Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons
Page 4
She pursed her mouth in disapproval. “Sorry, we don’t give change.”
“But I have to be at the courthouse for jury duty and I’m running behind already, if you could just—”
“We only give change to customers.”
A trail of sweat trickled down my neck and I lifted my hair to take advantage of the cool air. “But I was a customer a little over a month ago, for my momma’s funeral. Agnes Gardner.” If she didn’t remember me, I knew she’d know about Momma. Her death had been big news. It wasn’t everyday someone was murdered in Henryetta, let alone with a rolling pin.
The girl shook her head with a disapproving glare. “You’re not Mrs. Gardner’s daughter. I remember when she came in to order the funeral flowers. She was a dowdy thing.”
She was right. When I’d come in to order the flowers, it was before Aunt Bessie had cut my hair. Before I’d bought all new clothes that didn’t make me look like an old lady. And before I’d decided I’d wasted my entire life trying to make my momma happy.
That Rose seemed like a totally different girl.
I lowered my hair and self-consciously tugged at the waist of my floral skirt. “It was me, I swear it. I’ve just changed since then.”
“Customers only.”
“Fine,” I dug into my purse and pulled out my wallet. “What’s the cheapest thing you have?”
“You can buy a carnation for a dollar.”
After I handed her two dollars, she handed me a white carnation and change.
“Have a nice day,” she said as she turned and walked to the backroom, but her tone didn’t sound like she meant it.
I opened the door and found a police officer standing by the parking meter, writing out a ticket.
“Wait! I was gettin’ change.” I waved the coins at him.
He turned around to face me and my mouth dropped open before I quickly closed it. The policeman writing my ticket was the same one who’d tried to handcuff me after Momma’s murder. He would have done it, too, if Joe hadn’t stopped him. “You,” the officer said, narrowing his eyes and bending over his tablet. “Once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker.”
His glare caught my breath before I wheezed out, “I didn’t have any quarters. I had to get change.”
“Then why do you have a flower in your hand? Looks to me like you thought you could park here illegally, pop into the store to make your purchase then leave, stiffing the city of Henryetta.”
“No! That’s not it at all and even if I did, it’s only a quarter.”
“Sure, it starts with a quarter today and the next thing you know you’re a drug addict robbing the Dollar General to get your next fix.” He lifted his chin, a hard gleam in his eyes. “The law’s the law, Ms. Gardner.” He ripped the ticket off his tablet in an exaggerated motion and handed the paper to me. “But like I said, once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker.”
I took the ticket and he walked back to his car, which he’d illegally parked behind mine. “But I wasn’t a lawbreaker! I was innocent of my momma’s murder and didn’t do anything wrong this time.”
He stood next to his open car door and pointed at the curb. “The parking meter says different. Have a good day.” Then he got in and drove away, watching me in his rearview mirror.
“Why does everyone keep sayin’ that when they don’t mean it?” I stomped my foot and my ankle collapsed. The heel of my shoe had broken and flopped to the side. “Crappy doodles!”
Three blocks from the courthouse, I hobbled a half block before I finally caved and took off my shoes, carrying them in my hand. I pulled out my cell phone to check the time. 9:05.
Half running and half jogging, by the time I reached the majestic steps to the old stone courthouse, I was a sweaty mess. The reflection in the window told me my hair had fallen from the stifling humid air, and the sweat on my forehead plastered the strands onto my face.
After passing through the massive wooden front doors, I stopped at security. An elderly security guard lifted a hand in warning. “You can’t come in without shoes, ma’am.”
I waved my heels. “I have shoes.”
“You have to be wearin’ shoes.” He raised his bushy eyebrows.
“Don’t I have to send them through an x-ray machine?”
The man leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “This ain’t the airport, ma’am.”
“But my shoe’s broken.” I demonstrated the floppiness of the heel.
“No shoes, no entrance.”
“But I’m due for jury duty at nine!”
“Then you’re in a heap o’trouble. You don’t show and they’ll issue a warrant for your arrest. As it is, you’re already late.”
I bet Officer Barney Fife would volunteer to carry that warrant out. Once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker echoed in my head. “Fine,” I muttered, bending down and slipping my feet into my shoes. I limped past the guard.
“Hold up there! You can’t just go in. We need to examine your purse.”
I handed it over with an exaggerated sigh.
The guard looked me up and down before putting it on the conveyor belt. “Come around this way.” He waved to the end of the machine.
I walked over and waited as he ran the belt back and forth, back and forth, until he finally rolled my purse out and examined the contents.
