Page 7 of His Wounded Heart

Out.

I need the fuck out of here.

How could I not have seen the signs?

How?

There are none of the self-checkout lines in this Podunk town, and only one lane is open, so I’m stuck behind the lady with the stroller and her friend. Now I have another one of the bakery women behind me.

Patience, Clark. Just breathe.

“Honey, he’s doing fine. It’s just teething.”

“Can we buy this?” she asks as she hands her mom a magazine.

Shit, how did I miss the kid? I mean, I saw the stroller, but how did I miss the fact there was a little girl floating around? I glance behind me and I don’t see the little girl until she meanders over from the other check-out aisle.

“And why do we need a gossip magazine?” The woman who must be her mother asks.

“Why can’t we buy it?”

“I will if you want, but I want you to think for a moment. Is that how you want us to spend part of our joy money this month?”

Joy money?

I put the divider on the conveyor belt, and that allows me to sneak another peek at the girl and her mother. The girl has her forefinger against her lip and a little frown on her face.

“You make a good point,” she says.

Jesus, how old is she? She sounds like an adult.

“But I need to consider how much joy I will get from reading this magazine,” she explains to her mother as she flips through the pages.

“Can you show me what article or articles have you so fascinated?” the pretty brunette asks her daughter.

“It’s all about this actress and her kids. I’ve never read about them before.” The daughter holds up the magazine for her mother to view.

“Do you think you could find out the same information online?” her mother asks.

Damned if the little girl’s eyes don’t light up. That girl might be all kinds of smart, but her mom sure knows how to handle her kid.

“I bet I could,” she practically squeals. “Then I could use the joy money for something even better. Maybe something to give to the Owees for their birthday.”

“Honey, that comes from a different pot. We save up for birthdays and Christmas in different ways. Your joy money is just that. It’s money for you to spend on things that give you joy.”

“But spending money on Aunt Chloe and Aunt Zoe on their birthday gives me joy, Mama.”

I watch as she scrambles over to the other aisle and puts back the magazine and I almost feel a grin hit my face.

“Now, if you let me babysit, I could earn a whole boatload of money for joy, birthday, and Christmas.”

“You’re my baby girl. You are too young to be babysitting.”

“I’m not a baby. I’m seven years old.”

“Like I said, my baby.”

“Mooooommmmm.”