Page 6 of Icing Hearts

“Why not?”

I shrug.

“Where will you go when we’re done?”

“I’ll walk down to the station and wait for the chief’s shift to end.”

“Isn’t that, like, three miles away?”

My eyes dart from his face to the fast food he’s taking out of the white bag. The wax-covered paper crinkles quietly as he unwraps a cheeseburger that smells heavenly.

“I could have taken the city bus if we were done early, but you were late so…”

“What time does his shift end?”

“Midnight.”

My stomach growls loudly in response, and I clamp my arms over my abdomen, praying he didn’t hear. Though, I think even the librarians heard. When I’m hungry, my stomach growls louder than a freight train. Back when my mom was alive, we used to go to church. Service ended at 12:30, but I always ate lunch by noon. By the time final prayer and benediction rolled around, I was smashing a hymnal into my belly button each week in an attempt to muffle the rumbling.

“Have you eaten?” He doesn’t look concerned and asks the question as if it’s just another one to add to his list.

“No,Tory,I’ve been waiting for you while you’ve been gallivanting with a lady and wasting our work time.”

“Jealous?”

“Annoyed.”

“Look, no one stopped you from getting something delivered here while you waited. That’s your own fault.”

“It’s fine. I can usually scrounge something up from the break room or the vending machines down at the station.”

“That’s not a proper dinner.”

“It does the trick.”

“Does he ever make dinner for you?”

“The chief? No.”

“Who does the shopping?”

“Me.”

The queries keep pouring out of him as he eats his stupid, delicious-looking burger. It’s as if the questions have been building up for years and all these intrusive thoughts are bursting out of him at once.

“It’s just you and the chief? No other family?”

He knows the answer to this question. Everyone knows. I’m the sad girl whose mom died in eighth grade. I shrug, willing the odd interrogation to end. “I had an aunt. Haven’t seen or heard from her since the funeral. And sometimes he has girlfriends. Well, he’s had a few, at least.”

“What happened to them?”

“The aunt or the girlfriends?”

“Girlfriends.”

Discomfort weasels through me like a weed in a vegetable garden. The chief has no trouble scaring off women.

“They break up.”

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