7. Jax

Jax

" Y ou have a phone call," Eugene shouts out of his office door. His tone and the look he spears me with lets me know that I'm going to hear about it later. I put down the box I'm restocking the shelves with and move behind the counter. I lean my hip on the wall and pick up the phone. The store is dark because the electricity is off again. Only the pale light from the sun shining through the front windows is giving us anything to work with. You'd think the phone's would be out, too, but oh, no, thanks to technology, I don't even find escape in blackouts.

It used to freak me out. Now, it's kinda soothing. We can't serve customers like this, so we get to clean and stock shelves until the power comes back.

"Hello, Jax speaking," I say in a bored tone. I know perfectly well the mouth-breather isn't going to talk. It's been the same thing for ten months. Occasionally, when and if the freak is feeling particularly inclined, I get a chuckle. I hold the phone to my ear for a couple minutes, staring blankly at the half-stocked shelves.

The only thing that's new is a heinous pink dog food sign with a cartoon dog and a slogan that reads, ‘Bow Chow'. Our dog food sales are doing worse since the sign came in. But Eugene won't hear a bar of complaint. I hang up the phone and scuff my foot on the polished linoleum. Black streaks cover it, and there's almost no shine anymore.

The store isn't doing well. Not much in Hurricane is. Eugene's parents owned the small supermarket and ran it until Mr Braiezer passed away from the lung condition that seems to have touched every family in Hurricane. Mrs Braiezer survived him by three months, and then quietly slipped away in her sleep. Eugene took over, but he doesn't have the heart or the head for business.

I should start looking for a new job. The process of getting approval from Sparrow can sometimes take a while.

Eugene throws open the door and stalks out. He's a thin man with deep acne scarring and tiny little eyes that have a constantly pinched look about them. He lacks empathy, and it shows in the way his lip curls when he looks at me and Cherise.

"I have told you not to bring your personal problems to work. Leave the phone calls at home."

"I didn't give out this number," I say stubbornly for the millionth time.

Eugene leans against the wall. "I can't afford to keep you both." The abrupt bomb drops into the cold, dim room and explodes my life. Crap, rent, food, bills. I'm going to have to use my running money.

My throat tightens. "I see."

"You work hard, I know you do. I'll give you a good reference. Uh, well, you know I've been trying to sell the shop for a year now and nothing. I can't afford to keep both of you on."

I look up, following his line of sight to Cherise Plight. Nineteen-year-old Cherise, with her one-year-old son, who has asthma. Medication is expensive in Hurricane. The difference between life and death can be being able to afford to cash the doctors scripts.

"You made the right decision," I say quietly. To be honest, I'm shocked by his compassion.

He shuffles, unable to look me in the eye.

"I'd keep you both if I could," he grunts.

Eugene is a grumpy bastard, but he works hard and tries harder. He's been mostly fair to me over the last few months, I concede.

"I know. I'll just finish the shift, and then I'll clear my locker out."

The phone rings, and we both turn our heads and glare at it. The dull trills of the phone fill the shop, and the dirty beige of the handle with its nasty cord hang on the side of the wall taunt me. It's a throwback to an era long gone, meant to be cute. It's become a source of frustration and fear for me, and I have fantasies about smashing it. I take a deep breath and pick up the receiver.

"What do you want?" I snarl.

There is silence, and then my favourite stalker laughs. I slam the receiver back on the wall and close my eyes.

"I have to let your psychiatrist know," Eugene says softly. He's leaning against the back door, fiddling with a piece of plastic straw. Is there regret? Guilt? Probably, but I imagine Sparrow pays him well.

Of course, he does, fucking crazy shrink. I can't even be angry about it, bitter, yes, but not angry. We're all working to death for a couple of dollars here and there.

"It's all good. I have a session with him tonight," I say breezily.

"I'll ring tomorrow morning."

I whip my head up in surprise. "You don't have to-"

"I want to." He rubs the back of his neck and stares at Cherise. "I haven't been able to do the best here. I shouldn't have called him the other day, but I was so frustrated with this weirdo." He pauses and inhales deeply. "How many calls today?"

I shake my head. "Eleven, I think. I'm not sure."

"It's disruptive and, to be honest, I'm worried about you. Dr Sparrow didn't seem terribly worried. No one does. I don't want to read about you dead on the news and feel that kind of guilt. You don't deserve that to happen to you, Jax. You worked hard here, and you're alone. I just feel sorry for you."

Maybe I read him wrong. Maybe he does feel compassion and just hides it.

