Page 47 of The Shadows We Keep

Lilith - Ellise

Another bag beeps against the scale. “It’s over the limit,” I inform the customer.

“No it’s not, I weighed it before I got here. Your scale must be off.” The excuse I’ve heard a million times from every type of person.

“I’m going to have to charge you.”

“This is ridiculous. I want to talk to your supervisor.” Her manicured nails clack against the laminated counter tops.

“Sure thing, ma’am. Give me just a moment to call them over.” I step away, speaking into the walkie-talkie.

“Sandra, we’ve got another one.” Her irritated sigh makes me smile. It happens every shift. Some travelers on their way to an expensive vacation over packs and thinks it’s our fault. What they don’t know is we set the scales two pounds in their favor to ensure we really don’t go over max weight.

Sandra’s dragged footsteps pull up behind me. “What can I help you with?” Her fake customer service voice penetrates the air.

“She’s saying my bag is over, and I know it’s not. I just weighed it before we came.”

Sandra pulls the bag off the scale, hits the tare button, and waits for it to zero out before slapping the suitcase back down. The scale waivers back and forth between fifty and fifty-one pounds before finally settling on the latter.

“Ma’am, our weight limit is thirty pounds. We can check it no problem, but it will incur the excess fee. Are you a member?” Sandra breaks the news sweetly, never dropping her winning smile.

“What’s a member?” the annoyed woman asks.

“It means you either have a credit card or a frequent flyer card with us.”

The woman pauses, pushing around in her purse before whipping out her wallet. She slams it down on the counter and it takes all my control not to roll my eyes at her theatrics. Her delicate fingers with the biggest rock I’ve ever seen pluck a card from the depths. “Like this?” Her snide attitude doesn’t hide her expectation as she drops it to the counter.

Sandra pulls the card up and looks over the information, giving the look that tells me I’m going to have to let this one go. Just another rich person on their way to another extravagant vacation I’d never be able to afford, refusing to pay the extra thirty dollars for the bag.

“Well, look at that.” Sandra’s friendly tone smooths the tension. “You’ve got just what I was looking for more, Mrs. Carrington.”

The line continues until it dwindles down and again, and I’m left staring at an empty check-in line until the next session of flyers come by. My eyes drop to the clock on the computer screen. Midnight. Still six more hours to go until I can hit that button and clock out. I’m ready to head home and sleep before a night of takeout and bad reality tv. The night drags on. Two more flights make it through before my watch vibrates, alerting me to the hour.

“Hey girl!” Stace’s bright and chipper demeanor at six a.m. is not what I need.

“Goodnight,” I grunt, typing in my passcode to the computer to clock out. I don’t hang around waiting for her to talk my ear off.

* * *

The subway haltsat my stop, and I gather up my bags and exit, ready to drop into bed. I’m dead on my feet, shuffling along the sidewalk until the building comes into view. The flights of stairs are an extra hindrance to my energy. Lids heavy with exhaustion, my door comes into view but it’s not bare like I expect. Instead, a white piece of printer paper lies against the wood.

Ripping it down, I close the door behind me and drop my bags to the floor. Slinking across to the kitchen and flipping on the lights, I finally scan the paper in my hands.

“Rent Late. 30 days to comply before eviction.” I slap the paper down on the counter, pissed because I know for a fact, I sent in my rent check before the beginning of the month.

Drawing out my phone, I type in Marco’s number before hitting send. The phone rings and rings before I get his voice mail. I don’t even say who it is before my anger takes over.

“Marco, you know I sent in my rent check. I’ve never been late a month in my year here. You better make this right before I find your father and let him know, what a…” The message clicks off mid rant.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best way to go about it, but what the hell? If they didn’t get the check, that would be one thing, but I checked my account and the money cleared. Which means someone cashed my check.

I collapse to the floor, drawing my knees to my chest when the tears fall. I could check my bank account, but I know the number in there is nothing to cover an extra month worth of rent right after I just paid it.

My phone pings in my hand: a new text.

Hey. Want to get dinner?

Harkin’s text sits unanswered.Minutes pass before I finally push the tears from my cheeks and stand from the cold floor. I flop down on the couch; the exhaustion takes over and soon the life-changing note no longer clouds my thoughts.

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