Chapter Twenty-Three
Butterfield
Song: Born to Run—Bruce Springsteen
Leaving Moose Creek with nothing other than the clothes on our backs was weird.
Typically, we left in the late August heat and had to pack up the back of the truck with all of our possessions and the newfound treasures we collected over the summer.
Sweat would pour down our backs as we cranked the windows down to cool off.
But it was July and only seventy-six degrees.
I patted Fawn’s confused head when she jumped in the back of the pick-up, not understanding why we were leaving so early.
“Thanks for letting us stay over. It helped a lot,” I said, thanking Betsy.
“Not a problem! Please keep in touch and have a safe trip back.” Betsy gave me a hug and waited until we were ready to leave.
She lingered around until I finally said, “Don’t worry about me. I will be okay.” I wasn’t sure if I would be okay, but I didn’t want her to fret.
“I can drive us home, Momma.”
My mom did not argue like she had in the past. She didn’t have much fight left, so she flung me the keys, and I drove around the familiar turns, finding solace in the yellow dotted line.
I gripped the wheel tightly, thinking about how James’s cracked hands glided from side to side.
I missed him. We had to return to the home he built for us without him. It was surreal.
During the first week at home, I slept in my momma’s room with her.
My twin bed was too singular, and Momma’s king was too vast for her tiny body.
We only had each other, and we both didn’t want to be alone.
But Momma only got up to go to the bathroom and occasionally eat.
It didn’t take long before I couldn’t stand being cooped up in James’s house while Momma cried for hours on end.
Our rent was due soon, and I knew I would have to be responsible to make up the money.
Momma’s haircut money paid the electric bill.
If we wanted to survive on our own, we needed more income, since we spent most of our savings on the funeral.
My parents weren’t extremely transparent with their spending habits.
Yet, it was obvious we were not rolling in cash.
I kissed my momma’s forehead, who was lying on the couch staring at the ceiling.
Then I let Fawn go to the bathroom and drove to the grocery store.
The grocery store down the road from our house was a Grocery Outlet.
It was a nice store that happened to be the place where my mom and James’s love story started.
Although Grocery Outlet was a chain store, this one was owned by a sweet couple.
They liked to give back to the community by donating to the food bank, the animal shelter, and more.
I never had to work for something I wanted other than in school and needed to learn how to balance everything.
I was determined to make a difference as James did.
If working were anything like school, I knew I would be okay.
I could memorize content, apply it to tests, and follow the rules to a T without criticizing my teachers or making their lives more difficult.
The idea of having a summer job wasn’t something new.
I thought I would have at least a year or two before flipping burgers or scooping ice cream rather than sitting by the pool or messing around in Moose Creek.
But it was a better time than any. It was better to be distracted than to be free with my thoughts.
I approached the register and asked the young cashier, who looked miserable, if I could talk to the owners.
With her eyebrows raised, she ushered me into a back office.
The owner, Fernando, welcomed me in. “What can I do for you?” Fernando was a Hispanic man who came to our country to give his family a better life, and he did.
He was kind and loved to talk to people.
Every time I entered the store and he saw me, he would greet me and tell me about all the latest deals.
“Hi. My name is Penelope Hartley. I live down the street. I am reliable, hardworking, and friendly. If you give me a chance, I would be a fantastic worker,” I said, reaching out my hand for a shake. Introducing myself as Penelope and not Penny felt wrong, but it was my full name.
“Woah! That was a great pitch. Aren’t you a little young to be working?” he asked as he firmly took my hand.
“Please, Sir, I really need a job,” I said, crossing my fingers.
Fernando clapped his hands together. “Let’s see what I can do. Stay here.” I was numb in the grungy, hollow office, with only one desk and some cardboard boxes. Standing in the empty room reminded me of how desperate I looked.
Fernando’s wife returned from the stockroom with a red employee shirt bundled up in her grasp.
His wife had tanned skin, naturally pink lips, wide eyes, and light brown hair pulled up into a ponytail that flipped back and forth as she worked.
She was a hard worker. I saw her lots of times on the floor stocking products or talking to customers.
“My husband alerted me that a determined young girl needs a job, and I have this small employee uniform that is not getting used. Do you think it will fit?”
“Yes, does this mean I got the job? Thank you so much. I won’t let you down,” I said, giddy about the job opportunity. I hoped they didn’t just hire me out of pity, but a job was a job, no matter how I got it.
My first week, I showed up to work on time, came in when other people called in sick, and put on a fake and friendly smile when each customer walked through the door.
My childhood was over. I couldn’t pretend to only care about books, Elvis, or gossiping with Betsy anymore.
I saw how brutal life could be, and I needed something stable.
Every night after work, I tried to write a letter to Darren.
I couldn’t bring myself to actually write and finish the letter.
Crumpled pieces of paper were balled up in the trash bin next to my desk.
What would I tell him? We still can’t be together.
I was a cashier who didn’t feel emotions.
He deserved the best, and I couldn’t give him much.
I was broken. Gabriel was right all along.
I got into a consistent routine: get up at six in the morning, make breakfast, do the dishes, make sure Momma was still taking care of herself, feed Fawn, let Fawn out, get dressed, go to work, count money, smile at a customer, scan grocery items, break down boxes, come home, shower, eat dinner, let Fawn out again, check on Momma, get in bed with her, and do it all over again.
Life was repetitive until I got into the truck to head to work on the Fourth of July and heard the unbelievable through James’s truck’s speakers.