Page 3 of The Fake Out

I did mind. I minded so much. “What?”

“So, where do you think that Duke was gonna put his hand? I’m thinking he was about to touch her—”

With a growl, I pulled the door shut. He was still laughing as I locked it.

TWO

Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?

—CHRISTIE L.

“Oh, canned biscuits?” Miss Mary said, who’d been the cashier at Pappy’s Market since I could remember. She’d also been my Sunday school teacher at the Baptist church and Mama’s before me. People didn’t much leave Two Harts, and they usually wore more than one hat. For example, one of the two attorneys in town was also a taxidermist.

Pappy’s, like most things around here, showed its age with its faded store sign and dim lighting. The shopping carts were small and old and every wheel in the place pulled a little to the left.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with an internal sigh. This is why I did most of my shopping at the Walmart twenty minutes away.

She slid on the glasses she kept on a chain around her neck and squinted at the package. “Now that’s just something. Always used my grandmama’s biscuit recipe, of course. But I’ve heard these are good.” She said the word good like it was synonymous with poison. Or dog poop.

The register beeped as she pulled the can across and set it aside. The other thing about Pappy’s—there was no rushing. Miss Mary could move at her own pace, thank you very much. And she did. Captive audience and all.

“How’s your mama?” she asked, eyeballing the package of Italian sausage in her hand.

I shifted on my feet and propped an elbow on the tiny checkout counter. I was going to be here a while. “She’s doing better, thank you for asking.”

“We were all so worried about her there for a while.”

“She’s a fighter,” I said, hoping to move on from this topic and perhaps get home before the next millennium.

“Of course she is, honey. You know the ladies at the church can bring y’all meals any time or help around the house or drive her to doctor appointments.” She peered at me over her glasses. “We take care of our own.”

Inside, I bristled. Although Mama had grown up in Two Harts, I’d been ten when she’d moved us back here, and I’d always felt like I was on the outside looking in.

Of course, that my father had been arrested many times over in this town didn’t help matters either. A large part of me wanted to prove I was nothing like him. I wasn’t flaky or irresponsible. I was a fully capable woman who could take care of anything life threw at her.

“We’ve got it covered,” I said, forcing a small smile. It should be noted I didn’t have anything covered, but unless I wanted to have a full-on panic attack in the cereal aisle at Pappy’s, lying was easier.

Miss Mary patted my hand. “’Course you do, honey. You were always that way.”

My cheeks warmed at the surprising compliment. “Thank you.”

With a nod, she picked up the next item and inspected it. “Would you look at that. Peas frozen in a bag you cook right in the mi-cro-wave.” Beep went the scanner. “That sure is fancy.”

By the time I dragged myself home, I’d already forgotten the encounter with the giant sleeping stranger at the library. I kicked my shoes off by the front door and yelled out a greeting.

No one replied but I could hear the distinct sound of someone screaming in agony.

I rounded the corner, knowing exactly what I would find—Mama and her best friend Sue on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. Last week, the two of them had discovered Game of Thrones and this viewing party had become a daily ritual.

Quietly, I rounded the sofa and dropped a kiss on Mama’s cheek. Nowadays, I never missed the chance to kiss her cheek or hold her hand or spend time with her. Life was precious and quickly lost, as we’d learned the last few months.

“It’s almost over, honey,” she whispered without turning her head in my direction.

“I’ll go start dinner then,” I said. “Hi, Sue.”

With a wave of her hand, Sue shushed me. I stifled a laugh. After dropping off the groceries in the kitchen, I made my way to my room to strip off my work clothes and throw on some holey shorts and an old, faded t-shirt.

Kevin, our geriatric cat with the social graces of a cactus, cracked open an eye from his position smack in the middle of my bed. Or rather, his bed, which he kindly let me sleep in at night. When Grandma had passed away my last year of college, we’d decided I would take over her bedroom. Kevin came with the room. He didn’t care for humans, vacuum cleaners, and shoes. We had a lot in common if I thought about it.