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“Ms. Redmond?” The secretary sounds concerned.
“Um, hey, yes. I’ll be there in twenty minutes or less.” Because I have to be. Because there are no other choices.
As soon as we hang up, I try Gary’s number. As usual, it goes to voicemail, which also as usual, is full. I try twice more before accepting that I have no options here.
I hang up the phone and cut the volume on the music, then make an announcement to the customers over the store’s PA.
“Attention, shoppers. This is Paige, the store manager. I’m so sorry about this, but I’m going to have to close the store right now for about an hour. If you’d like to bring your purchases to the counter, I can ring you up. If you’re still shopping, I can hold anything you like at the register until I return. I’m very sorry about this, folks. But I will need to clear the store in ten minutes or less.”
The customer nearest me, an older gentleman, comes to the register with his jug of antifreeze, and I ring him up. Two more customers simply leave. Another sets her shopping basket on the counter and says she’ll be back.
I ring up another customer for plant food, but the woman behind her steps up to the counter, emptyhanded.
“Hi,” she says. “You don’t know me, but I’m Elizabeth Curlew.”
“You work in the yarn shop and buy things to fix the loom sometimes,” I say.
“Yes, that’s me,” she says with a smile. “Can I help with anything? I can stay here and keep the store open for people to browse until you get back if you want. It’s my day off. And this register isn’t too different from ours. If all I have to do is scan the barcode, I could probably even ring up customers for you.”
A knot forms in my throat. It’s humiliating that I can be as perfect and proactive and innovative in the store as possible and still not be able to do this job the way it should be done. “No, thanks.” My voice is tight, the shame leaking through, and I hope she doesn’t hear it. “I’ll be fine, and I’ll be back shortly. Just something I have to tend to.”
She nods and gives me a kind smile before leaving. I do a fast circuit to make sure I haven’t missed anyone, close and lock up, and set off at a jog for Evie’s school. The whole time, I’m trying to figure out what to do with her, and by the time I’ve reached the office, I’ve come up with exactly one idea. It’s not a good one, but there are no other options.
“Hey, Mama,” Evie says to me, her voice soft and weak from her chair in the small front reception area.
Her cheeks are fever-bright, and I feel like the worst mom ever for not believing her when she complained of being sick.
I rush over to her and gather her in a hug, pressing her too-warm body against me. “You feel pretty rotten, huh, baby girl?”
She nods against my chest.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I wish I had a car. I’m going to have to make her walk nearly a mile back to the store, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll try piggy-backing her for as long as I can and turn it into a fun adventure.
“She can’t come back until she’s been fever- and vomit-free for twenty-four hours,” the clerk tells me, not unkindly, when I sign the early dismissal form.
“I know, Sharon. Thank you for calling me.”
“I should warn you that there’s a flu going around. We’ve got over twenty kids out with it today. She’ll be all right but keep her hydrated and make sure she gets lots of rest.”
I smile my thanks and draw a deep breath before I turn around with a smile on my face. “Let’s go, Eves. You’re not going to believe the sick day setup I have for you.”
Outside of school, I cajole her into climbing onto my back, and she simply rests her head on my shoulder as I try to entertain her with observations about everything we pass. “Few people know this, but that lamppost was installed there by George Washington when he visited Creekville on his way to Thomas Jefferson’s house to play racquetball.”
Evie gives a single puff, like that’s all the energy she has for a laugh. “That’s electric, Mama.”
“Hmm, you’re right. I must be thinking of a different lamppost.” That wins an actual laugh from her, but a weak one.
I keep up my nonsense facts for as long as I can, but I can only go about ten minutes before she’s too heavy to carry. She’s a sturdy kid at sixty pounds, and I’m feeling all of them. She has to walk the last two blocks to the store, and by the time we reach it, she’s exhausted.
“Come to the back room, and I’ll get you all set up,” I tell her.
One of the things I encouraged Bill to stock a couple of years ago was air mattresses around the holidays for people who had family come and visit. I settle Evie into the office chair and make a nest for her as best I can. I inflate an air mattress and resettle her, then grab a sleeping bag from the camping section for her to use as a pillow.
“I’m going to run and grab you some medicine to help your fever come down, but I’m going to leave my phone with you so you can watch whatever you want. I wish I could take you home to rest, but there’s no one to watch the store, so you get to be princess of the back room today.” When I hand her my phone—a rare privilege—she doesn’t take it.
Instead, she rolls to her side and closes her eyes. “It’s okay, Mama. I’m just sleepy.”
My heart clenches hard. I hate watching Evie suffer, and guilt presses in on me. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
