Rachel paced the convenience store aisles, paying little attention to the packaged foods, the stacked cases of beer, the three donuts left in the bakery case. All she noticed was time ticking away at the rate of two strides per second. Four seconds per aisle, turn, four seconds more. With each step, something on the sole of her left shoe clung, lightly, to the linoleum. It didn’t alter her pace.
She would stick to her pace until her ex pulled into the parking lot with their daughter.
He was late. Still no text. Still no call.
Three minutes, fine. He’d been three minutes late with handoff before. Five. Eight. Thirteen.
Eighteen.
She checked the map app. No signs of slow traffic anywhere near. No accidents or high water, despite the rain darkening the sky. She gripped her phone as she paced, hedging against thunder drowning out the sound of a call.
If he was driving, navigating slick roads and maybe Hannah getting cranky as dinnertime approached, she didn’t want him answering a call. Fumbling for his phone instead of keeping his hands on the wheel.
Chip aisle. She scanned for snack options. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d failed to account for normal toddler pickiness and returned her hungry.
Candy.
Automotive accessories.
Energy drinks.
She pulled up next to the sunglasses display, where she had a partial view of the parking lot between signs for the Texas Lotto and a flyer for the local high school’s year-end musical. The phone rang four times before someone at the host stand picked up. “Thanks for calling Elixir, how can I help?”
“Is Sergei there?” He wasn’t supposed to work during his custody weekends, especially when his mom was out of town. Didn’t stop him from dragging her daughter to the brewpub.
She got a cheerful “Hold on,” and curled the phone to her clavicle to avoid listening to the recorded upbeat spiel about new summer beers and Thursday Trivia Nights. It took deliberate effort to avoid memorizing it. She turned towards the magazines. But all the glossy covers under fluorescent lights made her queasy. She could practically smell the competing perfume samples in the women’s mags, and as for the men’s stuff. No. She didn’t need to be yelled at by a bunch of cars and boobs.
The voice returned. “Sorry! Can’t locate him for the moment. Can I leave a message?”
She managed politeness as she declined. Not this guy’s fault his boss’s voice snaked through her mind. Pestering my employees now, Rachel? Try a little self-control for once, can’t you? Stop acting like every half-formed thought that makes it into your head constitutes a national emergency.
She flinched, and then glanced at the man behind the counter to smile an apology for making a spectacle. He shrugged back at her. Setting an oat bar and juice bottle on the counter, she searched for more time-consuming distractions. Even if he’d just left work, they’d arrive within ten minutes. She would do herself a favor and not spend them counting the seconds.
Back to the sunglasses rack and the partial view. Not that seeing the parking lot magicked Sergei’s car into it. At least the rain had slowed to a mist. Rachel sighed and uncrossed her arms, the better to rotate the display of eyewear. She alternated trying the white-framed Jackie O style and the smoky aviators as if choosing was the weightiest decision she’d faced in the thousand or so days of her daughter’s life. Maybe the glittery purple pair with star-shaped lenses? Hannah would adore them, but she couldn’t picture cycling to the daycare wearing them. They’d probably bash the underside of her helmet.
Just past the slim strip of mirror, she caught sight of the dark, sporty SUV that still twisted her stomach five months after he steered its shiny rims off the lot. Sergei was still paying back child support from his between-jobs periods, but his silhouette at the wheel was as nonchalant and above it all as always.
She was at the vehicle before the door chimes had quieted. He was bent into the back to retrieve their daughter. Fine. No matter how it galled her, getting loud directly to his smug face still gave her the shakes afterwards. So she ranted at his narrow ass. “We have a schedule. She has a schedule. Did you ignore it the whole time you had her, or only this afternoon? How is she supposed to—who the hell are you?”
Theo cut off his one-sided conversation with the toddler and, hitching the overnight bag higher on his shoulder, turned to locate the owner of the royally pissed voice.
“Mama,” said Hannah, lunging at the woman so eagerly she for once loosed her grip on her blue elephant. Theo gathered her to him, trapping the stuffed animal between them, and earned a whap from the plastic brachiosaurus in her other hand as thanks.
Wincing, he asked, “Rachel Groff?” He held off on passing back the girl, just in case. It wasn’t that he doubted it—her daughter’s reaction was enough to go by, even without Sergei’s inadequate sketch of a description. Blonde. Shortish. Dressed in ‘mom clothes,’ whatever Sergei meant by that. He’d given Theo a blank look when he asked for a picture, as if the idea of having a shot of Rachel in his phone was absurd. Theo had a few of his ex, and not because he was hung up on Annalisa. She texted him pics of their son, and sometimes she was in them. If he’d sent Andres off with some random guy in search of her, he’d at least be able to show the random guy what Annalisa looked like.
Not that he was random. Which he needed to explain to Rachel before she blew another fuse. “I’m Theo.”
“Good for you. Is that supposed to explain why you have Hannah? And yes, I’m Rachel. Give me my daughter.”
She didn’t wait for his compliance, but reached over and helped herself to the child. He held up the bag. “Want me to stick this in your car for you?”
“Where is Sergei? And who are you? Why do you have my child? Did you even belt her in right?” She was peering into the back seat as if the configuration of car seat straps would prove his negligence.
“Of course I did. Look, I have a little boy; I know how to work car seats. And Sergei’s the one who put her in the seat. And I checked it before we left.”
