The Trouble with Josh

Candace took a few shallow breaths, then hung up. She didn’t like pleading on tape where strangers could hear. Not that she was above doing it if she had no other choice, but only then.

Feeling as if the day were somehow less bright, less perfect, she crossed the final few feet to the store. Its name, U-Want-It, was emblazoned across one plate-glass window, and a life-size wildcat, its mouth open in a snarl, was painted on the other. The place appeared to have a little of everything—clothing, books, tools, toys, sports equipment, auto parts and even an old-fashioned soda fountain. The electronic bell on the door played the first few notes of a catchy tune, but the voices that greeted her were none too friendly.

They came from the checkout and belonged to two women—one with jet-black hair, probably in her forties, and the other a sullen blonde, maybe half that age. Candace gave them a vague smile, then wandered down the main aisle. That wasn’t enough distance, though, to block out their conversation.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” the blonde snapped in a tone that suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d said it. “My daddy—”

“Your daddy may run everything else around here, but this store is mine. I’m your boss, Shelley, and you know what that means? I do get to tell you what to do. Dusting shelves is a part of your job, as is being here on time and not making personal calls on store time.”

Shelley sniffed haughtily. “Dusting is a dirty job, and it’s hard on my nails, and I’m not going to do it. And I was only twenty minutes late.”

“For the third time in a week.”

“What—are you keeping track?”

“Yes, I am. It’s called a time card,” the woman said impatiently. “That’s how I know how much to pay you.”

“Hey, you can’t hold it out of my check just because I was a minute late! That’s not fair!”

“What’s not fair is you spending an hour a day on the phone, chatting with your—” As if on cue, the telephone rang. As Candace peeked up from the Christmas decorations that filled the center aisle, both women grabbed for it, but the older one was closer and quicker. “U-Want-It, we got it,” she said brusquely. “This is Martha…. No, Shelley can’t come to the phone now.”

“Hey!” Shelley shrieked, trying to get the phone before Martha hung up but failing. “You can’t treat me like this, or I’ll quit, and then you’ll be in trouble. You’ll never find anyone to replace me.”

“Oh, honey, my arthritic grandma over in the nursing home can work circles around you, and without whining, too.”

“That’s it!” Shelley jerked off the red vest that passed for a uniform, tossed it on the counter, then stomped toward the door. There she did an abrupt U-turn and swept back to grab the purse Martha rather loudly plunked on the counter. Back at the door, Shelley faced her once more. “Don’t even think about asking me to come back. You’d have to triple my salary, and even then I’d still rather eat dirt.”

“I’d be happy to serve it up for you,” Martha called after her as she left the store.

The quiet that immediately followed echoed in Candace’s ears. She hesitated a moment, then slowly approached the counter, where Martha was rubbing her temples. When Candace cleared her throat, she looked up, then smiled apologetically.

“Great service, huh? You come in for a simple purchase and instead get to watch the owner and clerk fight. I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Though, honestly, I don’t know how you expect to find good help if you expect them to show up and actually work. That’s a bit unreasonable, isn’t it?”

Martha laughed. “It certainly is to Shelley. Oh, well…I only hired her because my husband works for her daddy. I’m sure he’ll hear about this, but…” She shrugged. “That’s life. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Do you have any lawn chairs?”

“Only the cheap aluminum kind that you usually have to throw away at the end of the summer. All the way at the back on the left.”

Candace headed toward the back, marveling at the variety of merchandise. Besides the Christmas display, inexpensive Halloween costumes and decorations were packed into one section of the main aisle, along with paper Thanksgiving turkeys, tablecloths and such. Women’s clothing was on the right in the front half of the shop, men’s at the rear and kids’ in between. Exactly where Martha had said, she found the last of the lawn chairs and picked up one, then optimistically added another. Who knew? Maybe Patsy Conway would join her for coffee some morning.

Back at the checkout, Martha rang up her total, and Candace handed over a twenty. After returning her change to her wallet, she hesitated. “Will you be hiring someone to replace Shelley—at least, temporarily?”

“I have to. I can’t be here most afternoons right now. My mother just got home from the hospital after having hip surgery, and I’m the only one who lives close enough to stay with her.” Martha’s shrewd gaze swept over her. “You interested?”

“For a while.”

“You have any experience?”

“A little.” She’d worked as a cashier on the three-to-eleven shift at a convenience store back when she was in school—the scariest job she’d ever had. At least here, she wouldn’t have to worry about someone coming in with a shotgun and blowing her away.

“You mind getting your hands dirty?”

Candace laughed. “I’d much rather clean dirt than eat it.”

“When can you start?”

“Today.”

It was that easy. No references, no application. Four questions, and Martha was handing her the red vest Shelley had discarded. “Welcome to U-Want-It. I’m Martha Andrews.”

“Candace Thompson.”

Martha showed her the cash register and gave her a quick tour of the store, including the stock room and bathroom. Then, dust mitts in hand, Candace set to work.

A year ago she’d thought dusting and cleaning so far beneath her that she’d paid someone else quite a lot to do it for her. She hadn’t worked so hard to get through school and then to advance her career just to spend her spare time chasing dust bunnies and scrubbing toilets.

Now the career was on hiatus, possibly gone for good since there wasn’t much demand for a writer who’d stopped writing. Now she supported herself working temporary jobs, and although she still wasn’t fond of scrubbing toilets, she’d found a measure of satisfaction in other jobs she’d once considered too menial.

She began dusting at the back of the store and worked her way up one aisle and down the next. The bell on the door sounded fairly often, but the customers paid little attention to her, and she stayed focused on her work.

When she reached the front, she started on the tall glass jars that lined a display next to the cash register. They were filled with candy—fat, multicolored peppermint sticks, candy necklaces, wax lips, straws that poured flavored sugar, tiny candy-covered chocolates. She remembered many of them from childhood trips to the store with her father, when he loaded her up with so many sweets that she’d often been sick by the time they returned home.

She was on her knees, dusting the jar that held the candy necklaces, when a young child crouched beside her. Prepared to smile, she glanced at him, but the smile wouldn’t form. She’d seen him for mere seconds the morning before, but she would have recognized him anywhere. If she were a better person, she would have been there when he was born, would have been named his godmother and been called Aunt Candace as soon as he’d learned to talk.

Now Natalie would be furious if she so much as spoke to him.

“Hi,” he greeted, his voice soft.

She looked around guiltily but saw no Rawlinses close enough to hear. “Hi.”

“I’m gonna buy some candy for me and Petey. Petey’s my horse. I named him myself.”

“Th-that’s nice.” She started to stand up, to retreat someplace safe until the boy and whoever had brought him were gone, but he spoke again.

“What kind of candy do ya think Petey would like?”

“I don’t know. What kind do you usually get him?”

“He likes plain ol’ sugar. And apples and pears and peaches and watermelon.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “But I like candy.”

“Well, maybe you should—”

“J.T.” Seemingly coming from nowhere, Josh Rawlins tossed some items on the counter, then swung the boy into his arms and held him away from Candace as she, too, stood up. “Remember what your mama and daddy tell you about talking to strangers?”

“Not to.”