One customer left.
I glanced toward the clock.
7:53 p.m.
Seven minutes until close.
Mr. Martin finally made his way toward the counter with a paperback in his hand.
Knew it.
“Hold on again.”
“You’re supposed to be working.”
“I am working.”
I set the phone beside the register and checked him out.
By the time he left, the clock read 7:58.
I locked the door behind him, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and picked my phone back up.
“All right. I’m yours.”
“Finally.”
“You called me at work.”
“And you answered.”
“Because I love you.”
“As you should.”
I laughed and walked from behind the counter.
I started the usual closing routine with the phone tucked between my shoulder and ear. Straightened the display near the entrance. Picked up a coffee cup somebody left on one of the tables. Pushed in two chairs.
Mama had moved on from Sunday dinner to telling me about somebody from church whose name I vaguely recognized.
I made the appropriate sounds in the appropriate places.
Then she said, “Oh, before I forget.”
“Hmm?”
“Lucas reached out to me.”
My hand stopped on the back of a chair.
For a second, I thought I heard her wrong.
“What?”
“Lucas.”
I straightened slowly.