Brushing a piece of hair caught on Elle’s cheek, I exclaim, “You look fantastic—that cut is meant for your face shape.”
As I back out of the parking spot, I’m focused on the rearview camera, but it’s always at an inconvenient time that I remember what errands I still have to run. “Do you mind if we make one more stop?”
“Anything to take me away from my essay on The Scarlet Letter.”
“I definitely don’t want to pull you away from that,” I chuckle, “but this will be quick. I just have to run into the grocery store. Noah ate us out of house and home this weekend.”
We ride in companionable silence until we reach the parking lot of the big-box store.
“Do you want to come in?”
“Mind if I stay here?” Elle closes her eyes. “I’m feeling pretty beat. It snuck up on me out of nowhere.”
“It’s the scalp massage and the blow-dryer.” I motion to the ignition. “I’ll leave the keys so you can keep it running. Be back in a few.”
Languidly, she leans back against the headrest. “I’ll probably be asleep when you come back.”
“No problem.” I run into the store, feeling like an ass for keeping Elle out this late. The purple splotches underneath her eyes are readily apparent, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. Is she coming down with mono, the kissing disease? I had it in high school just from sharing utensils.
My motherly instincts kick in, and I feel sorry for her. I want to broach the subject of her having a foster home but don’t dare until I know she feels comfortable confiding in me. She should open up to me instead of my prying into what might be a sensitive topic.
I’m already alarmed by the obscureness surrounding her. Maybe if I show her some decency, she’ll start to shed her tough outer layer and open up to me. It appears that what would be normal is not her normal, I remind myself. Which is why I wanted to do something nice for her—let her be a teenager for a minute instead of rushing home to babysit other children or walk dogs.
After grabbing some tea and honey, a carton of milk, and a loaf of bread, I add bananas and cereal to my basket and head to the checkout.
I stop in my tracks and turn to the aisle marked “family planning.”
Are you ready, Char? I ask myself.
There’s a rush, as if I’ve had a sudden high. But then there’s a swoop, like I’m crash-landing.
It’s time. I have to know for certain.
Hands shaking, I grab a couple of boxes of pregnancy tests, which is a bit much, but I don’t care. They claim to detect pregnancy hormones earlier than the other brands, and, given the cost, I sure hope this is an accurate advertisement.
After the items are rung up, I realize too late that I left my wallet in the vehicle. A line has formed behind me, and, flustered, I touch both pockets as if confirming my mistake.
Empty.
Biting my lip, I fumble at the bottom of my purse, relieved that a credit card I have on hand for emergencies is stored in the front pocket.
As I walk outside, nervous anticipation courses through my veins at the possibility that Noah and I could soon be parents. I have to stop procrastinating and avoiding the reality, as the small pudgy spot becomes a baby bump.
Trying not to act too giddy, I slow down my steps to a more natural walk.
As I approach the Jeep, I notice that something’s wrong. The back passenger door is wide open, and I see the outline of a body sprawled facedown on the seat.
Stifling a scream, I cup my mouth in horror as the body lies there, immobile.
Frozen in place, I watch as it miraculously shifts.
Elle now moves from her stomach to her side, shrieking in terror when she spots me behind her. She turns crimson.
“What are you doing in the back seat?” I’m not upset, just confused. The two plastic sacks have fallen from my grip, and my gaze is fixated on Elle’s hands, how her fingers are pried between the seats.
“This isn’t what it looks like.”
“What does it look like?” I ask. “I returned your book to you. What else did you lose back here?”
“Courtney asked me to check for her library card. Said it fell out of her purse. I thought it might have slipped between your seats.”
“Courtney had a small wristlet on. She wasn’t in the back seat, and her purse never touched the back seat.” My tone frigid, I add, “But what’s in your pockets?”
Her face flushes too bright, too guilty. “Nothing.”
“Show me, then.”
Swallowing hard, she says, “This is so embarrassing.”
“What is?” Making no move to walk around to the driver’s side, I stand in her line of vision, blocking her path.
“You’re going to think less of me.”
“Just tell me. What’re you looking for?”
Nervously, she licks her lips.
“Are you looking for my wallet?”
“Charlotte . . . no.”
“Then what is it?” I demand.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Annoyed, I retrieve the bags and toss them in the back seat. “Why would Courtney’s library card be buried in between the cracks of the back seat when she sat in the front, Elle? That’s not even a good excuse. You can do better.”
“I know.”
My nose wrinkles in disgust. “There’s a stash of twenties in the middle console. You had to have noticed that earlier.” I shrug. “Plus, I left my wallet in here, so I’m sure you’ve cleaned that out.”
Elle shifts from foot to foot, her eyes darting around the parking lot.
“So why not go for that?”
“Because it’s stealing.”
I tilt my head. “Where’s my wallet?”
“In the back seat.” Elle points behind the driver’s seat. “On the floor.”
“Hand it to me.” I tap my foot impatiently as she reaches in to grab it. Not fast enough, in my mind, so I snatch it out of her palm. She watches nervously as I unclasp it and peer inside, scanning the contents.
“Get in,” I coldly instruct her, walking around to the other side of the Jeep. She follows suit, quietly buckling her seat belt as she hangs her head.
Gawking at her, I murmur, “What?”
“I only wanted your change so I could get something off the dollar menu. This way, I can justify that it’s not causing anyone harm or bad karma for myself. Just like at the gas station when you use the penny jar.”
“All right” is all I say as I shove my wallet in my purse and dump it in the back seat. “Where am I taking you tonight, since your dog-sitting gig is over?”
Elle stares straight ahead, the dim streetlamp we’re parked under illuminating every vehicle in an eerie glow.
“I think it’s best we don’t see each other again,” I say flatly.
“No,” Elle whispers, “please, Charlotte. I certainly don’t want to steal from you.” She swivels her head toward me, tears springing to her eyes.
“I value honesty and trust, and loyalty. The simple fact is I can’t trust you.”
“I’m sorry.” She tries to give my arm a flimsy squeeze. “I’m so ashamed.”
My lips are drawn in a straight line, practically invisible, and I exit the parking lot, my fingers punching the touch screen, changing the station to talk radio as we drive in an uncomfortable silence.