Chapter Four

Grace circled back through the neighborhood and then down Main, to the small IGA grocery. Walking through the candy aisle she picked over sour worms and fizzy pastel pellets, looking for chocolate. The store was empty this time of day, echoing a little under the low Muzak. Moving past the butcher’s case, she heard quiet sobbing behind the swinging doors.

“Do your parents know what you’ve been up to? You know, I can call the police and have you arrested right now.” Grace paused, appearing to consider the sirloin and pork steaks, listening unashamedly to the drama playing out behind the glass.

“I’ve seen you coming in here with that Willard girl and I have to tell you, you’d better think about this. You don’t want to end up spending the night in jail, do you?” The manager’s voice was harsh. More sniffing and a hiccup.

“I’m going to call your mother and tell her that I caught you red-handed. I’m going to tell her about the girl that got away. I’m going to tell her what kind of criminal you are. And young lady, you’d just better hope I don’t tell anyone else or there’ll be trouble at home and at school. Everybody around here finds out when someone is a thief.” Muffled whispering and a sound like a whimper.

“Now you skedaddle on home. And if I see you in here again without money in your hand, I will call the police. And your mama won’t get the chance to tan your backside before they take you away.”

A dark haired waif, no more than eight years old, hurtled through the doors and crashed into Grace. Her breath whooshed out as Grace tried to catch the child before she fell. Brilliant blue eyes looked up at her, tears overflowing down a dirt-streaked face. The girl pulled away and ran for the front door.

The manager walked out shaking his head, hands on hips. “I knew they were up to no good, coming in here and never buying a thing. White trash from the other side of town is what that is.”

“What did she take?” Grace’s heart pounded, remembering her own experience coming from across those tracks.

“Deli sandwich, some chips, but still—they’ll rob you blind if you don’t watch them.”

Grace grabbed her groceries and walked toward the check-out, pondering the little girl.

As she headed back toward Main, the car glided toward what passed for a park: a lone swing set and one slide, surrounded by weedy grass and intersected by beaten-down dirt paths wandering randomly until they lost interest and petered out at no particular destination. A dark head and small shoulders sat slumped in a swing, with her back to the street. Grace pulled the car over.

“Pretty bad, huh?” Grace sat down in the swing, gliding quietly beside the child, answered only by a sniff.

“Worried about what will happen when you get home?” A violent nodding of the dark head. The girl’s clothing was ill fitting. Blue jeans that were too short exposed dirty feet stuck in tattered tennis shoes, and a faded yellow sweatshirt with a yellow Pokemon laughing on the front. Grace doubted the child’s hair or face had been washed in the last week.

“Well, you know what? I did the same thing in that very store when I was . . . hmmmm,” she paused, remembering, “ . . . older than you.” The sobs were checked and a startled face turned toward Grace.

“You did?” It was a squeak. An adult who admitted to a criminal past. It was an absolute revelation.

“Yes. I did. And then, I lied about it.” Grace gently kicked the swing back again and gazed across the grass of the park. “It was bad. A lot worse than bad. I have three sisters. I thought they’d never let me forget it. Granny made me pick the switch for my own whippin’.” Grace hadn’t used that vernacular in years. “Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she made me go back to the store and apologize. I never, ever wanted to go back in the IGA again.” She had the girl’s full attention now, blue eyes riveted and nose running, but the girl was listening.

“You know what? I think if I’d told my Granny first, it would have taken some of the sting out. Sort of, well, nipped it in the bud. Before it got too bad, you know? If you do something wrong,” She took a chance on lecturing, “better to admit it, and go on.” The small dark head tilted down, studying the scuffed shoes. “The friend who ditched you in the store won’t take your punishment for you. And another thing,” She stopped swinging and looked at the small girl, “promise to never do it again. Then, even better, keep that promise to yourself. I’m guessing you know right from wrong.”

Grace reached into her pocket for a candy she had grabbed from Darla Jinks’ ever-stocked bowl. Wordlessly, she offered it, palm up. After a moment, the child took it and looked away toward the far railroad tracks, blinking back the last of her tears.

Grace stood, pulled a tissue from her pocket, and gently wiped the dirty, tear-smudge face and smoothed the dark hair. The child turned toward the railroad tracks and, throwing a look over her shoulder, without another word she broke into a run, down the hill into the dusk.