Chapter 21 Ava
Ava
I was busy stacking boxes of Ritz Crackers on the shelf when the boy who’d claimed I used to date his friend showed up a second time.
Now he had the friend.
This guy was different, sickly and pale. I wanted to send him to the vitamin aisle. He needed some sun.
“Ava, don’t you remember me?” he asked over and over. “Don’t you remember what we had together?”
I peered at him from the side of my eye.
He had wild brown hair and might have been cute if he hadn’t reminded me of the zombies from The Walking Dead.
The women at the shelter loved The Walking Dead.
They had fights over who was hotter—Rick or Daryl.
Nobody liked Negan. Negan was too close to where many of them had been.
I made sure my voice sounded like the women I’d met, the ones who had to tell the bad men to shove off. “I don’t know either of you, and I’ve got my own problems. So get lost.”
“Let me help you,” sick-boy said.
Right. I continued unpacking cracker boxes. Like Mother helped. No thanks.
The women at the shelter had told me all the things to watch out for in men.
Promises they couldn’t keep. Crappy pickup lines.
They’d pressure you for sex, for money, for a place to crash.
They would tell lies that they would protect you, be there for you, but before you knew it, you’d be a baby mama with a repo’d car and bad credit.
I wanted nothing to do with them. I had seen what men could do.
They still stood there, looming over me in the cracker aisle.
My anger sharpened. “I said, piss off.” To make sure they did, I picked up my empty boxes and carted them to the back.
The sickly one tried to follow me, but I punched the code to the locked door and headed up the stairs to the break room, making sure he didn’t get through.
I watched from the window overlooking the store as they talked to each other.
The sickly one kept waving his arms at the other. Finally, they left.
I really did want everybody to leave me alone. I already had enough problems to deal with. Turned out I couldn’t stay at the shelter indefinitely. And my Shelfmart job didn’t pay enough money for rent anywhere without a roommate.
I had about three weeks to figure out my next move before I ended up on the street.
Being on your own wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be.
I was saved by a Podunk diner.
Sheila showed me how to look online for roommates, but instead I spotted a new job where I would get tips.
Big Harry, the owner, said he liked the look of me and made me a waitress. His diner was known for its “heart attack on a plate”—chicken fried steak, fried ‘taters, and fried okra.
I took all the hours he’d give me. The tips were good, and I made three times what I did at the grocery store. I found a crappy one-bedroom apartment and for the first time in my life, I got to come home to silence.
I hadn’t worked at Big Harry’s even a week when that boy showed up. The sick-looking one. I asked how the hell he found me again, and he said I shouldn’t use my real name to answer public job postings online.
I told him he shouldn’t be stalking me on the internet, and how was I supposed to get a job if I didn’t use my name when I responded to a job ad?
Then he said something that stopped me cold. He said my mother could find me, and she was bad news.
How could he know that?
I felt sick. Big Harry saw how distressed I was and kicked him out.
But I remembered the name he gave me. He hadn’t told me last time, or I hadn’t heard it, but he got through to me today.
Tucker.
The name of the boy on my flowers.
Part of my lost history.