Page 16 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

“Especially after their mama and daddy died when the kids were so little and Silvie raised them,” adds Harriet.

That’s…something I didn’t know. Her parents died when she was young? I’m assuming Silvie is Emily’s grandma, who died a few weeks before I left Rome. Or maybe not, since I only remember Emily taking one day off from work and then coming back like nothing ever happened. I assumed she wasn’t that close with her grandma, but then again, I know as much about Emily as she knows about me. A fact that’s oddly starting to bother me.

“And as such,” continues Phil, sucking in a deep breath and adjusting the belt around his waist before letting it out in a heavy sigh—and the belt once again disappears beneath his stomach, “I feel the need to inform you that our allegiance lies with Emily, no matter how polite you are.”

“I see.” Except I don’t. Not yet at least, but some sort of realization is definitely tingling on the edge of my awareness. “Well, loyalty is a wonderful character trait, and I could never fault you for that. Especially since you have great taste in socks.”

He beams just as expected. “No one ever comments on my socks except to say they’re dorky.”

I hike up the pant leg of my chocolate trousers to reveal yellow-and-white polka-dot crew socks. “I have an affinity for dorky socks.”

“Oh—I like those! I might need a pair.”

“I have a couple more just like these. Stop by my house sometime and I’ll let you steal a set.”

“Really? That would be—”

Harriet clears her throat and takes my peanut butter, scans it, and places it in a paper bag with the logo Harriet’s Market printedon the side. She glances meaningfully at Phil. “Emily,” she says with emphasis, “has always been faithfully loyal to us. And like Phil was trying to say, that loyalty isn’t going to be swayed by some big-city boy trying to infiltrate our sweet town like those gushy romance movies I see on TV.”

“Well—I wouldn’t call Evansville a big city by any means, but it does have a few large grocery stores.” And because I want to be part of this town, and want to establish some friendships, I pause and run a quick calculation of what would make Harriet happy to hear. “But none of them are as great as this place.”

Her eyes sparkle—I’ve struck gold. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. You have a much better selection. And so well organized. I had no trouble finding anything.” I’m not even lying—that’s the trick with getting people to like you. It’s not about making up shit, it’s having an eye to find the best parts of them to bring up. Paying attention to the small things. Yes, it is pretty exhausting, but in my experience worth it.

Harriet lights up. “Itisthe best market. I think the secret lies in all the little details like—”

Phil clears his throat. “Emilyhas always known it was a good market too, bless her.”

At this point…I’m getting a kick out of hearing their praises of Emily. It’s clear that something specific has inspired this speech and I think I’m almost to the root of it.

“Yes, the dear girl. Even when she and I have butted heads in the past, she still came through for me and played Mary in my church’s Christmas play when Hannah-May got sick at the last minute.”

“That’s high praise. But really, there’s no need to worry about me trying to take her place in the Christmas play. I’m not really a churchgoer.”

Her eyes widen, and I think I’ve scandalized her, but instead, her eyes fly to Phil, and she looks oddly pleased. “Doesn’t go to church either!” She slaps the counter in an I’ll-be-damned sort of way.

He tsks. “I know, Harriet.”

I look around briefly, wondering if I’m being pranked somehow. I truly have zero idea what’s going on in this little market. “Do I have to go to church to live in the town?”

Phil laughs. “Goodness, no. The Walkers don’t go either.”

“We can thank Mabel’s rebellious influence for that one,” she tells Phil with a disapproving look in some sort of private conversation. She turns to me again and smiles, and then seems to remember something and drops to a more subdued look. “But you’re of course always welcome in our church. It’s the one up on the corner over the hill by the gas station with the logo of the hooker-looking lady in cowboy boots.”

“Those are some well-detailed directions.”

She nods. “First Church of the Nazarene Hills Beloved Assembly of Christ.”

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

“No one can decide on the denomination, and we didn’t want to leave anyone out. Which is why you’re absolutely welcome.” She pauses when Phil gives her a look. “But of course, you’ll have to sit in the back. Alone.”

This conversation has felt like the equivalent of swimming in the darkest part of the ocean and realizing I’m completely turned around with no surface in sight.Do they like me or do they hate me?

“I only recommend going to that church if you’re looking to be bored out of your damn mind,” says a scratchy voice from behind us. We all three startle. I look over my shoulder and find an older Black woman wearing a bright pink dress.

“Mabel…” says Harriet with a frightening glare. “What have I told you about cursing in my establishment?”

---