I bit my tongue, choosing to hurry the interaction to its inevitable close rather than engage.
Brady seemed genuinely hurt that his helpfulness was being rejected. “Ivan said the same thing about cereal.”
And now I understood.
“Ivan?” The commissioner shot me a look. “Ivan Mladenov? How’d you know him?”
“He’s my—”
I grabbed Brady, hauling him onto my hip. “Pick out some bananas, okay. We’ve got to get back.”
“He’s your what?” the commissioner pressed.
I squeezed Brady and set him down.
Just then, Rayko stepped through the sliding door. He swept a look over the produce section before spying us. My stomach dropped as Rayko’s six-foot-something frame filled the doorway. The sharp look he wore was the same as a predator when they were assessing their prey. His eyes were the worst. Cold, dead things that reminded me of a fallen angel. They locked onto the commissioner with lethal focus, the pupils constricting to pinpoints.
Please, no.
But the guard was there the next moment. “Time to go.”
“Just let me grab some garlic and shallots,” I told him.
The commissioner looked between the mobster and me. I didn’t like the calculated weight of his stare.
“Do you need something?” Rayko barked.
The commissioner held up his hands. “No, we’re good. I’ll see you later, Poppy. You should wipe your nose. It’s dripping.”
The urge to dissolve into the grooved linoleum, to simply melt into the floor and out of the produce aisle, was nearlyoverwhelming. My ears burned hot, the skin on my cheekbones prickling with humiliation. All I could see behind my eyes was the frozen image of the commissioner’s smirk. I wanted to die, but until then—until I found a way to disappear or at least get through checkout—I had to soldier on with a performance of normalcy for my son. I forced myself to focus on gathering the items. If I broke down here, Brady would see it, and I’d never forgive myself.
The sweet summer child was already watching me, a question in his eyes. He held an orange in both hands like a peace offering he didn’t know how to deliver. I gave him a weak smile, my lips trembling with effort. Snot tickled my upper lip, and I realized the commissioner had been right. I did need to wipe my nose. I fished a tissue from the tiny pocket sewn in the waistband, a fresh wave of humiliation ready to drown me.
Rayko, seeing that the situation was diffused, lurked by the coolers and glared at anyone who dared to stare at us. I finished filling my bag with potatoes, dropped in some garlic and a few bananas for Brady, and then made for the next aisle with my head down. We were almost out of milk, but there was no hope of finding raw milk here. The single aisle that was labeled organic food was a joke, but at least there were some things.
Folding the tissue, I blew gently while grabbing the rest of the items I needed. Mashed potatoes weren’t worth this.
“Boss said you weren’t supposed to talk to anyone,” Rayko glowered behind me.
“I wasn’t,” I snapped. “He approachedme.”
The guard chuffed.
I threw the last things in the cart and pushed it to the checkout. As I unloaded the cart, Brady waved to the door. The commissioner was leaving, busy on his phone. Irrational anger filled my chest as Brady turned back. The kid might not know when not to offer unwanted advice, but he was eager.
And he was kind.
Goodness itself.
The way that man spoke down to Brady as if my boy was a puppy or the slow child from a cautionary tale was disgusting. I was already annoyed by the lewd glances, but now I was furious with the man for daring to breathe the same air as my boy. I let the anger harden beneath my ribs. It burned white-hot, waiting to be released.
Slapping my card into Rayko’s hand, I marched forward, bolstered by my anger.
“Stay with Mr. Ray,” I instructed my boy, who was already too busy loading the groceries in the reusable paper bags.
I ignored the guard’s sharp bark as the sliding doors opened.
“Hey, Steve!” I shouted.