I shift my weight and clear my throat. I'm surprised. This is the first time he's shown any sign of caring about me. "Thank you."

He glances at me. "For what?"

"For being human, for caring, for being you and taking a chance on me."

He pats me awkwardly on the back, and then moves away. He turns back and puts an envelope on the counter. I'm relieved it's a dirty yellow, with my name in Eugene's choppy script.

"Your pay. Goodluck, Jax."

My throat is tight, but when I turn to thank him, his office door is closed, and he's nowhere to be seen.

Cherise bounds over, and I quickly pocket the envelope and smile at her. Our song comes on the radio, some boppy, stupid song I'd normally hate with a passion. She smiles and beckons to me. I laugh and go around the other side of the counter and let my body move to the crazy tempo.

We laugh and sing until the song ends, and then fill the shelves.

I listen to Cherise chatter away about Zair's accomplishments. The little tyke has just started to toddle around, using furniture to stay upright. It won't be long until she's chasing him all over the apartment, and I tease her mercilessly about it.

Cherise was an accident. She saw through my walls with twin pigtail plaits, dimples, and a thin body that looked too delicate to handle this cruel life. Maybe it was just that she bothered to look. Maybe it was because she was broken, too. Cherise worked and wormed her way into my life. She feels like the little sister I always wanted. She reminds me of my mother. I see my story in this girl, and I want desperately to change her trajectory.

Our shift finishes, we close up the shop and make our way to the locker room. Eugene left about an hour ago, so it's just us.

I sit down and look at her, reading past her sunny smile to the exhausted woman behind. "Cherise, sit down for a minute."

She peers down at me and her large brown eyes widen. Cherise moves and sits on the edge of the bench, her anxiety making her body stiffen. I so badly want to reassure her. She reaches out, touching my knee. She's always been like that, needing touch, needing contact. I fear for her in this world.

"Eugene had to let me go. Today was my last shift." I rip the bandaid off as quickly as I can.

"No. Look, we can work it out. I'll work fewer hours." Her immediate protest is adorable but pointless.

I scoff. "You need to keep that kid of yours fed. Don't be stupid, girl." I look over at her and put my face in my hands and groan. She's crying.

"Don't do that, Cher."

"I can't help it. Who will I work with? I'll be alone."

"You can do this. You know you can," I say firmly. "It's for Zair, right?"

She sobs and scrubs at her face with one hand. I take the other and squeeze her fingers.

"Cher, you gave me something I thought I'd lost. You aren't getting rid of me. I'll still be around. Maybe I'll bring cookies."

"Don't you dare!" Cherise snaps, and we both laugh. The blackened husks of sugar dough were easily a new low for me. Cooking over a camp stove is harder than it looks.

I reach into my apron and pull out my pay and put it in her hand.

"No," She growls.

"I have another job lined up. I had a feeling this would happen," I lie. "Take the money and buy the spawn some toys or clothes or whatever he needs."

"Jax." Her protest is weak as she eyes the packet.

I level her with my best big sister glare. "Don't make me tickle you into submission."

She giggles, but I can feel her bending.

"Come on, let's get out of here before it gets too dark."

Cherise waits while I pack up my locker for the last time. I heft the bag, and we make our way towards the front of the store. The phone rings. I pause, torn, and then turn around and answer it.

"Hey, mouth-breather, you there?"

I wait and hear breathing.

"I don't work here anymore, so stop hassling them."

The phone clicks, and I hear the dial tone. I look at the receiver for a long moment. That's new. He always waits for me to hang up first.

On the street, I hug Cherise tight for a long time and watch as she climbs on the bus. Once I know she's safe, I turn and make my way down the street, in the opposite direction. I find the perfect car sitting a block away. It takes me a minute to break into the car and a half a minute to get it started and pull away from the curb.

No one's going to ring the cops for car theft, not down here. The cops are too busy chasing much bigger problems. But if I don't get a move on, I'm going to be late. I swing past the park and hide my bag in the long grass, then jump back in the car and drive the fifteen minutes to Dr Sparrow's office.

I park on a different street and stare at the building. For a minute, I just stand, breathing. I have to compose myself. I close my eyes and think of those empty nights alone. The promises I made.

I think of Gideon by my side, and I imagine his touch. When I'm calm and my mask is firmly in place, I open the car door and step out.

I pause and look around. The hair on my neck raises slowly, and I feel like I'm being watched. The street is empty of people, but there are lots of places to hide. I shiver and start walking, reaching in my pocket to palm my knife. I scan every corner and window as I walk, but I don't see a sign of anyone.

But it felt like there was someone there.