With his lips parted, he searches for words even though he normally always knows exactly what to say. Eventually, he drags his gaze up to look me in the eye.
“His body wasn’t there, Marcello,” he says softly. “Frank is gone.”
Harper
I stare at the shelves in front of me, stacked from top to bottom in feminine hygiene products and baby stuff.
My heart is beating in my throat. The sound of the cash register beeping has me on edge.
It shouldn’t be this difficult.
I don’t even know why I’m frozen to the ground.
But looking at all the options in front of me is making it hard to choose … especially when I have an audience of impatient customers trying to shove me aside so they can continue their search for products in this little convenience store.
But I am too busy trying to figure out what to do.
If I should ask someone if they could please buy this thing for me. This one thing, when they don’t even know me. Or if I should just steal it.
I swallow and close my eyes for a second in an attempt to calm my nerves, but nothing helps. I have to choose one way or another, and the longer I stand here staring at these shelves, the more suspicious I look. And then there will be no more options left because the employee at the cash register will surely call me out.
There’s no more time left.
I glance to my right, then my left, waiting for the last customer to pass me. Then I quickly lean in, grab the package, and tuck it underneath my shirt when no one is looking.
My heart beats so fast it feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest.
My eyes flick around skittishly, praying no one caught what I just did.
I swallow again and temper my breathing. If I’m going to get out of this store, I need to appear calm, rational. Like I just didn’t find what I was looking for.
Besides, what I did wasn’t so bad, right?
I mean, I didn’t steal anything expensive like a phone or a laptop or jewelry.
What I stole is only meant for women in dire need.
And I am in dire need.
I take a deep breath and move along through the shop, trailing behind some customers so as not to appear like I’m dawdling. It’s already scary enough as it is. I don’t need more attention on myself.
But those cookies in the aisles next to the exit really make my mouth water.
The past few days, I’ve only eaten the scraps given to me by restaurants at closing time, and the only reason they were so kind to help me out was because I told them I was pregnant.
I gulp.
I don’t even want to think about what could happen if that was really true.
Which is why this must work.
The only thing between me and the exit is the cash register. My breath falters when I come face-to-face with the woman behind it. Her eyes bore into my soul as she raises her brow. I’m almost on the verge of crying.
She must’ve seen, right? That’s why she’s looking at me like that. She’s getting ready to reprimand me, stop me in my tracks, and call the police.
Fuck. I don’t want to go to jail. Not for something like this.
Still, I continue walking because I have no other choice. She’s seen me now, and she knows I’m intent on leaving the store. I can’t stay here forever.
The woman continues to stare me down until I’m right beside her. My lips part. Sweat rolls down my back. Adrenaline fills my veins and muscles, ready to make a run for it if I need to.
“I… couldn’t find what I was looking for,” I stammer, unable to look her in the eyes.
When I attempt to walk farther, a sudden hand around my wrist stops me in my tracks.
Panic floods my body. I gaze at the woman with misery, expecting a scolding in return. But the look she gives me is so full of sympathy and compassion that it catches me off guard.
“You’re not alone,” she says, looking up at me.
She knows what I took, why I’m here. And that I’m trying to steal it.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
I gasp. “I … I … I’m sorry, I don’t have a p—” Partner in crime.
“I don’t need to know your reasons,” she says, and she reaches below the cash register and grabs a tiny card, holding it out to me. “Here. Take this.”
I glare at it for a moment like it’s a booby trap waiting to explode, but then my brain kicks into action. What harm could a little paper do?
I grab it with my other free hand and stare at it for a few seconds. “Women’s Shelter,” it says at the top, and there’s a number along with an address on it.
The woman releases me from her grip. “They can help you there.”
I do a double take. “So you’re not going to …?”
She holds up her hand. “Just get out and don’t come back.”
My face starts to wrinkle because I’m so grateful that it makes me want to cry. My voice is also in shambles. “Thank you.”
She waves it off and shoos me toward the door. “Go. Just go.”
I quickly walk out with the box still hidden underneath my shirt, determined not to come back here, despite the fact that this probably won’t be the last time I’ll need something to get by. But I can’t do that to this store again. Not when these employees are so helpful and kind and don’t call the police, even when someone just stole from them.
Kindness goes a long way. I’ve learned that much in my time spent out on the streets now. And I know that when I finally get back on my feet, I will repeat that same kindness a thousand times over.
When I finally get back to the abandoned house I’ve been occupying, I immediately go to the bathroom and lock myself inside. Even though I haven’t seen anyone come inside this house since I’ve been here, I must take precautions.
I grab a few pieces of the toilet paper that I had gotten from another shop and lower my underwear, dabbing myself. When I look, again, the paper is empty.
I sigh out loud as a knot forms in my stomach.
It’s been weeks since my last period. I should’ve gotten it by now.
Anxiety rages through my body as I stare at the little box I put on the small wooden plank above the toilet. The happy face of the woman on it makes me want to gag.
I snatch the box off the shelf and take out the test. There’s only so much prep one can do for this. Only so much convincing oneself of the necessity, despite the fact that I’d much prefer to stick my head in the sand. There is no way around this.
So I sit down on the toilet and pee over the stick, then put it down on the small sink next to the toilet. I flush, and I wait, and wait, and wait …
Until two red lines appear.
No. No. No. NO!
Pure panic rushes over me as I get up, letting the tears flow freely across my face.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be real.
I can’t be pregnant.
Bile rises up in my throat, and the sudden urge to vomit becomes too much, so I spin on my heels and throw up in the same toilet I just took a pregnancy test in.
It doesn’t stop until my stomach has emptied itself of all those nutrients I so desperately need while still homeless and jobless.
After I’m done, I flush and sink to my knees in front of the damn thing, sobbing my eyes out. Never in my life have I felt more alone than now. And just for a second, a teeny, tiny second, I wish my parents were just that—parents—and that they were here for me, consoling me, nurturing me, guiding me every step of the way.