Page 50 of Back to You
Forcing a smile, I waved to her. She waved back. Her shoulders bounced in a soundless giggle, before she peeked back up at her mother, who looked about three seconds away from ripping out her hair.
“What do you mean it’s been declined?”
“I’m sorry ma’am. I can give you a number to call? I’ve tried it three times, and it’s been declined.” The young cashier’s face turned pink. She hurriedly shoved hair behind her ear and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “I’m really sorry. There’s nothing I can do. Do you maybe have some cash?”
The woman’s shoulders drooped, defeated. I could tell she was fighting back tears. “No. Um. No, I don’t carry… I’m sorry.” She glanced down the aisle, which was filling up with impatient shoppers wanting to check out. Her smile was apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just… I’ll go. Put the food back, I can’t afford it. I’m sorry.”
She dropped her head and went to push her empty cart out of the way, but something inside me snapped taut. I reached out and touched her arm. “Ma’am? Wait.” I dug my wallet out of my back pocket and handed the cashier a hundred dollar bill. “Don’t worry. I got it.”
“No, no, you can’t do that,” she gasped. “I can’t pay you—”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I get it. You can’t just go hungry,” I told her, then nodded to the cashier, who’d frozen in place. She quickly cashed the woman out and handed me back the twenty-two bucks in change, but I wasn’t finished. Not yet.
“Wait.” Along with the change, I pulled out two more large bills, money I’d pulled from the ATM to pay our tattoo artist with, and pressed them into her hands. I could always withdraw more. “Here,” I said.
She whimpered. “No. I’m sorry, that’s very kind, but I can’t. I can’t possibly…”
“Yes, you can. Here. Take it. I want you to have it.” I smiled at her. “Really. I’ve been there, in your shoes. I know how it feels, so please. Consider it a gift.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, closing her fingers over the money. “Thank you so much. Oh. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Hurriedly, she tucked it away into her purse and started putting the groceries in her cart, until her daughter was surrounded by plastic bags. “Thank you again.”
With those last three words, she pushed her cart out of the store, and out of our lives. The little girl waved goodbye to us. I’d never see them again, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I did the right thing, the thing Mom would’ve wanted me to do.
We got through the check-out lane with minimal fuss. My heart was oddly heavy. Dane hugged me the moment we got out to our car. I let myself be folded into his warm embrace.
“You’re a good person, Hollister.”
“I hope so,” I murmured into the fabric of his t-shirt before dragging in a deep breath, enveloping myself in the scent of him. He filled my lungs with an everpresent sense of hope, and I squeezed him a little tighter.
“You are. Your mom would be so proud of you.” He spoke the words so sweetly that tears immediately brimmed in my eyes. I blinked rapidly to try and clear my vision and swallowed hard.
“Thanks.”
“Now, real talk.” Dane held me out at arm’s length. “You want that Snickers bar now or later?”
