1
WILLA
The text comesthrough on my lunch break.
I’m sitting on a bench outside the diner, watching the sluggish flow of Sugar Creek as I eat a breakfast burrito Reggie made for me. It’s a perk of working at Creekside—free food. I try to savor every bite, listening to the quiet trickle of water, making the most of the calm while it lasts. Then my phone buzzes in my apron pocket.
Hi Willa! Just a quick message to let you know that we’re reducing our roster at Sparkle Clean Co. and unfortunately we won’t be needing your services going forward. Your final pay will be processed by Friday. Thanks so much for everything! Have a great day :)
I read the text three times, my stomach twisting.
Have a great day.
Smiley face.
I set my phone face down on the bench beside me. As I look back down at the creek, my vision blurs, and a scream lodges inmy throat, desperate to escape. But I don’t make a sound. Don’t move. Then, slowly, I pick up my breakfast burrito and take another bite. I’m not the kind of person who stops eating just because something bad has happened.
Heck, if I were, I’d never eat anything at all.
I polish off the last of my food, even though it feels like cement in my mouth. Then I toss the wrapper in the trash, stand up from the bench, and head back inside the diner.
Josie is behind the counter, refilling the coffee pot. She glances at me as I join her, and something in my expression must give me away because she immediately asks, “Are you okay, Willa?”
“Yep.” I smile at her. “All good.”
She looks at me for a beat too long. My work bestie always knows when something’s up, and I hate that she has to worry about me all the time. She just started dating one of our regulars—a lumberjack called Brewer—and I feel like a dark cloud over her happiness.
“Are you sure?” she asks, brow crumpled in concern.
“I’m sure. Everything’s fine.”
Josie doesn’t look convinced, but before she can press the subject, Reggie calls to her from the back with an order for Table 4. She disappears into the kitchen and I let my smile drop for a second, turning my back to the counter so the customers can’t see me.
Just get through today, I tell myself.
That’s all you need to do.
I take several deep breaths. Then I turn around with a bright smile fixed in place and start serving coffee.
It’s justafter two when my shift ends. The drive home is only three minutes, but it feels longer as I wind through the streets of Cherry Hollow toward my apartment. I live on the second floor of a building on Blue Elk Lane—a shoebox studio that smells vaguely of mildew and other people’s cooking. It doesn’t feel like home, but it’s all I can afford.
I climb the steep staircase to my floor and shoulder open the front door, heading straight for the bathroom. Inside, I splash cold water on my face, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead. I look at myself in the mirror, wincing at the deep bags beneath my eyes, the dull pallor of my skin. I look like crap, but that’s the least of my problems right now.
I’m down to two jobs.
A third of my income just vanished with a smiley face emoji.
I do the math automatically. My brain is always running numbers, and it doesn’t take me long to confirm what I already knew deep down.
Two jobs isn’t enough.
It wasn’t enough before Mom died, and it’s definitely not enough now. Not for rent. Not for food. Not for the calls that come every Tuesday from the debt collectors.
It’s never enough.
I grip the sink, eyes burning. But I don’t cry. Falling apart is a luxury I can’t afford right now, so I turn off the faucet and leave the bathroom, sitting on the edge of my bed. The apartment is quiet around me. Just the hum of the refrigerator and a steady drip from the shower the landlord won’t fix. I’ve been living alone since Mom died, but I’m still not used to the silence.
She’s been gone three months.
