Chapter 4
Will
“Sorry to bother you . . .” Will’s best customer service supervisor, Anna Lim, had just opened the door of his office. Her
face was strained.
“It’s no bother!” he said from behind his desk, giving her a reassuring smile as he quickly minimized his browser window.
Not that she could see it from where she was standing. “What’s up?”
“We have a customer attempting to shoplift. I could use some backup.”
“On it,” said Will, immediately rising and straightening his tie. If Anna was asking for help, it must be an emergency. The
last time she’d asked him to step in was when a customer had climbed onto the returns register, laid himself out lengthwise
on the counter, and refused to leave until he had a sign from God. Will was happy to provide that sign.
Sure, there were some cases of mental illness in the area, but mostly it was drugs.
It really was an epidemic. He should know; he had Doug for a friend.
Will sincerely hoped Doug was doing better this year.
He hadn’t seen any of the old crowd in well over a year—if not two—and communication was at a bare minimum.
When the paper invitation to Phelps’s party arrived, Will knew he had to put his foot down.
Even though he’d promised Jenn full commitment to the family this year, he couldn’t keep on like this, cut off from his oldest friends.
“They’re toxic,” Jenn said when he showed her the invitation, her cheeks pink with fury. “I don’t understand why you’d ever
want to see them again.”
“That’s what being friends means,” said Will. “You stick by each other no matter what.”
He did feel like a hypocrite saying that, because he’d been notably absent this year . . . and most of the previous year.
“They took our money, Will! You’re their chump. When are you going to stand up for us? Clearly, we have a different definition of full commitment to the family. Your high school friends? They use you, they’ve always used you—” Jenn’s hand shot forward, toward the invitation. Like
she could just grab it, knowing he’d let her.
Something in him snapped.
“Stop,” he said, gripping Jenn’s wrist with one hand while he raised the invitation high over his head with the other. “Stop
it, Jennifer.” He never used her full name. “I have done what you asked. I have dedicated myself to you and the girls this
year. I’ve gone to work and come straight home afterward, I’ve taken the girls to soccer and gone to church and men’s fellowship
and Wednesday night dates with you. Now I am going to this party, and you can’t stop me.” His voice was trembling by the end.
He let go of her wrist, astonished at himself, exhilarated, adrenaline rushing through him. Jenn stumbled back, cradling her
arm as if he’d really hurt her, she who was made of steel.
And he dared hope, for a second, that she’d just say, “Okay.”
But it didn’t end there. No matter how firm and strong he was, no matter how clearly he stated his wants, his needs, his intentions,
it never ended there. After fighting into the wee hours, Will fell exhausted onto the couch, where he’d been exiled.
The next day, when he woke up, the tassel of a throw pillow digging into his cheek and his long legs cramped, Jenn was singing while she made pancakes.
She kissed Will when he shuffled over to get his coffee and told him she’d arranged for her mom to watch the girls so that she could come to the party too.
He purposefully didn’t react to her breezy announcement. A profound unease clung to him as he pulled a mug from the cupboard.
Did she not remember their conflict? Or were his emotional reactions so outsized that he was the one distorting reality? Had he been exiled to the couch, or had he crashed there because he was the petty one who
didn’t want to sleep next to her? It was suddenly hard to remember the details . . .
“I thought you were against it,” he said in a neutral voice as he poured his coffee, his back to Jenn.
“I mean, it’s not my favorite idea, but . . . compromise, right? Isn’t that what makes a marriage tick? Anyway, I’m not letting you go without a date!”
She came up behind him and nuzzled his ear. “It’ll be good for us, right? A night away from the girls. Maybe we can get busy.
I think the world needs another little Bernanke, don’t you? We’ve been talking about trying for a boy . . .”
His gut curled while she fawned over him. He wanted to go alone, and she knew it. But Jenn was smart. Oh, she was very smart.
Was he willing to pay the price of embarrassing himself and Jenn in front of Jenn’s mom and their girls? Willing to watch
Jenn cry and say, “Will, babe, we were supposed to go together! I don’t understand!” or some twisted view that made everyone
think he was the bad guy?
Jenn nibbled on Will’s ear and giggled, and it took everything in Will to stand still when what he truly wanted to do was
elbow her in the gut so she would get off him, stop touching him.
