Page 18 of When In Doubt

“Yeah?” she says around her next mouthful, like she hasn’t just opened up a trapdoor beneath me.

“Why?” I snap. I know it’s probably nothing, I know that. But I can’t stop the panic that spikes at the idea of something being wrong.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” She covers my hand with hers. I don’t realize how tightly my fist is clenched until she pries my fingers apart one by one. Her voice is gentle, the same low tone she’d use when I’d toddle into her room after a bad dream. “Just having a physical, you don’t have to worry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, the vice-like grip around my chest not budging. Is she sick? Did I miss something?

“Sweetheart, take a breath.”

I scrub a hand down my face, trying to pull in lungfuls of air.

“I didn’t mention it because it wasn’t worth mentioning,” she says softly. “It was an insurance thing. I just had to drop in, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I could have gone with you,” I mumble, sounding like a petulant child.

“But you didn’t need to.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Sweetheart, I didn’t want to worry you.” She tips her chin down to peer at me. “You know how you get.”

“I’m fine,” I lob back, not wanting to discuss it. It’s happened more than once, the feeling of spiraling dread any time my mom’s health comes up. She’s made her concern clear, even going so far as to suggest I see a therapist, but I don’t need it. I have everything under control. There isn’t anything wrong with me, I just care about my mother.

“Okay.” She sighs, her voice resigned.

I make a note to check in on her again tomorrow, just to be on the safe side.

Chapter Seven

FREYA

“Thank you. That’ll be forty-six seventy.” I smile at the woman as I bag up the set of craft kits she bought for her grandchildren. It’s Monday afternoon, which is usually pretty quiet, but there’s been a gentle stream of customers in and out for most of the day.

“Thanks so much.” She taps her card against the reader. “Give my best to your mom, alright?”

Crap, what was she called again? I recognize her face, I think maybe she had a kid in my class at school, but the name’s gone.

“Will do.” At least it’ll give us something else to talk about.

Now that the store’s empty, I head into the stockroom to grab supplies for making up a few more kits. I didn’t realize how popular they would be, I would have prepped way more. I have to move a few delivery crates around to get at the stepladder. Of course, everything I need is on the top shelf.

I’m just stretching to grab the last box when a voice from the front shocks me almost enough to knock me off the rung I’m standing on.

“Freya? You around?”

I remember that voice, I just don’t know what on earth it’s doing here. “Oscar?” I blow a strand of hair off my forehead. “I’m in the back.”

“You okay up there?” he asks as he slides through the half open door. He’s wearing his uniform, the dark shirt fitting snugly across his chest.

“Just sorting through some things,” I reply, taking a step down. Oscar grips the side of the ladder, steadying it until I reach the bottom rung, making sure my skirt doesn’t catch. A full circle skirt maybe isn’t the smartest thing to wear to work, but I’m prepared to sacrifice practicality for whimsy. “Thanks.” I brush my hands off and shoot him a half smile. “What can I do for you? Here to lay waste to my displays?” I wasn’t expecting to see him so soon after last time.

“Not this time.” He gives me a wry twist of the lips. “You mind if I put a flyer in your window?” He’s holding a slip of paper, the edges a little crumpled, like it’s been shoved in a pocket.

“What is it?” I ask, gesturing for him to hand it over.

“The station’s Open House.”

I take a closer look at the paper as I herd the two of us back into the main shop. “People just come look around?” I ask, taking a seat behind my desk.