I couldn’t sell it now even if I wanted to. I’ve started projects—ripped out tile and baseboards—that I haven’t been able to fix yet. Who wants a half-finished house with zero curb appeal and a mountain of weeds?
My mom tries to reassure me, which only makes me feel guiltier. Since my dad died, she’s worked her ass off to send me and my brother to college. To try to get all the extra therapies for my sister because Frannie’s local public school is small and doesn’t have many resources.
After I get off the call, I catch sight of my reflection in the produce area. My eyes and nose are bright red even though I didn’t shed a tear. I just got emotional, but that’s all it takes for my face to go full-on Rudolph. I’m not one of those people who can play off getting upset. At least I’m wearing my glasses, which might mask it a little.
With a sigh, I look at my grocery list and scratch off a few items I know I can’t afford.
I let myself have one splurge and grab a couple of apples from the discounted box—they’re not too bruised—and head for the checkout.
Worst-case scenario, if you really need money, you can always donate blood.
I wonder how much that pays.
High-pitched giggles snag my attention, and I spot my archnemesis, Michael Oliver, hobbling through the store on crutches. I don’t have time to feel bad for him and his injury because he has two girls tripping over themselves to help him with his cart.
He looks up just as I haul ass around the corner and hide behind a cereal display.
Thankfully, I don’t think he saw me.
That guy never has anything nice to say to me, and I’m in no mood to deal with him. Glancing down, I take stock of what I’m wearing. Old jeans. A ratty t-shirt. A tattered coat. And let’s not forget the red nose.
I say a little prayer that I can get home without another run-in with that guy.
Resigned to wait it out, I scoot back so I can rest my rear on the bottom shelf next to the oatmeal. I open my phone and see I missed a message from my friend Sienna.
Can you babysit tomorrow?
Dear God, yes.
Sienna is engaged to Ben, who has a super-sweet toddler named Lily. Not only do they pay me well, they always feed me, and I could use the free meal. I used to get more hours with them, but then Ben’s aunt and uncle decided to move closer to help with Lily.
The only downside to babysitting is I risk running into Michael, since he lives across the street with his football buddies, but he tends to give me a wide berth when he knows I’m at Ben and Sienna’s.
Knowing him, he’ll assume I designed Kayla’s wedding invitations to annoy him, except the truth is she’s one of my favorite people. I get it—I’m dumb for not charging her for the work, but she’s not loaded. She and her fiancé have been scrimping and saving to tie the knot. The least I could do was make a small contribution to her special day. In contrast to her brother, Kayla’s always been sweet to me, and even though Michael gets under my skin like a bad rash, his family is awesome.
After a few minutes, the coast is clear. There’s no sign of Michael and his giggling escorts, so I head for the checkout.
“How’s it going, Edith?” I always try to learn the names of the checkout attendants. I’ve come to this grocery store every week for three years. It seems rude not to know who these people are.
“It’s going. How’ve you been, Maggie?” She gives me a tired smile.
We chat while she rings me up. She pauses to help another cashier for a minute before she returns.
I’m so busy wondering if tomorrow night’s babysitting gig will get me enough gas for the rest of the month that I don’t hear what Edith says. “Sorry, what?”
The grimace on her face should tell me this isn’t good news. “Your card was declined.”
“It has to be a glitch. I should have enough. Can we run it again?”
“Of course.”
I zip my card through, punch in the PIN, and start praying, only to see that hated word pop up on the credit card screen: ‘DECLINED.’
Oh, hell. “Maybe I have some cash.” If Moses parted the Red Sea, a few bills could magically pop up in my purse. They say God works in mysterious ways, right?
No such luck. I pull out a handful of lint, three dimes, and an unwrapped but tattered piece of gum.
A low, deep voice interrupts my panic attack. “Do you need money?”