“No weapon involved, right?” Will asked Anna as he followed her down the short hall and onto the floor of the Dick’s Sporting Goods he had managed for eight years. His home away from home.
“No.”
Of course not, or she would have told him immediately.
“So what’s the situation?” asked Will.
“You’re not going to believe this, but a guy is trying to steal one of the Schwinn electric bikes we just got in by literally
walking out the door with it.”
“What?” His long stride was barely keeping up with Anna’s rapid pace. “Is security involved?”
“Yes, they’re blocking the door until the cops get here.”
The Schwinn electric bikes were top notch, retailing around a thousand dollars. It didn’t surprise Will that someone was trying
to steal one. They’d had a guy try to pull a fast one recently by “exchanging” a bike he’d just pulled from the store rack,
using a receipt for that same bike from two days prior that had ended in a canceled transaction.
Will heard the commotion before he got there.
“You better move! Or I’ll use this!” said a rough voice.
He does have a gun, after all, thought Will.
“Back!” he shouted, shoving Anna behind a shelf as he exploded onto the scene, taking in the big middle-aged man with the
bike who was digging in his pocket, whipping out—
A Swiss Army knife. The tiny kind that goes on a key chain.
The man’s face was red under his beard. Big sweat marks under his arms. Breathing heavy. High as a kite. Okay.
“Let the man leave with his bike!” Will boomed toward security, who was looking uncertain.
They were in bulletproof vests. It was unlikely a Swiss Army knife could do much damage.
But this was Will’s store, and he wouldn’t let anyone take that risk for a bicycle.
However, he also couldn’t allow someone to walk away with merchandise like this. The store’s reputation was at stake.
The man spun to face Will, as if to verify he really was going to let him walk away.
“Or,” said Will quickly, with a friendly grin, “I can purchase this bike for you, as a late Christmas present, and you can
leave here without having stolen anything.”
The man looked at Will like he was speaking a foreign language.
“There are security cameras,” Will said kindly. Patiently. “You’re being recorded right now. So instead of leaving with this
very expensive bike and waiting for the police to arrest you, you could walk over to this register right here and let me buy
you the bike. Then, I promise, you will be allowed to exit the store with your purchase.”
The man looked between Will and the door. Then back at Will.
Will was aware of a whole crowd of customers watching. He caught the flash of a phone and knew it wasn’t just the security
cameras recording this moment.
“Hurry,” the man said gruffly.
“Right this way.” Will felt totally calm, totally in control as he led the man to the nearest cash register, where a new employee
was working. Will himself had interviewed her. What was her name . . . ? That’s right. Elaine.
“Hi, Elaine,” said Will amiably as he leaned on the checkout counter, using his most calm, reassuring tones. “Could you please
ring up this man’s purchase? We’ll be paying with a card today.”
“O-o-okay, Mr. Bernanke,” she stammered. With a shaking hand, she lifted her scanning gun and leaned over the counter to scan
the bike. “That’ll be one thousand thirty-four dollars and twenty cents.”
Will handed over his personal credit card.
He was pretty sure he could get reimbursed, but that didn’t matter right now.
What mattered was buying time for the police to arrive.
She rang it up. All the while, the man didn’t speak, but Will could smell him.
Body odor—pungent—and alcohol. In addition to what he guessed to be a cocaine high.
“Would you like y-your—your—” said Elaine.
“Receipt?” said Will, neatly whipping the receipt out of the machine. “Yes, please. Sir, here’s your receipt, and enjoy your
purchase! Have a wonderful holiday.”
The man stuffed the receipt in his pocket, mumbled something, and rolled the bike back toward the door. Will gestured frantically
at security to stand down, to let him pass. By the time he was in the parking lot, Will was conferring with Michael, his head
of security, who had been on the phone with 9–1–1 the entire time. Will pulled out his pocket tablet and quickly navigated
to the parking lot video feed. He spoke into Michael’s phone.
“He’s loading the bike into the bed of a black Ford Ranger,” Will told the police. “Can’t see the license plate from here,
but I’ll pull some still images that we can expand.” He looked at Michael and said in a low voice, “You got it from here?”
Will had a whole crowd of onlooking customers to attend to.
“Got it, boss.”
Will turned to the crowd. People with shopping carts, people with cell phones out. Groups of young people. Families. One little
girl holding a soccer ball.