Page 17 of When I Should’ve Stayed (Red Bridge #2)

Josie

Norah is still asleep when I leave the house on Sunday morning, destination not entirely known. I’m a ten-pound lump of feelings in a five-pound bag in that tiny house with her, and for the good of both of us, I figure I should take some space when I can.

When I left New York fourteen years ago, at the legal adult age of eighteen, I did so knowing it would be at least a little at the expense of my sister.

My mom is cunning and conniving enough to control the narrative how she wants, and Norah was still young enough that it would have been hard to fight amid all the glitz and glam of the uberwealthy life my mother was hell-bent on getting the day she moved us out of Red Bridge shortly after our father passed away.

I dreamed Norah would find a way out—that she would use all the knowledge I’d given her and the fight Grandma Rose and our dad put into our DNA—and break free, but I have to admit, I never saw her showing up on my doorstep yesterday coming.

I pull into one of the spaces in Earl’s Grocery’s parking lot and cut the engine, climbing out of my SUV with extra care as my bare legs stick to the hot leather and rip away in a painful peel.

I grab my purse off the front seat and slam my door shut, hustling across the already steaming black pavement and gliding through the automatic front doors.

It’s pretty quiet in here, thankfully, since most of the town is still at church, and I have a clear line to the produce section to find what I’m looking for.

Normally, I’d go for something a little fancier than grocery store flowers, but since Fran’s is closed on Sundays, I’m willing to take what I can get.

I look carefully through the bucket of carnations and then the roses, and I finally settle on a nice bouquet of Gerbera daisies in varying sizes and colors.

I turn to leave and then go back again, looking for another two bouquets. I wish more than anything I didn’t need so many.

Holding them close to my chest and moving through the store, I step up to the only register that’s open. It’s being staffed by lanky teenager Lance, which is pretty much the worst-case scenario, but I’m not surprised since Earl is an every-Sunday churchgoer.

“Hey, Lance,” I greet, smiling slightly as I set the three bouquets on the conveyor belt and step up to the credit card machine. He jerks up his chin in hello but doesn’t make any move to start scanning.

I clear my throat, and he raises his eyebrows at me. A silent, “What the hell do you want?” gesture.

The sigh that leaves my lungs is audible. “You have to scan them in for me to be able to pay.”

“Oh,” he says matter-of-factly. “Solid.”

I stand there for another fifteen seconds without him moving, and my patience completely evaporates. “Lance!”

He startles and nods then, grabbing a bouquet by the top of the flowers like a complete heathen and slides it across the scanner.

I grit my teeth. “You have to scan the actual barcode.”

“Ohh,” he hums, finally spinning the bouquet around and turning it over to run the plastic wrapping across the scanner.

It’s going to be a miracle if I don’t walk out of here with three bouquets that are just petal-less stems. I suck my lips into my mouth and clench my fists as he continues to struggle with the other two, petals falling onto the conveyor belt as he does, before finally getting it and granting me a total on the screen.

I pull out my card to pay, and he questions me immediately. “No cash?”

“No,” I say, incredibly suspicious. Lance is…

interesting. He’s young and a little—okay, a lot—lazy, and if there’s a scheme to be had, I’m pretty sure he’ll figure it out.

Without Earl on the premises, I can only imagine he’s hoping to pocket some cash sales for himself.

“I don’t have cash on me, and I’m well above the limit for using a card. ”

“Whoa, lady, relax.” Lance’s hands both go up defensively. “I’m just asking. No need to call the cops.”

I roll my eyes and finish the transaction, and I then snatch up the bouquets and head out the door without another word. I’m so beyond being in the mood to be given crap right now, I don’t have the energy to do anything else but get the hell out of the grocery store.

I climb back into my SUV and set the flowers and my purse on the passenger seat, pulling my phone out of my bag and dropping it into my cupholder.

When I glance at the screen, I’m surprised to see two messages stacked on each other. I didn’t feel it vibrate, but I’m notorious for forgetting to turn on the ringer and not feeling the buzz at all.

It’s an unknown number, and I click open the first message to see what it says.

I guess your toxic influence finally sank into your sister. If I find out you were behind all this, I’ll make sure you pay.

Well, then. I guess the sender isn’t unknown anymore.

No one, and I mean no one, does vapid nastiness like my mother. The second message, I know, will be more of the same, and I don’t even bother reading it before hitting delete.

But one thing is certain—Norah is going to have to start talking soon before things get completely out of control.

Because there’s one thing I’ve always known about Eleanor Ellis—no matter who gets hurt or who she has to kill to get them out of the way, she won’t stop until she gets whatever she wants.