Page 66 of Every Chance After

“She’s wasting away in a dead-end job because she has no better option. I believe the G&G could give her purpose and hope again.”

“Despite appearances, I ain’t running a rehabilitation center here,” Wade argues. “Take your stray dog somewhere else.”

“Ah, Wade. She’s not a dog,” Christie argues in a hurt tone. “She’s alioness.”

I don’t know what to say to that. “Um, there is nowhere else. I’ve called every grocery store, retailer, and market within twenty miles. They’re either not hiring or only filling managerial positions from within. She’d have to start at minimum wage, a heinous joke. She needs more and deserves better for the ten years she’s put in.”

“She won’t find better here,” Wade counters, motioning to the G&G down the lane.

The large convenience store looks so rundown that it might as well be abandoned. The outside is littered with nonsensical junk. The large gravel parking lot butts up against the swamp, where a short dock looks more likely to hold sunbathing alligators than people. Since no one’s working there at noon on a Saturday, the only sign of life is a blinking neon sign in the window that says PEN as the O has burnt out.

“Make her manager, and she’ll turn this heap into a profitable business again,” I say, hoping it’s true.

“How intriguing,” Christie beams, turning toward his daughter. “Wren tells me Marnie practically ran Sunny’s. All the beautiful displays were her ideas. Plus, she’s done wonders for Wren’s social skills, though no one should be forced to smile so much.”

“It hurts my face,” Wren says.

“I know, honey,” Christie returns.

“I can’t afford a manager,” Wade snaps after a long belch.

“I’ll fund her salary. She should’ve sued me. At least this way, she’ll getsomethingback for what I’ve taken from her. All you have to do is let her be the manager, put her on your payroll, and give her freedom to change this place.”

“I don’t like changes,” he huffs.

“We like things just the way they are,” Roy tacks on. “We don’t want any lassie coming in here with her curtains, flowers, and girly things.”

“Hey!” Wren groans, glancing up from her book.

“Pretty things aren’tgirly, Roy, just like trucks aren’tmanly. We talked about this,” Christie pipes in. “Did you see her Father’s Day grill display? It was stunning.”

“Marina turns the mediocre into the magnificent,” I say, using her words. “It’ll be like the old days when?—”

Wade’s finger shoots up, nearly ramming me in the nose. “Don’t you dare say her name.”

I step back, immediately regretting it. I haven’t stepped foot in the G&G in over a decade, but before then, we always visited when Maureen was here. Wade would let us pick one treat from the candy bar aisle after playing hide-and-seek with him, using the store’s round shoplifting prevention mirrors perched in corners to guide us. She’d have pop music playing over the speakers, and we’d perch on the barstools, where she’d feed us hot dogs from the store’s canteen. It was never a bright and shiny place like Sunny’s, but it was rustic, charming, and part of us, like the farm.

Those memories—memories ofourfamily—led me here. To a possible solution that Marina might go for, and that won’t seem entirely like a handout. This place needs help, and she’s the perfect person to turn it around.

But Wade’s old wounds run very deep. Too deep, maybe, to find hope anywhere.

Christie’s soft voice breaks through my uncle’s harsh, angry stare down. “What harm would it do for the place to get a makeover? Huh?” His pink fingernails land on Wade’s forearm, gently lowering it.

“Might help business,” Roy says, his lanky frame bouncing on his dirty slippers. “Be nice to have a new customer every once in a while. Especially theladies…”

“It’s not my job to ease your guilt, Grady,” Wade snaps.

“No, but if anyone understands guilt, it’s you, right?” I pause as he glares. “I need to help her. It wouldn’t hurt you to help, too.”

“She’ll be like a breath of fresh air,” Christie coos. “Come on, Wade.”

“Give her a chance,” I beg, eyes locked on Wade’s. “And I’ll give you my shares of the place.”

Christie gasps, hand going to mouth. Roy gapes, burps, and goes eyes-wide toward Wade.

Wade keeps his poker face, but his mustache twitches encouragingly.

“You’ll have majority ownership,” I say, “like you should’ve had when Grandpa died.”

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