“But I have to be at the courthouse for jury duty and I’m running behind already, if you could just—”
“We only give change to customers.”
A trail of sweat trickled down my neck and I lifted my hair to take advantage of the cool air. “But I was a customer a little over a month ago, for my momma’s funeral. Agnes Gardner.” If she didn’t remember me, I knew she’d know about Momma. Her death had been big news. It wasn’t everyday someone was murdered in Henryetta, let alone with a rolling pin.
The girl shook her head with a disapproving glare. “You’re not Mrs. Gardner’s daughter. I remember when she came in to order the funeral flowers. She was a dowdy thing.”
She was right. When I’d come in to order the flowers, it was before Aunt Bessie had cut my hair. Before I’d bought all new clothes that didn’t make me look like an old lady. And before I’d decided I’d wasted my entire life trying to make my momma happy.
That Rose seemed like a totally different girl.
I lowered my hair and self-consciously tugged at the waist of my floral skirt. “It was me, I swear it. I’ve just changed since then.”
“Customers only.”
“Fine,” I dug into my purse and pulled out my wallet. “What’s the cheapest thing you have?”
“You can buy a carnation for a dollar.”
After I handed her two dollars, she handed me a white carnation and change.
“Have a nice day,” she said as she turned and walked to the backroom, but her tone didn’t sound like she meant it.
I opened the door and found a police officer standing by the parking meter, writing out a ticket.
“Wait! I was gettin’ change.” I waved the coins at him.
He turned around to face me and my mouth dropped open before I quickly closed it. The policeman writing my ticket was the same one who’d tried to handcuff me after Momma’s murder. He would have done it, too, if Joe hadn’t stopped him. “You,” the officer said, narrowing his eyes and bending over his tablet. “Once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker.”
His glare caught my breath before I wheezed out, “I didn’t have any quarters. I had to get change.”
“Then why do you have a flower in your hand? Looks to me like you thought you could park here illegally, pop into the store to make your purchase then leave, stiffing the city of Henryetta.”
“No! That’s not it at all and even if I did, it’s only a quarter.”
“Sure, it starts with a quarter today and the next thing you know you’re a drug addict robbing the Dollar General to get your next fix.” He lifted his chin, a hard gleam in his eyes. “The law’s the law, Ms. Gardner.” He ripped the ticket off his tablet in an exaggerated motion and handed the paper to me. “But like I said, once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker.”
I took the ticket and he walked back to his car, which he’d illegally parked behind mine. “But I wasn’t a lawbreaker! I was innocent of my momma’s murder and didn’t do anything wrong this time.”
He stood next to his open car door and pointed at the curb. “The parking meter says different. Have a good day.” Then he got in and drove away, watching me in his rearview mirror.
“Why does everyone keep sayin’ that when they don’t mean it?” I stomped my foot and my ankle collapsed. The heel of my shoe had broken and flopped to the side. “Crappy doodles!”
Three blocks from the courthouse, I hobbled a half block before I finally caved and took off my shoes, carrying them in my hand. I pulled out my cell phone to check the time. 9:05.
Half running and half jogging, by the time I reached the majestic steps to the old stone courthouse, I was a sweaty mess. The reflection in the window told me my hair had fallen from the stifling humid air, and the sweat on my forehead plastered the strands onto my face.
After passing through the massive wooden front doors, I stopped at security. An elderly security guard lifted a hand in warning. “You can’t come in without shoes, ma’am.”
I waved my heels. “I have shoes.”
“You have to be wearin’ shoes.” He raised his bushy eyebrows.
“Don’t I have to send them through an x-ray machine?”
The man leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “This ain’t the airport, ma’am.”
“But my shoe’s broken.” I demonstrated the floppiness of the heel.
“No shoes, no entrance.”
“But I’m due for jury duty at nine!”
“Then you’re in a heap o’trouble. You don’t show and they’ll issue a warrant for your arrest. As it is, you’re already late.”
I bet Officer Barney Fife would volunteer to carry that warrant out. Once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker echoed in my head. “Fine,” I muttered, bending down and slipping my feet into my shoes. I limped past the guard.
“Hold up there! You can’t just go in. We need to examine your purse.”
I handed it over with an exaggerated sigh.
The guard looked me up and down before putting it on the conveyor belt. “Come around this way.” He waved to the end of the machine.
I walked over and waited as he ran the belt back and forth, back and forth, until he finally rolled my purse out and examined the contents.
