I pick up Pops’s medals so I can put them in my purse. Grabbing my things from the back, I meet Sam at the entryway. He holds his hand out to me, and I take it. We head toward the escalators but stop when someone yells, “No, MacKenzie. I thought you hated him.”
I turn my head. “Bobby?”
He’s standing near the door of One of a Kind. He has his coat in his hand; his face is red and he looks angry. And hurt.
“Bobby?” I repeat.
“You were supposed to go to lunchwith me,” he screeches.
Oh, shit. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Youforgot?” he whimpers as he moves slowly in my direction.
“Yeah, I forgot. I’m sorry—it’s been four days since you mentioned it and… yes, I forgot.”
Anger replaces the hurt in his expression. “You’re a bitch!” he spits.
I jerk back in shock. Sam says, “Hey,” as he starts to move.
I hold Sam back. “Bobby? I’m sor?—”
“Save it.” He turns and races back to the toy store. I silently watch him go.
“Come on. He’ll be okay.” Sam takes my hand.
I hear a loud crash, then another crash accompanied by yelling and cursing. I start toward the toy store. When I getto the entrance, I can already see the destruction. Two of their largest toy displays are in a million pieces on the floor.
Startled shoppers are streaming out of the store. The store manager, Carl, looks like he wants to kill someone. Bobby is nowhere to be seen.
I feel a tug on my arm. “Come on, MacKenzie. He’ll be fine.”
“That’s all my fault,” I murmur, pointing to the mess.
“No, it’shisfault.”
“I was supposed to go to lunch with him. I feel terrible.”
“He’ll survive.”
He might not. “What if he gets fired?”
“Good riddance,” he mutters. “The guy’s a whack job.”
“No, Sam. He’s not. He’s a sweet guy.” I’m still staring at the mess on the floor.
“That guy?” he says, pointing inside. “That guy is a time bomb. It worries me that he’s set his sights on you. You’re too kindhearted to see it, MacKenzie.” Could he be the one? The graffiti artist? The one who broke into her place. Or both. I think they’re one and the same whoever did it.
“He’s my friend. I’m going to check on him.” I pull away from Sam. I may be kindhearted, but I’m not an idiot. I can read people.
“MacKenzie, he’ll be all right,” Sam says, reaching for my elbow.
“Wait here or don’t, Sam. I’m checking on him.” Cautiously, I walk into the toy store. Carl is already sweeping up some of the mess. “Carl? Can I go talk to him?”
“Be my guest.” I think he’s muttering, “Asshole Bobby,” but I can’t make it out for sure.
When I push open the door to their storage room, I hear a loud, repeated pounding. Moving around two sets of shelves, I can see Bobby’s back. He’s sitting at their break table, slamming his hand up and down. In his hand, he’s holding a knife. Theknife is being repeatedly slammed into the table top. I gasp, and he turns to face me, still clutching the knife in his right hand.
“Get out!” he shouts.
