Page 32 of Fighter
The firm rebuttal in my tone only seemed to delight her more. Her lips curled into a thin, coy smile as she murmured, “I'm sure you wouldn't.”
My hackles rose. Any moment now and I'd snarl like a dog. She continued, oblivious to my bright annoyance.
“He seems like a wonderful father. He must be very busy. Does he keep a long schedule? He lives in the neighborhood just behind here, I thought. Bought the old Timm's place, I believe.”
I ignored her.
She didn't care.
“It's been lovely to have someone of his . . . popularity . . . in our town. I'm curious . . . how did you meet him? You must not have been dating long.”
My face flushed.Keep calm, Serafina,I told myself. Only Ava's presence kept me from absolutely losing it.
Without missing a beat, the cashier dropped all pretense of checking us out. Her hands rested on the scanner when she looked to my cheek, studied Ava, and back to me. Concerned lines formed in her brow.
“Is he having a hard time, then?”
Ava looked at me, face creased with uncertainty. She'd stepped off the cart to move closer to my hip, and I didn't think she was aware of the gesture. I doubted she understood the insinuation this woman had made about her father, but Ava seemed to know this woman was no friend.
“Manager!” I called as loud as I could. One of my arms lifted into the air as I strengthened my voice. “Can I get a manager over here?”
The woman gasped. “Whatever is wrong?”
“Manager!” I shouted.
Several customers glanced our way. I waved and hoped that would flag someone. Anyone. I didn't want to abandon the last forty-five minutes of work here to buy from another place up the canyon, but I would. My pride—and Ava's and Benjamin's—was worth at least that much.
The woman fumbled over a response, but thankfully a middle-aged man quickly headed our way from behind a desk. His presence snapped her mouth shut right away and prevented her from saying another word. His expression was wary when he approached.
“Can I help?” he asked.
I pointed to the woman. “Your cashier has made insinuations about my life, and the life of this child, that are no business of hers. She's made me uncomfortable with her questions even though I asked her to stop. Can I get someone else to check us out, or shall I just leave all of this here? At this rate, I wouldn't be comfortable returning and you've just lost several hundreds of dollars a month in sales.”
Gaping, the woman simply stared at me. I met her gaze with a level one of my own.Take that you nosy old biddy,I thought.
“Of course,” the manager said. “Take a break,” he added as a terse aside to the cashier. The woman's nostrils flared as she huffed, stepped back, and slowly wandered away, as if lost. By the time she'd disappeared into a back room, the manager had nearly finished with our groceries. We didn't speak a word as I handed him the cash, gathered the bags into the cart, and thanked him for his time.
Ava followed solemnly at my side as we walked out to the SUV, loaded it up with careful attention to my rib, and then climbed into the car. The entire ordeal exhausted me. Tension followed me like a shadow until I sat in the driver’s seat, gripped the steering wheel in my hand, and let out a scream.
Then I realized I still had a six-year-old in the car.
To my surprise, she giggled.
“You okay, Sera?”
“Fine. Just . . . frustrated. Do you ever get frustrated?”
Ava peered out the window. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Sometimes kids at school are mean to me and I get frustrated then.”
She plucked at the bottom of her shirt, in a gesture that must have somehow been soothing to her. My heart cracked a little.
“I'm sorry kids are mean to you.”
She gave a little shrug. I loosened my grip on the steering wheel and sighed. “Sometimes, at the end of a bad day, you just need to scream.”
A twitch of a smile appeared on her lips.
“What do you say about heading home, putting these groceries away, and getting you some apples and peanut butter in a flower?”
