“I promise. I might not be able to splurge on going out to dinner, and I may not get to spoil you with brand-new clothes, but the bills are paid, and we have money for necessities.”
“You’ll tell us if that changes? Promise?” My teenage brother holds out his pinky finger, wiggling it.
I loop my finger through his. “Promise.”
The grocery store isn’t busy, but the few shoppers here can’t seem to take their eyes off us.
“I feel like a zoo exhibit,” I mutter as we turn down another aisle.
Quinn snickers. “What kind of animal?”
I twist my lips and hum. “I don’t know. Like a baboon or maybe a rhinoceros.”
Casen barks out a laugh. “Those are two very different types of animals.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug, examining a basket of apples that’s been marked down. They’re slightly bruised, but at the discounted price, they’re worth the risk. I can’t imagine fresh fruits will often be in the budget, and the boys will probably eat them before they can go bad anyway. They’realwayshungry. “I guess this is small-town life.”
Our hometown was far from a big city, but HawthorneMills is a speck of a town, and we’re the shiny new toys everyone wants to speculate over.
“Are we really that interesting?” Casen asks as we move from the produce section to dairy. “They keep staring.”
“Apparently we are.” I open a refrigerator door, and as I pull a gallon of milk out, it takes effort not to cringe over the price. Jeesh. It’smilk.How is it that expensive?
“Is it going to be like this when we start school?”
I turn to Quinn, no longer able to hold back the cringe. “Probably.”
There’s no point in sugarcoating it. They’ll find out soon enough.
“Why do they care so much?” This from Casen.
I blow out a breath and carry on. “I guess they have nothing better to do.”
Quinn punches Casen in the shoulder. “Maybe we should invite them all over. We can put them to work painting, then give them our whole sad backstory so they can move on.”
I hate to admit it, but the kid might have a point.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get what we need so we can get out of here.”
I hate that I can’t make the transition easier for them. They’ve had to endure way more change than anyone should have to. I tried so hard to fill in the gaps left by Mom’s parenting so they wouldn’t have to experience what I did as a kid, but I worry I’ve failed epically.
We make it all the way to the ice cream aisle before we get stopped.
Every other person we’ve encountered has stared, butthis woman uses her shopping cart to block mine, blatantly cornering us by turning her cart so there’s no way around her.
“I’m so sorry.” I somehow keep my jaw from dropping, but the automatic apology escapes, even though our little collision wasn’t my fault.
“I’ve seen you around.” She wags an accusing finger, eyes narrowed. “You moved in across the street from me and my lover.”
The boys snicker at the “my lover” comment.
I choke back my own laugh. “Did I? I haven’t had the chance to meet many neighbors yet.”
“I know,” she replies, nose lifted a fraction. “You met that handsome man next door, though, I see.”
“Uh…” My stomach twists at just the thought of him. “Caleb? Yeah, he helped us move in and so did…” Shit. What were their names?
“Thayer and Laith,” she says.
