***Miranda has been left to take care of her former lover's child.  She's unemployed and her world has been turned upside down.  But dealing with a disgruntled teenager has made her realize what responsibility is.***

 

 

 

I stand at the kitchen sink, my second cup of coffee in my hand.  I watch as Waylon walks like a condemned man to the bus stop.  He's sluggish and vastly different from what his dad had been like at that age. Whereas, Dougie Wilcox was cool in high school, Waylon isn't comfortable in his own skin.  I try to like the kid.  I really do.  After my little outburst about his father the other night, I thought we might have something in common.  But by the following morning,  he was back to ignoring me.  He was, at least, polite when he turned down the Pop Tart I offered him.  I guess there have been steps in the right direction.  He now showers every night after dinner.  That is the biggest and best turning point.  

 

I look up to check the time only to realize the clock is missing.   I'll add that to my list of things I need to replace because of Dougie Wilcox.

 

I dump out the rest of my coffee and finish getting ready to run errands.

 

 

The parking lot at the Dollar General is empty except for three cars.  I'm glad, too.  Because I don't want to have to talk to anyone about what's going on in my life right now.  And Patterson County is a small county when it comes to people knowing your business.  For instance, my finding out that Dougie was leaving me via the grapevine.  I've heard rumors that ended up being true and rumors that were out and out lies about people.  But they all had one common denominator.  Someone took it upon themselves to start spreading the news.

 

I have some money in the bank and about seventy bucks in cash in my wallet.   I have to stick to my list.  No tossing something into the cart just cause I find it appealing.  Not today, Miranda, not today.  So, I stride right in through those double doors with a purpose.

 

I have about two thirds of the list crossed off when I start down the aisle for the laundry basket.  I'm doing my damnedest to focus on the laundry stuff and not get distracted by the fluffy towels and the fresh clean shower curtains.  I should have looked up.  Should have checked the aisle for the incoming assault.

 

"Miranda Buckley," a sickening, overdone Southern voice makes me stop dead in my tracks.  It's Missy Toblerone.  The one who told Rita about Dougie and his plans.  

 

Why, oh why, did it have to be Missy?

 

"I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays.  How've you been?"

 

"Never better, Missy.  You?"

 

"I'm fine.  I heard that Dougie up and left you." She leans her arms onto the cart and waits for my reaction.

 

"They ever find out what happened to that husband of yours, Missy?"

 

Yes, yes, I know it's not nice to bring up someone's missing and presumably dead husband but I'll live with that.  Personally, I think she killed him.  Jason Toblerone was a trust fund baby.  He wasn't a real nice guy. Kind of spoiled and entitled but he didn't deserve to be killed off by his wife.

 

"Sadly, no.  It's like he just vanished into thin air."

 

"Thin air, wood chipper, whatever.  One day it'll all come out in the wash."

 

Missy smiles then straightens up. "I get the feeling that you think I might have done something heinous, Miranda. Do you think that I could overpower and kill my sweet husband, all by myself?"

 

"I'm afraid I do. Unpopular opinion, I know, but it's how I feel."

 

"Well, I guess your entitled to your opinion.  But word to the wise, always speaking your mind might be why you can't keep a man."

 

She carefully moves her cart around mine and smiles like she just won the Miss Congenialty award.  It's very odd behavior to me.  If someone had accused me of killing my husband I doubt I'd be so calm.  As a matter of fact, I'd be camped out at the police station until they found him.

 

I wait until she leaves before I head to the checkout.  I'm not scared of her but I don't want to disappear into thin air either.

 

I decide to go by the Little Eagle Gas and Go to fill up my car and check to see if Matt had left a check for me.

 

Rita is manning the register.  She looks terrible.   Her hair, which is usually immaculate, is bound up in a messy bun.  She doesn't notice me when I come in.

 

"Twenty on pump nine," I call out.

 

"Give me a second,"she says as she tries to put something in the safe just below the register.  When she looks up, her face floods with relief. "Oh, gawd, Miranda.  You're back."

 

"Just for gas and hopefully my check."

 

"Please come back. He's driving me crazy.  He's always barking orders at me.  I hate it here.  And I hate working with him," she whispers loudly. "He's as mean as a dang snake."

 

"You just gotta know how to handle him, Rita."

 

"Tell me how to handle him."

 

"Talk to him like you're married to him." I laugh. 

 

Rita shudders. "No way.  He's a weasel. "

 

I look to the door marked Employees Only. "He back there?"

 

She nods.  "Good luck."

 

I knock on the door but don't wait for an invite.  He's at the desk hunched over a mound of paperwork.  I see what looks like about a week's worth of deposits sitting in the chair beside him.

 

"Came for my check."

 

He glances at me then shakes his head.  "I write checks every other Friday."

 

"Come on, Matt.  I need my money.  Stuff has come up.  I can't wait until next Friday."

 

There is another knock on the door.

 

"What?"

 

Rita opens the door and peeks inside. "I can't get the door to the propane container open."

 

"Use the key."

 

Rita shrugs.  "I tried.  Can you come help me?"

 

Matt looks at me.  "Go help her."

 

"I don't work here, Matt."

 

He pushes back his chair sending it toppling over.  When he's gone I reach down and right it.

 

Matt comes back in about thirty seconds later.  His face is crimson.  "What will it take to get you to come back?"

 

"I don't want to come back.  Not to a place that fires me over the phone when I have a personal emergency."

 

Matt checks to see if anyone around the office door.  "Close the door please."

 

After I close it, he looks at me with puppy dog eyes.  "Please, Miranda.  Come back to work. I can't do this. I can't work with her.  She's a dingbat.  She's been here, what, four or five years?  She still has to pull out a piece of paper with her password on it.  She can't count back change.  I caught her selling beer to a couple of teenagers.  I asked her if she checked their ID's and she said yes.  Knew they were eighteen but they convinced her she did the math wrong."

 

I can't help but laugh.  

 

"It's not funny.  What kind of moron can't count from one date to another.  And her voice.  I cringe everytime she calls my name."

 

"Are you about to cry, Matt?"

 

"No."

 

"Darn.  Was kinda hoping you were."

 

"What would make you change your mind?"

 

I never would have thought I'd be in this position.  Not in a million years, but power makes you do wicked things sometimes.

 

"First, I want an apology for firing me.  Then I want a raise."

 

"Ok.  I'll bump you up to thirteen-fifty an hour."

 

I shake my head.  "No.  I was thinking fifteen an hour.  Because I know for a fact that your brother pays his employees fourteen to sixteen an hour."

 

Hastily, he nods.  "Fine.  Whatever.  Just start back tomorrow."

 

I could say yes, but why stop with my demands now.  "Next Monday.   I have things to take care of before then."

 

I'm sure he hates me right about now, and that's fine by me. But I also know that he has a new found respect for me as well.  Cause he just learned that Miranda Jessup Buckley don't come cheap.

 

 

To be continued ...