Taking Connor(19)

When I go back in, Connor is gone, and Meryl is sitting alone at the table where we played. I sit beside her, and she takes my hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Demi. Thank you for all you’re doing for him.”

“Blake arranged everything. I’m just carrying out his wishes,” I point out.

She gives me a sideways look, her mouth twisting. “All for Blake is it?” As I said before, Meryl is loving, sweet, cute as a button. Now, let me add blunt to the list. She doesn’t mince words.

I look at her and open my mouth to speak, but she stops me by saying, “You two are attracted to one another. Anyone can see it. Even a half-blind old lady like me.”

“Meryl, I—”

“Blake would have liked it, ya know? He loved you so much Demi. And he loved Connor too. He would’ve loved the two of you together.”

My brows rise. Is she trying to set me and up . . . with Connor? “Meryl—”

“You ready to go Demi?” Connor asks from behind us, making me jump.

“Oh, uh, yes,” I stutter, awkwardly. Leaning over, I kiss Meryl’s cheek. “See you next week?”

“I hope so.” She smiles. Connor hugs her goodbye and promises to visit every other day. We leave her just as she takes off for lunch. Connor whistles all the way to the car, and I wonder if it’s to avoid speaking to me. Did he overhear what Meryl said?

After the quick detour to Meryl’s storage unit to pick up some boxes of Connor’s belongings, we make a quick stop at the Quick Mart. It’s the only place in town where you can get groceries unless you want to drive forty-five minutes away to the bigger stores. It’s also one of the only gas stations in town as well. I decide to fill my tank before we head to Wendy’s house, and Connor insists on paying even when I argue it’s not necessary. Unfortunately, I lose because he rushes inside to pay. I decide to run in and grab a few candy bars for Jeff and Wendy’s kids since we’re heading there next. I can’t pump the gas until after Connor pays and they turn the pump on, anyway.

When I walk in, Connor is in line behind a lady with a baby on one hip and two small children beside her. The baby is crying, and the other two children are bickering as the cashier rings up the woman’s items. The mother of these children looks exhausted; pale with huge bags under her eyes. I want to take the baby from her just to give her a little break.

“Stop it,” she hisses at her two children squabbling beside her.

“It says your card is declined,” the cashier drones out, clearly annoyed.

The woman gives Connor an embarrassed glance, before asking the cashier quietly, “Can you try it again?”

The cashier lets out an annoyed sigh but swipes the card again. “Declined,” he huffs. “Do you have another card you’d like to try?”

Fumbling through her wallet, quite the feat while holding a baby, she pulls out another card and hands it to the cashier. “Try this one.”

“Declined,” the cashier grumbles after he swipes it. He’s not even trying to be discreet about it which makes me want to wring his neck.

“I don’t understand. I know there’s money in the account,” the woman explains quietly. “Will you try it one more time?”

With a dramatic huff, the cashier swipes her card one more time, almost immediately handing it back to her. “Declined,” he sneers. “Ma’am, I have other customers in line.”

Her face goes bright red as she lifts the baby higher on her hip and grabs the hand of one of the children. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, shooting an apologetic look to Connor. “Come on you two,” she orders to her children. The cashier rolls his eyes and picks up a phone receiver. Over the store speaker, he gripes, “I need someone upfront to grab items that need to be put back.”

The poor woman looks mortified as she moves to rush out, but Connor stops her.

“Hold on a minute,” Connor calls. Looking to the cashier, he asks, “How much does she owe?”

“One-hundred-forty-two,” the cashier replies, annoyed. I’m in line behind Connor now, grabbing candy bars from the display. “I got this,” Connor tells the cashier, giving him a pointed look that clearly states he’s pissed.

“Oh, thank you, but no. I couldn’t let you do that,” the woman sniffles. She’s so humiliated, she’s tearing up.

“I want to,” he tells her. “I’m paying for her groceries, and I need to add forty dollars in gas on pump seven.” Then looking back at me, as I stare at him in awe while holding five candy bars, says, “And those candy bars, too.”

With everything, the total is one-hundred-eighty-six dollars. Connor tosses bills on the counter, grabs the ladies four bags of groceries, and heads for the exit.

“Sir, you gave me too much. I owe you change,” the pimply face cashier calls. When Connor turns back, his expression is one of disgust. “Keep it, man. Maybe you can buy yourself some f*cking manners with it.” Then he turns and carries the groceries outside to the woman’s car. She was parked close to the pumps, and as I filled the tank, I watched as she belted her children in the car while Connor put her bags in the trunk.

“Can I have your address so I can pay you back?” she asked when he slammed the trunk closed.

“No,” he says. “No need to repay me. I’ve had a lot of kindness thrown my way lately. It was about time I paid it forward.”