“Mommy, can I go to the jumping castle?” Gracie tugs on my shirt.
“Once we’re done here, definitely.”
“I want to go now,” she pouts. I throw my head back.
"Can you cover the cookies?" I ask Chelsea, who nods, her mouth full of a cookie. "Those are for sale, missy!"
“It’s payment,” she snatches another one which has Gracie giggling.
Chelsea ushers me away, and I walk off with Gracie's hand in mine. I watch as she climbs into the jumping castle. It's about twenty-four feet long and twelve feet high, a monstrosity, with corners and crevices for kids to hide in. I hate these things and make sure never to have them at either of my girl’s parties. I hate how fragile it is, how vulnerable our kids are in it. Children's laughter and shouting fill the air, and I try to focus on the fact that they're happy.I am right here,I remind myself.Right here.
I look in the direction where the man from earlier was standing, and he's gone. I scour the area, but there is no sign of him. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I have to get a grip. This paranoia is unwarranted.
Chapter 7
Anonymous
Ihadn't thought about Sin in some time. Out of sight is indeed out of mind. After a while, she became a fleeting memory. I wondered if I'd dreamed her, that I'd imagined all the times I’d walked behind her, just to get a whiff of her shampoo, or when I watched her from the side lines. Sin went off to college. She was probably living her best life, and in truth, I was pleased for her. Everyone deserves to be happy.
I'd moved on too, found my own way. The way Sin had.
I lean over my cash register and line my cash rolls from most to least in value. The notes feel grimy in my hands, and I have to sanitize all day to get rid of the icky feeling. After wiping down my checkout point, I straighten my glasses and make sure to tuck the loose strands of brown hair behind my head. Dull brown hair with no character. It is pulled into a loose ponytail. Brown, not the rich auburn Sin has, I think with bitterness. A color that catches the sunlight and makes it look like a flaming mane. I could be beautiful with auburn tresses. I have the same green eyes she has. I could pull it off. I make a mental note to get some dye. I touch my hair and smile to myself.
"What's so amusing, weirdo?" Nancy Evans cuts through my happy thoughts with her slutty voice. She's practically leaning over her till, her busty chest on display in her too-tight uniform. She wears her hair in a beehive, reminding me of those sixties’ movies. She has enough makeup plastered on her face like cake frosting. She tries too hard.
“What’re you staring at?”
I don’t bother responding. There isn’t anything that I can say to someone like Nancy. She must be half my age but shows no respect. I stare at her instead, cocking my head to the side, truly observing her.
She frowns, then shrinks away, pretending to count her cash. I know she’s already counted it twice.
I look around the store, a few early-bird customers stroll up the aisles. The usual crowd, the runners, the old woman who wants to get her shopping done before the Saturday rush, gym moms, agony aunt who makes herself available to listen to the agony of miserable husband number gazillion. They’re fucking. It’ssoobvious, meeting hereinconspicuously. Oh, I know. I see you, Big Daddy. She likes to call him that when he pounds into her against his car in the alley. They’re disgusting. Sometimes I want to follow them, hurt them, rid the world of them. Nobody would know. I’ll just tamper with his brakes.
I look at the thirty other tills lining the front of the store and sigh. It is going to be a busy morning. Saturday mornings are a nightmare at the month-end.
Another day in my life.
Another day in this useless existence.
Nothing new happens, nothing I don't foresee. Still, I smile at the man who approaches my till, and I scan his box of cigarettes. I should tell him how bad these are for him, but who gives a shit. He's going to die anyway.
* * *
The little toddlerbolts towards the check-out aisles, her hair flying about, a fluffy pink unicorn in her arms. It has a rainbow mane and silver legs. My first thought is that it is too large for the child, but she holds onto it for dear life as she runs laughing toward me. She has beautiful brown hair like mine, I observe, and pretty blue eyes that smile as brightly as she does. She is a gem, this little creature.
“Ello,” she greets sweetly. I have the urge to smile at her, but I don’t. I stare at her unicorn onesie and pink tutu. Odd.
“Willow!” a woman calls behind her. “Be careful, honey.”
Willow. An odd name for a strange girl. She's not willowy at all with her plump little legs and cheeks. She looks like a miniature Marie Antoinette.
I look up at the woman approaching. She should have held her hand. Not left her to wander around here alone. Who knows what kind of psychopaths are out there? Parents annoy the fuck out of me. They're continually warning their children against the dangers of living, and yet they're irresponsible enough to let them get into these situations.
The woman leaves her grocery basket in the middle of one of the aisles and makes a beeline for the little girl. My eye twitches. I hate careless people. Someone could trip on that basket, and then we'll have a lawsuit on our hands.
Willow ducks under my barrier, and I scoop her up before she makes a dash for the door. The little girl smells of vanilla cake, and it transports me back to my childhood. It's not a warm fuzzy feeling, but one that makes me queasy and light-headed. I'd stolen the cake and got beat up pretty good for it. I promised never to eat vanilla cake again, and I haven't since.
The little girl squirms in my arms, and her mother runs up to where I stand. I reluctantly hand over the giggling, sweet-smelling toddler to the woman.
