Page 1 of When a Soul Cries

“Hellooo. You gonna finish checking me out or what?”

The woman’s voice pulled me back to reality.

I blinked twice and looked down at the register screen. Somehow, the bright green numbers had blurred together while I stood there staring straight through them.

“I’m sorry.” I cleared my throat and pressed the total button. “Your total is one hundred eighty-seven dollars and ninety-two cents.”

Her eyebrows shot up so fast they nearly disappeared beneath the edge of her headband.

“One eighty-seven?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head and immediately reached inside one of the bags. Her long orange nails clicked against the cans as she searched through the groceries I had already packed. “You’re gonna have to take some of this shit back.”

I stared at the bags covering the end of my register. Between the groceries piled beside me and everything still sitting inside her cart, she had enough food to feed half of Crestmont.

“What do you want me to take off?”

“I don’t know yet. Give me a minute.”

I shifted my weight from one aching foot to the other while she began digging through the bags. I had been standing behind register six for almost nine hours, and the thin rubber mat beneath my feet had stopped providing comfort somewhere around lunchtime.

Cash Market was louder than usual. Shopping carts rattled over the tile, children begged for candy near the checkout lanes, and scanners beeped nonstop beneath the muffled music playing through the overhead speakers. The smell of fried chicken drifted from the deli and mixed with the lemon-scented cleaner an employee had used on the floor.

Every register had a line, and mine was the longest.

Of course it was.

The woman pulled out the frozen pizza I had just bagged and examined the box like the price might be written across the front in secret code.

“How much was this?”

I scrolled back through her order. “Eight forty-nine.”

“For a frozen pizza?” She tossed it onto the counter. “Take it off. For eight dollars, it better cook itself and wash the plate when I’m done.”

Despite everything weighing on me, the corner of my mouth lifted. I quickly pressed my lips together, trying to remain professional.

She dug through another bag and held up a carton of orange juice.

“How much was this?”

“Six seventy-nine.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t make the prices.”

“Well, somebody needs to have an answer for this bullshit.” She placed the juice beside the pizza. “Take that off too.”

I removed both items while she continued going through her bags, mumbling beneath her breath.

“Came in here for some greens and a few things for dinner. Now y’all trying to charge me a damn car payment.”

My phone vibrated inside the pocket of my red Cash Market vest.

The sudden movement against my thigh made my stomach tighten.