Page 24 of Really Truly Yours

Her eyebrows scoot inward. “The ice cream?”

“Oh, right.” I lean forward, putting my weight on the cart’s handle like I’m about to pop a wheelie. “What ice cream is that?”

She’s looking at me like I’m tripping. “Donny’s favorite? Peanut butter-chocolate.”

“Got it. I’ll meet you at the checkout.”

Sydnee seems to have addled my brain. Since I forgot to ask his favorite brand, I add three different half-gallons to our haul and find an empty checkout line at the front. The cashier is popping bubble gum and covering a yawn with spiky black fingernails.

She stops chewing and flashes a pair of long fake eyelashes at moi. I smile like my mother taught me and start filling the conveyor belt with stuff and the air with small talk. When only Sydnee’s items remain, I eye the collection of staples. What the hey? She’s helped me and helped Donny.

The checker, wearing a black and gold t-shirt with MSHS on the front, chats away, cutting her productivity by at least half. She’s got a single, individually-wrapped roll of TP and a bottle of dish soap left to go when Sydnee pulls up to the station, peering into the cart, prescription bag in hand. “Where’s my stuff?”

“In a bag somewhere.” I motion to the carousel with one hand and insert my credit card in the reader with the other.

“Wait! Some of that was mine.”

“I took care of it.”

With a death grip on her purse strap, Sydnee eyeballs me. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

I finger-sign on the screen. “It’s alright.”

“No. It isn’t.”

Does she grind up all her words before she spits them out, or is that special for me?

I tuck my card away and stuff my billfold into my hip pocket. Ouch. “It’s not a big deal.”

Her nostrils flare, her eyes firing out a life-endangering glare. “Yes. It is.”

Seems like every time I speak, I make matters worse, not a problem I’m accustomed to.

A familiar stab shoots from my shoulder on down. Not good, not good. “Well, Sydnee Lou, I suppose we could have this nice lady dig your items out, void the sale, and redo the whole thing?”

Stinging death rays hit their target: me.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“Not necessary.”

“And don’t call me Sydnee Lou.”

I smile and deliver my thanks as I take the receipt from the checker’s hand, caught one last time by her menacing fingernails. Sydnee could put some of those to use scratching my eyeballs out.

I shove the paper strip into the nearest bag, loading it into the cart, all while ducking incoming fire. When Sydnee tries to help, I snatch the rest of the bags in one swipe .

Sydnee dogs my steps as I wheel us out of there. “You shouldn’t have done that, Grayson.”

“Gray.” The cart wheels rattle and clank.

“Did you hear me?”

“Did you hear me?” Ignoring the dead air in my wake, I press a button on the fob, and the rear gate levitates. I shove the bags in and around the AC box.

Sydnee is arms-slashed angry once I climb behind the wheel. I fire up the engine and eye the camera as I back out. The chill from the store follows us across town. Ice-cold through and through, I turn onto her block. “Fine, Sydnee. Pay me back.”

“I will.”