Luckily, Mr. Brophy has just scanned the package of cheap toilet paper, the last of the things I plan to actually pay for, so I gesture to the paper bags he’s stacked things up in. “How much will that be?”
“Oh, let me see. That’s forty-seven dollars and fifty-two cents.”
Ireach into one of my pockets, where I have the crumpled wad of fives and ones, and try to avoid rustling any of the hidden contraband. I count it out, my heart sinking as I realize I’ve messed up the math on the items I put in the basket.
“Crap,” I groan. “I’m so sorry. I’m a few dollars short. Let me just—”
I reach for the carton of eggs—I should’ve known they’d be too expensive anyway—but Mr. Brophy is waving my hand away.
“Don’t even worry about it,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”
“No.” I shake my head furiously, remembering Sol’s warning not to take any charity. “It’s fine. I’ll just put these back.” I grab the eggs away from Mr. Brophy. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Really, I don’t mind,” he argues. “It’s just a couple dollars.”
I’m already backing away from the counter when everything falls apart.
The heel of my sneaker slides on the hem of the jeans I’m wearing—the pair I am fairly sure once belonged to Poppy because they are several inches too long for me—and I feel my balance shift as I fall, hitting the floor with a painful jolt. The cans in my pocketsthunkdown with me, and the carton of eggs flies from my grip, landing with a loudsmack.
“Oh my!” Mr. Brophy gasps.
“I’mso sorry,” I manage to say before Mr. Brophy can hurry out from behind the register. I’m not sure if I’m saying it to this old man or to Sol, across the street in the truck, since he’s the one I’ve just let down.
I scramble, the cans rolling away, but Mr. Brophy is standing in front of me before I can get them back in my pockets.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Brophy asks as he reaches down to me. It is only then that his eyes land on the cans scattered across the floor. “Oh.”
I get to my feet. “Um … Let me get those.” Because what else can I say? There is no way to pretend that I’ve been hiding canned food under my shirt by accident. As I hurry around to pick up the cans, I can still feel the old man’s eyes on me. The spiders are crawling all along my neck again.
“Leave them,” Mr. Brophy says. He doesn’t sound angry. No, it’s worse than that. The old man sounds sad.
My heart is racing.
I’ve messed up.
I’ve messed upso bad.
Panicked, I glance out the window to Sol and the truck. Mr. Brophy follows my gaze, turning his head, and when he sees the truck, there’s a flash of recognition in his eyes.
“That’sthat fella with the long hair and beard, isn’t it?” he says. “The one who lives out in the hills? Are you with him?”
I don’t answer. I can’t even hear myself think over the warning sirens blaring in my head. I grab the bags from the counter and bolt out the door. I can’t answer any questions about Sol or our family. I can’t put us all in danger like that. We have nowhere to go.Ihave nowhere to go. I won’t do that to my sisters.
I sprint toward the gas station and the rumbling white Chevy. I don’t know when I start crying, but there are hot, panicked, guilt-ridden tears flowing down my cheeks by the time I reach the truck. Sol leans across and opens the passenger’s-side door for me, his smile quickly turning to a look of alarm when he sees my face.
“Iris? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I cry as I scramble into the truck with my armful of groceries. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?” Sol demands. He doesn’t wait for an answer before peeling out of the gas station parking lot and speeding back out of town. “Iris! Tell me what happened.”
I tell him everything through panicked sobs, which only come harder as I watch Sol’s face turn to stone, devoid of all warmth, all emotion, all that makes me feel safe and loved in his presence.
Hesays nothing for the short drive back to the cabin. It’s not until he’s parked the Chevy in the gravel driveway and shut off the engine that he finally responds to my confession, eyes still staring forward out the windshield, not once looking at my tear-soaked face. “You’ve put us in a lot of danger, Iris.” He doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t sound anything. His voice is eerily calm. “If Brophy pursues this—if anyone finds out we’re out here— you know that you, Poppy, Zinnia, and Rose could all be sent back to cruel families or, worse, put into foster care. You have no idea the horrors girls like you face in the system.”
He’s right. I don’t. All I know are the things he’s told me. The warnings he’s given. And that would be my fate. There’s no one outside this hollow who wants me.
“I trusted you.”
