“Hey,” Quinn says softly. “Are you, like… okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snap, thrusting a handful of sponges at him.
“Maybe she’s starting her period,” Casen mutters. “She seems extra emotional.”
“This has nothing to do with my period.” I run my fingers through my hair, which is somehow tangled, even though I brushed it an hour or so ago.
I’d rather not let on just how stressed I am. Despite the way they worry me endlessly, they’re kids with enough burdens of their own to deal with. And in reality, some of my worries are unfounded. Concerns like the one that hit me the second I saw the mess they’d created. That my brothers would be taken away from me because the powers that be will see that I’m not fit to take care of them. I feel entirely unworthy of them. Too young, too dumb, too fucking broke to raise them. But in my heart, I know they’re better off with me. It’s why I fought so hard for them after Mom went to prison.
The three of us get everything righted, and since they were wreaking havoc rather than picking out paint rollers, I toss a few of those into the cart along with plastic roller trays.
“Let’s go,” I say, pushing the cart forward.
At checkout, I find the paint cans, just as promised, and the older gentleman loads them for me. When the total appears on the register, I balk a bit, but I bite my tongue and pay for it. The house smells musty and stale, and with any luck, a fresh coat of paint will fix the issue. I can’t blame Thayer and Laith for leaving so quickly. I’m not sure how Caleb held out for as long as he did.
I’m worried that even the paint won’t be enough. Not with the shape of the worn carpet in some of the rooms, but I have to try.
Outside, the boys help load the car without complaint. They’re useful when they want to be.
Once it’s all taken care of and they’ve returned the cart to the front of the store, I smooth my windblown hair off my forehead. “I’m going to walk around and see if any of these places is hiring. Why don’t you hang out over there?” I ask, lifting my chin to the store down the street that looks like an arcade.
“Sure,” they say in unison, giving me matching shrugs.
I pull out a ten-dollar bill and hand it to Quinn, but rather than take it, he just arches a brow.
“This isn’t going to last long.”
“I barely have that to spare, so make it last.” I ruffle his hair and then Casen’s.
With annoyed looks and hands roughing through their hair, they take off.
Once they’re inside the arcade, I wander down the street, searching for help-wanted signs. With the number ofbusinesses on this block and the next, someone is surely looking for part-time help.
The money I make doing scheduling for a doctor’s office is decent. On my own, it was good enough, and it’s a remote position, which means I can be around for the boys when they need me. But it’s not enough to support the three of us comfortably. They’ll start school soon, and if they want to play sports or get involved in other extracurriculars, I don’t want to have to tell them no. When I was growing up, we didn’t have the money for that kind of stuff. I don’t want the same for them if I can help it.
The first help-wanted sign I encounter is in the window of a musty-smelling thrift shop. I put in an application even if I’m not sure I can survive the smell. It might be worse than the house.
Next up is a hair salon, but they’re only looking for a licensed hairstylist.
I continue on my way, passing a cute cupcake shop as I go. I’d love to surprise the boys with a half dozen, but my bank account is already screaming at me.
With a look one way, then the other, I cross the street and peruse the shops on the other side. The first few I try aren’t looking for help. The coffee shop is next. It’s a cute, quaint little place, and it smells like heaven.
“Hi,” I say as I approach the barista. “I was wondering if I could put in an application? I saw the help wanted sign on the door.”
“Oh.” The young girl straightens and scans the small space. “Let me get my manager.”
I step aside to wait so I’m not in the way if customers come in.
She comes back, her face lit up, and points to an empty two-top by the front window. “She’ll be out in a minute. You can sit over there if you’d like.”
With a grateful smile, I shuffle to the table. I sit, my feet doing a nervous tap dance on the stamped concrete floor. A handful of minutes later, a woman several years older than me appears beside the table, holding a simple blue folder. Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek bun and a pair of red glasses sit perched on her pert nose. She’s dressed in a pair of adorable plaid pants and a short-sleeve shirt that shows off her full sleeve of tattoos.
I instantly like her.
“Hello, I’m Amy.” She sits across from me and extends her hand. “Keeley said you were asking about a job?”
“I’m Halle.” With a nod, I shake her offered hand. “I’m new in town and saw the sign out front. This place is adorable.”
