Don't Let Go(2)

Bam . . . bam . . .
“Like—now!” I yelled through my teeth in the direction of the wall.
An elderly woman in an unfortunate Pepto-Bismol pink pantsuit glanced up at me with disdain from where she sat in an oversized chair reading a paperback romance novel.
What, the banging was okay?
“Sorry, Mrs. Chatalain,” I said softly, reaffixing my smile and sucking back my crazy.
My stomach growled, reminding me that it was lunchtime and that I’d forgotten my leftovers at home. I rubbed at my temples, which had drummed out a dull rhythm since I’d awakened. Something had me on edge. It was always my most difficult time of the year—I expected it. Waited for it. But something was different.
“What’s with you, today?” said a voice to my left. My assistant manager, Ruthie, strolled from the back of the store looking all bohemian with her black beret cap and her hands tucked in the pockets of a long and well-worn black sweater. Her small frame looked lost in it.
I shook my head. She’s forgotten, I thought. She doesn’t remember. But that’s okay. Somebody needs to be normal for once.
“Johnny Mack and his stupid-ass cane,” I said under my breath, nodding toward the offending wall. “There’s not one note of music playing anywhere in here today.”
Ruthie chuckled. “It’s his entertainment, Jules,” she said with a wink before something else caught her eye. “Uh-oh, look who’s coming.”
I followed her gaze to the wall of spray-snow-frosted glass flanking the front of the bookstore, where a lone teenage girl with crooked hair was heading up the sidewalk.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
The bell jingled as she pushed open the door and I watched Mrs. Chatalain raise an eyebrow at the girl’s black smudgy eyeliner, dark shiny hair that was longer on one side than the other, and navy blue T-shirt that said You laugh because I’m different. I laugh because you’re all the same.
“Hey,” the girl said, her mouth cocking in an endearing crooked grin that lit up her face and killed the I-don’t-care mask that she worked so hard to maintain.
“What’s wrong?” I said, standing up.
She frowned and shrugged, the frayed black backpack slung over her shoulders moving with her. “Nothing, why?”
“Why aren’t you at school?” I asked.
She pointed to the giant clock across the street that was about to rattle the windows with its eleven o’clock toll.
“It’s lunchtime,” she said.
I closed my eyes and counted the reasons why I loved her as my pen slipped from my fingers and clattered from the counter to the floor.
“At school, Bec.”
Her face scrunched up. “They had gumbo today,” she said simply. “Their gumbo sucks. Nothing like Nana Mae’s.”
“Not even mine?” Ruthie said with a head tilt and mock hurt expression.
Becca smiled. “Not even yours, Aunt Ruthie.” She tilted her head to match. “Although I do really like when you make potato salad to put in it.”
“Thank you,” Ruthie said with a little curtsy.
I splayed my fingers wide on the cool granite countertop, letting the hard cold seep in. I probably needed to press my wrists against it. Or go stick my head in the break room freezer. “You have to quit doing this, Bec. It’s not an open campus. I’m tired of calling—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” she said, holding her palms up. I noticed there was something new drawn in black Sharpie inside her left wrist. Of course there was. “We’re not doing anything anyway.”
“The law doesn’t care, baby.”
She widened her eyes at Ruthie in the eternal oh-my-god-ness of it all. “Got it. But I’m here, so do y’all want to take me next door?”
Her face broke into a cheesy innocent grin that was so fake, it broke me. Ruthie snickered at my side as I shook my head.
“Girly, you really ought to be my blood. You’ve been around me too long,” she said, walking around to hook an arm around Becca’s neck.
That was true. Ruthie had been Becca’s “aunt” since birth, and my best friend since kindergarten. She’d been with me through everything. Everything. And helping in the bookstore right alongside me since we were eight years old and my mother ran it.
“I do like your hair, I have to say,” Ruthie said, fingering the lengths that were razor cut from just under her chin on one side to past her shoulder on the other. “Wasn’t sold when your mom told me about it, but it works for you.”
Bec’s smile was brilliant and she fluttered her eyes at me. “Thanks!”
I smiled, humoring them both. “Ready?”
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom first,” Bec said, dropping her backpack where she stood. “Theirs is kinda—ick.”
I sighed as I stooped to pick up her bag. “Why don’t y’all just go and bring me back something?” I asked Ruthie, gesturing toward our lone customer.
“Nah, I’ll stay,” she said, plopping onto the stool and grinning at me. “I brought chicken salad.” Laughing at my expression, which I’m sure showed I’d rather be flogged, she continued, “Go fuss at him.”
As if on cue, three short bumps reverberated through the wall. I sneered and gave her a knowing look. “Not a good time for that.”
She frowned. “Why—oh.” Her expression changed and her eyes got a far-off cast to them as she joined me in my retro journey. “That’s right. No wonder you’ve been funky this week.” She sent a glare toward the wall. “He probably doesn’t even know anymore.”