“Hey,” she said when Vik picked up. “I think I’ve been hate crimed.”
“Excuse me?”
An irrational laugh threatened to escape before she could get the words out.
“I think someone threw a brick? Through the front window of the shop?”
“Shit. Mae, oh my god. Are you all right? Did it just happen? Were you there?”
“No, no, they must have done it overnight. I just got here. I’m fine.”
“Do you have security cameras?”
An actual laugh rumbled through Mae’s throat. “No. No, in all my meticulous planning, somehow I never thought about security. But—” She laughed harder. “It’s a small town, right? I thought shit was supposed to be safe here.”
“Mae,” Vik said. “Are you all right?”
Mae knew, in her rational brain, that she should be more upset. But it felt like such a cliché that it was almost hard to take it seriously. She stared at the rust-colored brick at her feet and her first thought was if she could make it into some kind of cute display piece for the shop, or to help fortify her raised beds out back.
“It’s possible I’m not processing this correctly,” she assessed.
“I have to say,” Vik said on a sigh, “I particularly hate whenever people throw shit through windows. Feels a little too Kristallnachty for me. Even when the protestors I agree with do it.”
“Oh.” Mae immediately sobered. “Yeah.”
“Here with the Jewish trauma to bring down the party any time. So should I come?”
Mae blinked, still staring at the brick. It, unfortunately, seemed less funny by the second.
“What?”
“I want to come. I’m sure you’ll have it cleaned up by the time I’m able to get there, but I want to be there anyway. Feels like being there when one of us is hate crimed is sort of a friendship requirement.”
“Oh.” Mae finally tore her eyes away from the floor. “No, Vik, it’s okay. I promise. You don’t have to do that.”
“I can tell Heben there’s an emergency. Because there is.”
“No, no.” Mae scratched her head. “Isn’t it high holy days time for you anyway? It’s?—”
A knock on the door. Mae jumped, heart suddenly thudding in her chest. Vik was talking, but Mae couldn’t hear them. Cautiously, from somewhere outside herself, she took the five steps to the door.
On the other side stood Liv and Olive.
“Hey, hon,” Olive said. “Where’s your broom?”
They were inside before Mae could say anything.
“Mae? Mae, you there?”
Distantly, Mae knew she needed to respond. To anyone.
But she found herself unable to do anything but stare at her beautiful turquoise front door, marred by black spray paint. Two simple words, dripping and ugly:
Go Home
* * *
Dusty from the hardware store was boarding up Mae’s front window when Dell arrived.
