A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [48]
“What’re you doing in here?” a shrill voice demanded.
“Shopping.” Jada clutched an apple as the bitch bore down, dragging her wheeled tank.
“You get out. You get outta here right now!” June grabbed the apple and now was trying to get the milk.
“No! I got money! This is mine! I’m buying it!” Jada yelled, pulling back.
“Then I’m calling the cops, is that what you want? Cuz if you don’t, you better put that stuff down and get the hell outta here.”
“What’s wrong?” Gordon asked, wiping his hands on his apron. Both spoke at once, June saying the girl was a thief while Jada insisted she had money. “So you’re paying for that stuff?” he asked uneasily.
“Well, yeah!” Jada said, rolling her eyes. “I got the money right here in my pocket.”
“And what else’ve you got in there, you little thief?” June reached toward Jada’s pocket.
“Don’t you touch me, bitch!” she warned. The crack was in the same pocket as the money. She’d forgotten to put it down the front of her pants.
“See!” June crowed to Gordon. “What’d I tell you?”
Leaning, Jada released her armload of groceries onto the lemons. “Here!” She took out the bills and waved them in the bitch’s pinched gray face. “Eighteen bucks!”
Gordon assured June he’d bring Jada through the checkout himself. He carried the groceries up front, then bagged everything as Serena rang it through. Jada tossed a pack of bubble gum onto the mat.
“Twenty forty-nine,” Serena said.
“Oh.” Stunned, Jada checked one of the pizza boxes. Two forty-nine. “Take this off, then. I only got eighteen.” She’d have cereal, and her mother could have the other pizza.
“Oh yeah, like she wasn’t going to steal anything,” June crowed from the next register.
“Bitch!” Jada shot back.
“Here. Here, it’s okay. Take this.” Gordon was trying to put money into Jada’s hand.
“Count your fingers, make sure they’re all there now,” June cackled. “Fossums’ll steal anything.”
“Go fuck yourself!” Jada cried, shoving past his outstretched arm. Coins fell and rolled across the floor.
“I don’t need shit. I don’t need anybody’s shit,” she panted as she ran home through pelting rain. The front door was wide open. The television was on and all the lights, dresser drawers dumped out onto the bed, the corners of the kitchen linoleum torn back, the dented trash can tipped, its stinking contents spilling onto the floor, while from behind the couch a voice in perfect diction repeated, “Please hang up and try your call again. If you need assistance, dial your operator. Please hang up now. This is a recording.” She reached down and fished up the phone. It was cracked. Directly above was a hole in the wall. She threw herself onto the couch. She was eating soggy pretzels and watching cartoons when the doorbell rang.
“Here.” The big guy, Gordon, held out two bags of groceries.
“Yeah? What do you want?”
“Well, here. They’re yours.”
“How much do I owe you? I forget,” she said, hoping he’d say it was all right, she didn’t have to pay.
“Eighteen’s fine.”
“Yeah, but now I only got five left.” She slipped one bill from the rest. “I had to get some stuff, some medicine for my mother.”
“Oh,” he said with a look of consternation as he took the five.
“But I’ll pay you back.”
“Oh. Okay. All right, then.” He nodded as if to convince himself.
The minute he left she tried to light the oven. It wouldn’t go on. The gas must have been shut off. “Goddamn her,” she muttered, emptying the frozen pizza onto the counter. She’d have to eat it raw. Or maybe that guy Gordon would let her use his stove. She could see him out in the rain, picking dead branches off his bushes. She ran to the front door, then closed it quickly when the Navigator pulled up. Polie was driving. Ronnie Feaster ran up the steps. He rang the bell, then banged on the door.
“Give her this, then,” he said when she told him her mother wasn’t home. He handed her a piece of folded paper. His new pager number. He was always getting new ones—just to be safe. When she started to close