“Chocolate-covered pretzels?” I offered, certain they’d have some.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “Dark chocolate. Not milk chocolate.”
I steered her toward the alcove at the back of the store that had doors for the restrooms and another markedemployees only.
“And a Coke,” Amelia said, turning back to face me. “And maybe some ibuprofen?”
I nodded as I cut in front of her, knocked on the door of the women’s restroom, then poked my head in to make sure no one of the less-than-savory variety was lurking, lying in wait.
Logically, I knew we were ahead of John Valentine, but I didn’t want to get complacent. I backed away from the restroom, tipped my head toward the door, and kept my voice low. “Try to be quick.”
Amelia nodded, clutching the tampon to her chest as she scurried in and let the door close behind her.
I kept an eye on both store entrances as I scoured the aisles with Amelia’s grocery list in mind. We needed to be frugal with the cash we had on hand, but these were necessities.
Survival was about trust. If we got in the weeds, I needed her to know that I had her best interests in mind, even if it wasn’t always evident.
Once I had found everything she had asked for, I made my way to the front. “Slow night?” I asked the cashier behind the register, who was more enthralled with doom-scrolling through the videos he was watching on his phone than what I was doing.
Good.
He muttered something unintelligible as he scanned my haul, rang up my total, and bagged it up.
I paid in cash and glanced over my shoulder at the bathrooms as the kid hemmed and hawed at having to count out change. Amelia still hadn’t come out.
I pocketed the change, grabbed the bag, and beelined for the bathrooms. I waited a beat, then knocked on the door. “You okay?”
Nothing.
No water running. No toilet flushing. The women’s restroom only had two stalls, a sink, and a trash can. There were nowindows, closets, or other ways of getting out. No one else had come into the gas station either.
I knocked again, but when there was no answer, I pushed the door open. Both stall doors were closed, but I spotted her shoes beneath the far stall.
“We need to get going, sweetheart,” I said.
No answer.
Unease ate at me. “Amelia?”
A thump in the men’s room drew my attention. I bent lower and swore under my breath as I realized that the shoes weren’t connected to anything.
Dammit.
The women’s restroom door slammed behind me as I shoulder-checked my way into the men’s room just in time to catch Amelia’s fingers disappearing from the windowsill. The postcard window opened outward with a hand crank. There was no way my bulk could fit through.
I swore under my breath as I bolted out of the bathroom and hurried back through the gas station.
The cashier didn’t even look up as I darted out.
Amelia was sprinting across the parking lot toward the neighboring gas station and its excessively bright lights.Barefoot.
Unless she was the main character in a commercial for sport-mode tampons, there was no way that woman was on day one of her period.
Lucky for me, my legs were twice as long as hers. I caught up with her with fast, silent strides. The arm that had the bag wrapped firmly around her middle, while I clapped my other hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming.
“I’m over here, buying you chocolate and saving your life. The least you can do is not run while I’m doing those two things. Ihaterunning.”
Amelia bit my palm.
