensive. I hated when she did that.
“You’re not expensive,” I told her. She gave me a tired smile.
“Then why do you always look like you want to punch the electric bill?”
That made me laugh, but only for a second.
After she fell asleep, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. I kept seeing that little girl holding the milk. Kept hearing her say her mother’s name.
Marilyn.
I kept thinking about the man in the coat.
