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“Son of a bitch!” I throw it in park again and hunker down to grab the damn thing. The poor sandwich has suffered more trauma in the last ten minutes than an MMA punching bag, and at this point, I’d be better off feeding it to the trashcan just outside the store.

Disheartened, I toss my mangled dinner back inside the bag, but at a startling knock at the window beside, I jump in my seat.

Marcelle stands alongside the truck with her son on her hip, and I roll the window down, taking in the distress etched across her face.

“Sorry. Don’t mean to bother you, it’s just … you’re, like, the only one here. My car … it broke down. I don’t suppose you can give me a jump?”

Leaning forward, I glance around the lot to find that she’s right, it is mostly empty, aside from a few cars that likely belong to the clerk and whoever else works at Gaspard’s.

“Sure.” One thing I was grateful for, having Russ as a pseudo dad, is that I know how to change a tire and use a set of jumper cables. As she walks back toward her vehicle, I drive the truck around and park in front of her clunker.

She stands off to the side, bouncing the boy on her hip, while I grab the cables from the back. “I don’t, uh … actually know how this works. Do you?”

With a nod, I go to work, hooking up the cables from her battery to mine.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Shaking my head, I connect the last of the terminals, and set my hands on my hips. “Michigan.”

“That’s a long way. You got family here, or somethin’?”

I pause at the question for a minute. “No. Why don’t you try starting it.”

“Yeah, all right,” she says, as she sets the boy down and scrambles to the driver’s seat. The clicking sound that follows is a bad sign, particularly when the headlights pop on, and when the car doesn’t turn over, my suspicions are confirmed.

“I’m no mechanic, but I’m guessing it’s a bad starter.”

“Are you kidding me?” She slams her hands against the steering wheel and groans. “Like I need this shit right now.”

“Momma, is da caw bwoke?” the little boy asks beside her.

“Yeah, Sweets. I think it’s really broke.”

Walk away. I can hear Russ’s voice inside my head. Selfish, cold Russ, who wouldn’t save a puppy from drowning if it meant having to put down his beer.

Walk. Away, Cely. No connections to this place.

“I can give you a ride. Somewhere.” The words tumble from my mouth before I can even process the consequence of such a thing. It’s not like she’d be shopping at Gaspard’s if she lived far away. Surely, there’s a better store, with a better cereal selection. And sandwiches, for that matter. “Do you live nearby?”

“My sister’s working just up the road a couple miles. I can run in and get the keys to her car from her. If you don’t mind driving me?”

Her sister. Brie.

I can’t. One look at my old friend, and who knows what that’ll mean. “I actually don’t mind driving you home.”

“If it’s no trouble, I have a few more stops to make?”

Oh, no. I’m not volunteering to be her chauffeur for the night. Although, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to let this woman drive when she’s high, either. Not with a little boy in tow. But maybe Brie will take notice and talk her out of it, so I don’t have to be the hypocritical public service announcement for this woman. I can always stay in the car while she grabs the key.

“Your sister is just up the road?”

“Yeah, right up Twenty-Third.”

“Okay, I’ll take you there.”

Smiling, she gathers up her grocery bags and son, and loads them into the truck. Groceries in the back, child in front.

I scratch the back of my neck as I watch her strap her son into the seat belt on the bench between the two of us. “Uh. Should he have a car seat, or something?”