Page 11 of Living with Death

“Liar.”

I turn around.What is that?

“Did you hear something?” I ask Sam, chewing on my lip.

“Just Patty down there talking to a customer. So, listen, last night at The Garden, I met Jeff. He sat at one of the tall tables, sipping on a beer. He had this thick blond hair and jeans tighter than Luke Bryan’s. You should have seen his ass.” She pauses for a moment. “Anyway, he had a mustache, and when he stood up, I noticed the fanny pack. I thought, my God, what a character. You know how I like characters.” She grabs her fingernail file from under her register.

I think about all the men Sam has gone home with. For starters, there was Captain Lee. Yes, that was his name. He had a living room full of snake aquariums. He wore snakeskin boots. I remember because she said the Captain kept them on while they were doing it and said his feet smelled awful when he kicked them off to shower. This other guy, Big Ben, not because he was a fat man—if you understand my meaning—worked on a NASCAR pit crew. He was obsessed with flags and had them all over his house. She said she needed a shower after riding that, and he had no towels, so she had to yank a flag down to dry herself.

He was pissed, and she never went back.“I don’t care how big his dick is, a man needs to have certain things in his home, and a fucking towel is one of them.”

“So naturally, we got to talking.”

“Naturally,” I reply, lifting my pen and tapping it.

“And guess what?” she says. “Jeff wore the fanny pack.” She wiggles her brows.

“Huh?”

She nods with a sly grin. “While we were having sex. It was a little scratchy, but I didn’t hate it. The contrast was interesting. And the kicker? It’s where he kept his condoms!” She bursts out laughing. “I almost died when he unzipped it and pulled one out.”

“Your friend is amusing.”

The pen falls from my hand. “Who said that?” I look around the store, my thumb rubbing against the fabric of my sweater.

“Who said what?” Sam says.

“She didn’t almost die. Jeff was closer to it than she.”

“That,” I say. The fluorescent lights above me blink.

“You sure you’re all right?” she asks. “We’re slow. I’m sure Robbie will let you head home.”

“No one’s heading home,” Robbie says from the office.

I wave them away. “Not going home. I thought…”

Sam gets a wrinkle between her brows as a customer walks to her register. She turns her body toward them, but her eyes stay on me for a moment. I swallow, my mind reeling.

I’m hallucinating.

Have I eaten today? Usually, I fast for most of the day, but I may need to put something in my stomach.

Eat less, worry less—mother’swords. I internally flick her off.

I need some food. I hit the light on my register.

“I’m taking a break,” I say, walking around my counter. I walk past the customer service desk. “Robbie, I’m taking five minutes.”

He waves me off but doesn’t look up. I walk down aisle five, and a thick cool air washes over my face. Not eating doesn’t make a person hear things.

A box falls from the shelf, and then another. I ignore the items and walk to the break room, looking at Cassie when she walks from the back.

That poor girl. What is wrong with her?

“She’s dying.”

I turn around, looking behind me. “What?”

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