Page 11

“Sorry I’m—”
“Julie’s gonna can your ass if you don’t get your shit together, Skylar,” she hissed, and I swallowed my apology and the irritation of being cut off a second time within a matter of minutes.
With a huff, my co-worker spun on her heel, leaving me alone with a line three customers deep.
I plastered on a smile that usually came easily and began ringing up the next sale, hating how people dismissed me or felt my words weren’t worth their time just because I had difficulty focusing.
More giggles sounded, and I caught sight of a preschooler ripping across the store, clutching a teddy bear almost the same size as him. A harried woman hurried after him.
“Patrick James Ryan,” she harshly whispered, “get your wiggly butt back over here this instant!”
Biting against a smirk and the memories of being that youngster myself twenty years earlier, I accepted the cash from the older, woman in front of me who pressed her lips in a tight line.
Thirty-seven dollars and fifty-two cents had been her total—
“Spoiled brat,” the customer in front of me grumbled, erasing my smile and my ability to count out change. “Parents these days don’t know how to manage their kids.”
Perhaps the boy is ADHD and can’t keep a handle on himself no matter how hard he tries.
I bit my tongue while pulling coins from the drawer.
My brain trailed after the little boy and his adventure—a tumble of the cowboy hat display followed in his wake.
“Bad, Patrick!” His mom didn’t bother lowering her voice. “Bad!”
A cringe rippled over me at her admonition, a word I’d heard often enough as a child it churned my stomach.
He’s not a dog…
I expected I would be setting the rack back up once he and his mom left.
A glance at the computer screen reminded me of the pennies I needed to count out for the board games purchases, but I couldn’t focus. The rambunctious Patrick continued romping around the toy shop and laughing as though high from sugar, escaping his mother’s grasping hands at every turn.
The next customer thankfully paid with a card.
A shattering of glass pulled my attention toward the front display. Little Patrick stood with tears filling his wide eyes, clutching that teddy bear with all he had left in him.
A pile of Precious Moments figurines lay in pieces at his feet.
His mother knelt and whisper-screamed at him, causing tears to slide down his cheeks. Those big blue orbs of his latched onto mine over his mom’s shoulder, and my heart ached for the sweet boy with restless feet.
Perhaps he had misbehaved, but the inability to stand still and listen didn’t come easily for some children.
My throat grew thick the longer we shared a moment as the world buzzed around us.
I longed to wrap him up in my arms and tell him he was a good boy, that he would grow up to be a lovely young man, one full of life and laughter.
That someday, someone would appreciate who he was. I clung to that hope myself, wanting my own happily ever after.
My boss Julie sent both mother and son out the door moments later without the stuffed animal, and I fought to keep my mind on my job.
The older woman who’d bought the board games walked back through the front door and spoke to Julie while I struggled to center myself on bagging up a sale.
Julie and the board game customer headed toward the front counter, and my stomach dropped out. One stern mouth and the other with down-turned lips, they promised yet another uncomfortable moment.
“I gave you a hundred dollar bill,” the woman snipped before Julie could speak. She looked down her nose at me, even though my five-foot-seven gave me a good two inches over her height.
“Go clean that up,” Julie said to me while unlocking the cash drawer, dismissing me.