Page 95 of That Conflicted Feeling
Andthere’s only one cost left to cut.
I’vefelt sick with dread all day.Andnow my heart races likeI’mabout to jump off a cliff asIhandCarlyher weekly pay.Theenvelope trembles in my hand.Ican’t even look her in the eye.
“Thisreally might be your last one.”Thewords catch in my throat, and my voice cracks asItry to explain. “Therent goes up starting next month.AndI’mnot sure there’s much point throwing good money after bad when we all know how this is going to end.”
I’mletting her down.I’mletting everyone down.Includingmyself.
Carlylooks at me likeI’vetold her carrots grow on trees.
“Hey.Where’sthe defiant spirit to battle through adversity gone?”Shebats me playfully on the cheek with the envelope. “WhostolePollythe fighter and replaced her with this wet dish rag?”Sheslaps herself on the head with the envelope in realization. “Oh, yeah.Mr.Twinkles.”
Shemight be joking, but it is like part of me went with him when he left town.Alongsidethe knotted pain in my stomach, there’s a hollow emptiness.AndIcan’t shift either of them.Noamount of throwing myself into work, taking care of everything at home whileMom’sleg heals, and playing cards with her in the evenings to relieve her boredom, ever distracts me from the gnawing hurt ofMaxusing me.
Yet, despite what he did,Ican’t stop myself from missing him, needing him, craving his company.
There’sa familiar ker-clunk in the doorway.
“Whythe sad faces, ladies?” asks a smilingMrs.Bentley.
“Oh, you know how it is,Mrs.B,”Carlysays. “Justpreparing for the inevitable loss of our reason for getting up every morning.”
“Well, you girls are definitely one ofmyreasons for getting up every morning.Sodon’t let me down now.”Shemoves further into the shop.
Ahyes,Mrs.Bentley.She’salso on the list of peopleI’mletting down.
“We’redoing our best.”Ilean forward and rest my forearms on the counter. “ButI’mnot sure it’ll be enough given what we’re up against.”
“Whatare you talking about?”Mrs.Bcomes to a halt in front of me. “Haveyou not seen the sign?”
“Youmean some mystical message in a piece of burned toast or something?”Carlyasks.
“No.Imean the big wooden one on thePictureHouselot.”Shelooks happier thanI’veseen her in ages.
Myheart sinks.Ithought for a second she might have had some good news. “Yeah,Isaw someone putting up something there whenIwas rearranging the sidewalk display a few minutes ago.”Idismiss it with a flap of my hand. “It’llbe some info about the new store.”
“Well, then.”Aknowing smile grows onMrs.B’sface as she parks her rear end in her walker seat. “I’llwait here while you girls go and read it.”
Iease up off the counter and rearrange the pens in the onion-shaped pot next to the till. “Thanks, butI’veheard enough about thatYellowBarnstore to last me a lifetime.Idon’t need to read any more.”
“Yeah, we don’t need our noses rubbing in it,Mrs.B.”Carlygrabs a basket. “Howabout you tell me what you want, andI’llget it together for you while you rest?”
Mrs.Bfolds her arms. “Iwant you two to go read that sign.”
Shelooks like the cat that got the creamandswallowed the canary.
Carlystrides to the entrance and grabs one side of the doorframe, swinging her top half out and kicking one leg back, like she’s in a 1940s musical. “Can’tread it from here.Toofar away.”
“You’vegot legs, girl.”Mrs.Bpoints in the direction of the sign.
Carlydrops the basket and holds up her hands in surrender.“Okay.Igive in.I’llgo look.Comingwith me,Poll?”
“I’drather stay here and do a year’s worth of bookkeeping.”
Carlyturns toMrs.B. “Shehates bookkeeping even more than she hatesYellowBarn.”
“Yes,”Itell them. “ButI’dcheerfully do it while someone pokes my eye out with a parsnip, if it meantIdidn’t have to think about that store ever again.”
“Okay.Gotthe message.”Carlyskips out the door. “I’llreport back in a minute.”