She was still exuding non-verbal displeasure.
“Sergei works for me,” he said again. Or maybe for the first time. The woman had him off-kilter. “I’m Theo. Theo Melis? Did Sergei not tell you I’d be bringing her to you?”
She made it clear the question didn’t need answering. Not that he hadn’t gleaned the truth. Seemed Sergei’s hand wave when he’d checked about this plan was dismissal, not acknowledgment. All so the man didn’t have to reschedule a meal with a vendor he shouldn’t have planned for a custodial Sunday.
“Let me see your driver’s license.” Command, not request.
He set the overnight bag on the hood and reached for his wallet. “Sure. You gonna run a screen on me so you know I’m a safe driver for next time?”
She motioned for him to hold his license still while she snapped a photo of it. Maybe later he’d ask himself why he was following this woman’s grumpy dictates.
“You’re never driving her again.”
The declaration was firm and her jaw was jutting and he was too polite to get into a fight about it all. He slipped his wallet back into his back pocket. “Sorry, sure. Whatever you say.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Would I mock your mama, little Hannah gal?” He pulled a long face, eyebrows up and chin tucked down.
Rachel huffed and swiveled so she was between him and her daughter. “She doesn’t like strange men.”
Hannah leaned around Rachel and pointed at Theo, smiling like he was the latest craze in animated unicorns. He wiggled his ears, not because he thought the toddler would notice, but because it would irritate her mom.
Hannah giggled. Rachel glowered. Theo laughed.
“I’m sorry. You’re very stern, and I’m cowed, I promise. Although it’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing all those glasses.”
Her free hand covered her forehead and he tried to hold back a snort at her growl. She paused a moment, then whipped the purple star lenses off her face and the other two pairs from the top of her head. Her eyes were bluer than her daughter’s, and at the moment twice as large. He wasn’t sure if she was enraged or embarrassed, but either way she was enthralling.
Theo held out his hand. “Can I help you with those?”
“It’s fine. I don’t need help.” She glanced back at the store, lifting the fistful of eyewear. “We’re heading inside anyway. Let’s go, okay, Hannah banana?”
He let her walk away, but called out before she was stuck juggling glasses and child to open the convenience store door. “Rachel?”
Her pivot towards him was as slow and rigid as she could manage, he guessed, given her burdens. “Theo, was it?”
He hefted the overnight bag. “Can I carry this in for you?”
Those blue eyes narrowed. She hitched Hannah more firmly on her hip. He debated, too late, the wisdom of baiting her. Her one-word answer was a slingshot of civility. “Please.”
She turned back towards the store, and the face he made as he approached them was probably responsible for Hannah’s renewed giggles.
Her now-wet soles squeaked and stuck on the linoleum as she carried Hannah to the checkout. Squee, squee-pop, squee, squee-pop. The stranger who’d propelled her daughter in a two-ton vehicle stalked after them. She ignored him in favor of burying her nose in toddler curls. Seemed Sergei had managed to parent long enough to give her a bath over the weekend.
The star-rim glasses got caught in her own hair as she shifted Hannah to the other hip. If the stalker man—Theo—hadn’t been so late, she wouldn’t have even looked at the sunglasses. After wearing merchandise straight out of the store on top of abandoning Hannah’s snack on the counter, she’d rather buy all three pairs than fumble excuses for herself. So there went forty not-so-spare dollars, and Sergei’s buddy was still lurking when she turned to leave.
“Excuse us.” Because Aunt Johnston’s lessons in politeness bubbled up when she couldn’t let loose in front of her child.
“The bag?” He hefted it like it was a game-show prize.
It was her favorite one, with room for every possible contingency. She wouldn’t pack it for Hannah’s overnights with her father, except Sergei refused to keep clothes and diapers for his daughter on hand. He claimed it was because she grew too fast for him to keep track of her sizes. Rachel’s friend Gillian claimed it was because he would never take on the emotional labor of parenting if there was the tiniest of loopholes available.
Gill was the most cynical person she knew. And in this case, certain to be right.
Rachel worked on stuffing the juice and sunglasses in her purse. She gave herself a half-second to close her eyes, then reached for the bag. “Thank you.”
He sidestepped so the door was clear. “Anytime.”
Big surprise, he followed them into the parking lot, and to her car. Not to Sergei’s, a whole four spaces away, but hers. Just stood there watching as she jiggled the key in the lock—a pattern she could do in her sleep, but wasn’t so easy when her arms were laden with daughter and bags and Effie, the most vital stuffed elephant in Texas, threatening to slip past her elbow and straight into an oily rain puddle.
She felt a tug, and swiveled her neck to see Effie being danced behind her shoulder, which meant Hannah leaned into her instead of away, which made balancing the straps on her other shoulder easier. Which meant she got the door unlocked and could sling purse and diaper bag towards the passenger seat.
He used the wrong voice to make Effie trumpet. Way too low and not nasal enough. Pathetic, for someone who claimed to be a parent.
Aunt Johnston’s voice niggled at her, which Rachel preferred to Sergei’s insidious grasp on her subconscious. “Thank you.”
Something about the way he bit the inside of his cheek as he handed Hannah her elephant told her he wasn’t fooled by her polite words. She slid inside the back seat to buckle in her daughter, as content as it was possible to be about how very clear her dismissal had been. When she emerged to take the driver’s seat, he was gone.