Page 3 of That Conflicted Feeling

“Whatthe hell’s up with you two?”Carlyreturns from the back and plops a crate of potatoes on the counter.“Youlook like you’ve lost a basket full of kittens.”

Theremust be more worry on my face thanIthought.ButIrefuse to believe this is anything more than a rumor.

Mrs.Bentleybeckons her over.

Carlyleans in ready to humor whatever non-catastrophic catastrophe is about to be related to her.

“YellowBarnwants to open here,”Mrs.Bwhispers. “WhereThePictureHousewas.”

Carlybolts upright. “Thatwould fucking kill us.”Sheputs a hand onMrs.B’sshoulder. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

Mrs.Bshakes her head.“Younever can.”

Ilet go of her hands and stand up. “Can’tbe right.Mustbe a misunderstanding.”

Butthere is still a niggle in my gut.Mrs.Bisn’t stupid.Andher nephew’s been on the council for years.

Iturn toCarly. “YouhelpMrs.Bfind what she needs.I’llarrange these potatoes out front.”

Stackingfruit and vegetables into pyramids always calms me in a crisis.

“Er, okay.”Carlyfurrows her brow, apparently confused as to whyI’mnot reacting a lot more to this devastating news.“Iguess we can talk about it later.”

Igrab the crate off the counter and muster a smile. “Everythingwill be fine.”

Ihead to the front door asMrs.Beases herself up from the walker seat andCarlytells her something about collard greens being good for the bones.

AsIstride out the door my attention turns to the vacant lot down the street whereThePictureHouseonce stood.

Butsuddenly my left leg won’t move past the doorframe.

Thatdumb nail.

There’sno arguing with physics, though.Withthe leg of my overalls caught, and the rest of my body still propelling itself purposefully toward the display table, my body arcs downward.

Ifling the crate toward the table to try to save the potatoes, and throw my hands out to try to prevent my face from slamming into the sidewalk.

Oneelbow jars and my palms sting, yetIend up in a plank pose not a whole lot worse than in my last yoga class.

Butthe crate didn’t quite make it to the table, it’s rebounded off the edge, and crashed to the sidewalk, sending adorable baby new potatoes flying in all directions.Theybounce around me like ping-pong balls and roll toward the road.

BeforeIcan return to a vertical position, the glinting silver wheels of a large shiny black car pull to a stop in front of the shop, crushing three potatoes.

Well, isn’t that exactly how this day’s going?

Witha heavy sighIlet myself drop to the ground and rest my forehead on my arms.Thecold of the concrete instantly seeps through my overalls andT-shirt.

GoodGod, is it even 9 a.m. yet?

Justinches away, a car door opens then closes.

Theheavy clunk is followed by two footsteps.

“Areyou okay?”

2

POLLY