Just hold on a little longer.
The thought feels impossible.
The image of Matthew walking away plays on a loop in my mind.
“Ames?”Helen’s voice comes from the end of the hallway, softer now, hesitant.“You okay back there?”
I straighten instantly, pasting on a smile as I turn to face her.
“Yeah,” I force the word out.“Like I said, didn’t sleep well last night.Guess it’s catching up to me.”
It’s true, just not the whole truth.
Not even close.
Helen walks a few steps closer, studying my face.She doesn’t look convinced.Not by a long shot.I see the questions banked behind her eyes.The urge to push me for answers warring with the need to give me space.
Finally, she lets out a slow sigh.“Bueno,” she concedes reluctantly.
She disappears back toward the front.I lean agains the wall for another moment.The borrowed calm evaporates instantly, leaving only dread.
Just get through closing.
The thought is a desperate prayer.
Taking a deep, unsteady breath, I push off the wall.I force my shoulders straight, feigning competence as I head back out.
The last hour and a half passes in a strained silence.Helen and I move around each other with a wary choreography.I focus intensely on every small task.I wipe tables with meticulous care.I arrange sugar packets.I double-check expiry dates.I am terrified of another fumble under Helen’s watchful gaze.She doesn’t hover, but I feel her attention, a constant, worried pressure at the edge of my awareness.
Finally, the last customer waves goodbye.I lock the door and flip the sign to ‘Closed’.The deadbolt clicks, echoing in the sudden quiet.Helen dims the main overhead lights, leaving only the warmer glow over the work areas.The familiar intimacy of closing time should be comforting.But tonight, it leaves me exposed with nowhere to hide.
“I’ll count the till,” I offer quickly.
I grab the cash drawer, needing an anchor for my scattered thoughts, and carry it to the back counter, away from the front windows.
Bills first.
Sorting ones, fives, tens, and twenties.
I count a stack, then recount it immediately.
Did I missed one?
Focus, Amy.
Coins clink as I separate them.
Quarters, dimes…
Matthew’s face invades my mind.The hurt.The cold withdrawal.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing the image away, forcing myself back to the coins.
Did I count those dimes already?
A low sound of pure frustration escapes my lips.I drop a roll of nickels.The coins scatter across the counter with an explosive series of sharp clinks.
“¡Basta!Enough.”
