IRIS #2
“Nice to meet you, Iris.” He scans something else from my basket—a loaf of bread—and it feels like it’s taking forever between the beeps. “What brings you to Culverton?”
“Um … family.” I shift nervously, then bite down on my tongue and curse myself as a couple of the cans in my pockets clink together.
The old man doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he continues to slowly ring up each of the items from my basket. “Who’s your family?” he asks. “I might know them. I know just about everyone around here.”
Sol had warned me he was nosy, and now I see why.
I have no idea what to say, how to answer or avoid answering without seeming rude or drawing even more attention to myself.
But through the window, I see the beat-up white Chevy pulling into the gas station.
I just need to get my things and go, and then we can be back to the cabin and I won’t have to deal with this for at least a few more months.
Luckily, Mr. Brophy has just scanned the package of cheap toilet paper, the last of the things I plan to actually pay for, so I gesture to the paper bags he’s stacked things up in. “How much will that be?”
“Oh, let me see. That’s forty-seven dollars and fifty-two cents.”
I reach into one of my pockets, where I have the crumpled wad of fives and ones, and try to avoid rustling any of the hidden contraband. I count it out, my heart sinking as I realize I’ve messed up the math on the items I put in the basket.
“Crap,” I groan. “I’m so sorry. I’m a few dollars short. Let me just—”
I reach for the carton of eggs—I should’ve known they’d be too expensive anyway—but Mr. Brophy is waving my hand away.
“Don’t even worry about it,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”
“No.” I shake my head furiously, remembering Sol’s warning not to take any charity. “It’s fine. I’ll just put these back.” I grab the eggs away from Mr. Brophy. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Really, I don’t mind,” he argues. “It’s just a couple dollars.”
I’m already backing away from the counter when everything falls apart.
The heel of my sneaker slides on the hem of the jeans I’m wearing—the pair I am fairly sure once belonged to Poppy because they are several inches too long for me—and I feel my balance shift as I fall, hitting the floor with a painful jolt.
The cans in my pockets thunk down with me, and the carton of eggs flies from my grip, landing with a loud smack.
“Oh my!” Mr. Brophy gasps.
“I’m so sorry,” I manage to say before Mr. Brophy can hurry out from behind the register. I’m not sure if I’m saying it to this old man or to Sol, across the street in the truck, since he’s the one I’ve just let down.
I scramble, the cans rolling away, but Mr. Brophy is standing in front of me before I can get them back in my pockets.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Brophy asks as he reaches down to me. It is only then that his eyes land on the cans scattered across the floor. “Oh.”
I get to my feet. “Um … Let me get those.” Because what else can I say? There is no way to pretend that I’ve been hiding canned food under my shirt by accident. As I hurry around to pick up the cans, I can still feel the old man’s eyes on me. The spiders are crawling all along my neck again.
“Leave them,” Mr. Brophy says. He doesn’t sound angry. No, it’s worse than that. The old man sounds sad.
My heart is racing.
I’ve messed up.
I’ve messed up so bad.
Panicked, I glance out the window to Sol and the truck. Mr. Brophy follows my gaze, turning his head, and when he sees the truck, there’s a flash of recognition in his eyes.
“That’s that fella with the long hair and beard, isn’t it?” he says. “The one who lives out in the hills? Are you with him?”
I don’t answer. I can’t even hear myself think over the warning sirens blaring in my head.
I grab the bags from the counter and bolt out the door.
I can’t answer any questions about Sol or our family.
I can’t put us all in danger like that. We have nowhere to go.
I have nowhere to go. I won’t do that to my sisters.
I sprint toward the gas station and the rumbling white Chevy.
I don’t know when I start crying, but there are hot, panicked, guilt-ridden tears flowing down my cheeks by the time I reach the truck.
Sol leans across and opens the passenger’s-side door for me, his smile quickly turning to a look of alarm when he sees my face.
“Iris? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I cry as I scramble into the truck with my armful of groceries. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?” Sol demands. He doesn’t wait for an answer before peeling out of the gas station parking lot and speeding back out of town. “Iris! Tell me what happened.”
I tell him everything through panicked sobs, which only come harder as I watch Sol’s face turn to stone, devoid of all warmth, all emotion, all that makes me feel safe and loved in his presence.
He says nothing for the short drive back to the cabin.
It’s not until he’s parked the Chevy in the gravel driveway and shut off the engine that he finally responds to my confession, eyes still staring forward out the windshield, not once looking at my tear-soaked face.
“You’ve put us in a lot of danger, Iris.
” He doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t sound anything.
His voice is eerily calm. “If Brophy pursues this—if anyone finds out we’re out here— you know that you, Poppy, Zinnia, and Rose could all be sent back to cruel families or, worse, put into foster care.
You have no idea the horrors girls like you face in the system. ”
He’s right. I don’t. All I know are the things he’s told me. The warnings he’s given. And that would be my fate. There’s no one outside this hollow who wants me.
“I trusted you.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.” I try to reach for my hair, desperate for the small reassurance, but I find nothing coming out from beneath my beanie. “What … what do we do now?”
Sol opens his door and slides out, still not looking my way as he answers, “We wait and see how much damage you’ve done.”