He smiles, and between that and him telling me he trusts me—trusts me more than the others—it turns that churning in my stomach into something warmer, sweeter, giddier.
Culverton is a small town a few miles from the cabin. If Sol is ever busy with the truck, the older girls can walk out of the hollow, following the dirt road through the tree-covered hills, and be there in an hour. It’s the closest bit of civilization out here, and itonly consists of a few paved blocks lined with basic shops and half-run-down houses, and a smattering of mobile homes on winding roads outside the town’s center. The cabin is farther out than any of these homes. I wonder if the people here even know that our little hollow exists.
It’s been over a year since Lily found me in my broken-down car in this sleepy little Appalachian town. And yet, seeing it again now, I do recognize a few things that caught in my web of memory. A Baptist church with a sign out front that proclaims,As long as there are tests, there will always be prayer in school!A hardware store with an old pay phone on the side of the building that likely hasn’t been used or even functional since before I was born. And, of course, that pawn shop that may or may not still be home to pieces of a life that is no longer mine.
I hadn’t remembered the grocery store, though.
Brophy’s is just down Maple Street, across the street and a few doors down from the gas station. It is a brick building with tall glass windows overlooking the street and a sign above the door painted with large hunter-green letters. The bells over the door jingle as I push it open, and I’m greeted with the sound of “Don’t Stop Believin’” playing over the speakers.
“Good morning,” the old man behind the counter calls out asI enter. He appears to be in his seventies, with thinning white hair and a matching beard that highlights his bright smile. Though I notice his smile falters slightly upon seeing me. He stares at me for a long moment. Long enough that it makes my skin itch, like the skittering of spiders on the back of my neck.
Pity. Concern. Worry. It’s a look I’m all too familiar with, though now it’s for different reasons. He’s looking at the mismatched clothes that hang off my slightly too thin body.
I know what Sol would say. He’d tell me that people who stare at me like this have eyes still clouded by the superficial. That their inability to see past material things is a tragedy they will have to face one day. But this is my first time around anyone besides the girls in nearly a year, and I don’t know how to ignore the attention.
“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, voice suddenly gentler, as I grab a handbasket and make my way around one of the shelves, out of his line of sight.
“No, thanks.”
I’m the only customer in the store this early in the day. It dawns on me then that it must be a weekday, when most people are at work or school. Weekdays and weekends are relatively meaningless to us in the hollow. But an empty store, with onlythis old man to sneak past, is both a good and a bad thing.
Good because there are fewer people to notice what I’m up to.
Bad because that means I have all the old man’s attention.
I try not to worry about that as I make my way down the narrow aisle, carefully alternating between popping cans of SpaghettiOs and Campbell’s soup into the small basket while slipping black beans and canned tuna under my hoodie or into the massive pockets of the coat Violet tossed at me on my way out of the cabin.
If any part of me feels guilty for taking from this man’s small business, my conscience is shouted down by the memory of hunger pangs I’ve known a few times since arriving in the hollow. Besides, I’ll be paying for some of what I take. This shoplifting is only an act of necessity, not greed or rebellion like it was for me before.
After about twenty minutes, with both my basket and my pockets full, I make my way back to the counter, where the old man greets me with a smile.
“Did you find everything you need?” he asks as he takes my basket and begins to ring up the small selection of items inside.
“Yes, sir,” I say, glancing out the large window to see if Sol’s truck is back in the gas station yet.
“Gladto hear it.” He picks up the jug of milk to scan, though his eyes don’t leave me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You new in town?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Sol’s truck isn’t there. Not yet. But he said it wouldn’t take long, so I’m sure he’ll be back soon.
“Well, in that case, welcome to Culverton. I’m Carl Brophy. I own this here store. And who might you be?”
I hesitate as a small spike of panic surges through me. I’m not supposed to talk. Not supposed to tell anyone anything. If I do, I’m putting all of us at risk. The younger girls could get sent back to dangerous homes or put in foster care. We’d be split up. Taken away from Sol. I have no idea where they’d send me, but I know it won’t be good. No one wants me. And Sol’s told me the horror stories of kids who get dragged into the system, the abuse and the neglect. It’s a terrifying prospect.
But not answering the question would be more suspicious, wouldn’t it?
Instinctively, my hand moves to my shoulder, desperate to comb my fingers through the ends of my hair. But all I find is empty space.
“Iris,” I say. Because surely that’s not enough to draw attention.
“Niceto meet you, Iris.” He scans something else from my basket—a loaf of bread—and it feels like it’s taking forever between the beeps. “What brings you to Culverton?”
“Um … family.” I shift nervously, then bite down on my tongue and curse myself as a couple of the cans in my pockets clink together.
The old man doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he continues to slowly ring up each of the items from my basket. “Who’s your family?” he asks. “I might know them. I know just about everyone around here.”
Sol had warned me he was nosy, and now I see why. I have no idea what to say, how to answer or avoid answering without seeming rude or drawing even more attention to myself. But through the window, I see the beat-up white Chevy pulling into the gas station. I just need to get my things and go, and then we can be back to the cabin and I won’t have to deal with this for at least a few more months.
