Page 43

“Y-yeah.” My own voice cracks like dry wood.

“You hit the floor.”

“I slipped.” I force a laugh that dies in my throat.

I stand to look more stable and less like a crazy person, but I do it too quickly. Black spots crowd my vision, and I grab the shelf before I actually fall.

“Kamden.”

“I’m fine.” The words come out jagged, making Marla’s brow arch. I close my eyes, wishing the floor would swallow me up. “Sorry.” There it is again, slipping out.

When I nervously peek at her, she looks concerned.

“You sure you don’t need to go home?” she asks.

“No!” I answer way too aggressively, because at least here there are fluorescent lights, cameras, and dozens of people within screaming distance.

At home there’s Mom.

At home there’s Wade’s empty place at the kitchen table.

At home his toothbrush is still in the bathroom cup.

At home Mom keeps asking me where he went.

“No,” I repeat, quieter. “Please… I need the hours.”

Marla studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “All right.”

“Thank you.”

“But take ten.”

“Oh, I don’t need—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.” Her finger points toward the employee break room. “Ten minutes. Drink water. Eat something.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply meekly, ducking my head.

“And when you come back, put my soup back the way God intended.”

Surprising both of us, and probably the lady still standing next to us, a small laugh bursts free.

Marla’s mouth quirks into a real smile. “You’re a good worker, Kamden. Take care of yourself so I don’t have to let you go, okay?”

“Okay.”

The employee break room is really an oversized closet with a vending machine, a refrigerator that smells kind of like onions, and a round table permanently sticky no matter how many times someone wipes it down.

I sit in the corner with my back to the wall.

Before Thursday, I usually sat wherever there was room. Now I want walls behind me. I want doors in front of me. I want to see anyone approaching before they see me.

I unscrew the cap from my water bottle and take three careful sips before my stomach starts to revolt, and I have to put it down.

A clock above the refrigerator shows it’s 10:43.

My shift ends at four, so there’s only five hours and seventeen minutes left.