I hurried over and said in a loud voice, “Everybody back in single file. We need to clear the door.”

I could feel Rachel staring at my back (not really, but the chances were high from the level of anger she exhibited). And since facing Josh was out of the question, I stayed where I was, directing people to Z.T.’s table as they entered the store.

I wished this day would be over already.

***

Surprisingly, I got my wish. The day went fast, probably because of the never-ending line of fans waiting to see Z.T., but even after Z.T. had left, the place stayed busier than normal. That was great for me because I didn’t have to talk to Josh or Rachel. I stayed glued to the second cash register or helped customers find the books they were looking for.

And before I knew it, it was closing time. I stood behind the second cash register as Josh and Rachel moved the antique table Z.T. had sat behind, placing it at one of the crannies in the corner where it normally resided for readers.

“That’s the last of it,” Rachel said as she walked over to the front door and flipped the open sign to closed, then peered over at me. “That went surprisingly well.”

I tried to join in on the positive vibe and almost said something back, but I couldn’t think of anything, so I stood there, probably giving Rachel a really awkward smile.

She pressed her lips into a line, then added, “No thanks to you.”

Josh made one last adjustment to the table, then headed in my direction, ignoring Rachel’s comment toward me. “That was fun. Z.T. was super nice.”

This appeared to perk Rachel up. “He had nothing but good things to say about you, Josh. You impressed him a lot. Maybe we could get him to read some of your work?”

Josh immediately put his head down and didn’t make eye contact with Rachel. The idea of showing his work to anyone, especially an author as established as Z.T., obviously freaked him out. Josh being a writer was one of the things I liked most about him, though I hadn’t read anything he wrote. I simply loved that he did. Devouring books was one of my main passions, so it always amazed me when someone came up with stories on their own.

Jumping behind the counter and opening up the main cash register for the nightly count, Josh forced a smile toward Rachel. “That’s great. Yeah, maybe.”

Awkward.

Rachel didn’t seem pleased by Josh’s lack of enthusiasm, so naturally she took it out on me. “Take the trash out. I’ll count out your register.”

And with that, I gladly took my cue to leave. I needed to give Hank his dinner anyway.

After grabbing Hank’s bag full of goodies from the fridge, I carried the trash in one hand and his food in the other. Barely able to turn the knob due to both hands being full, I finally moved it enough that I pushed the door open the rest of the way with my hip. Tossing the garbage into the dumpster, I tried not to gag at the smell.

Edmond Dantès leaned against the dumpster, still dressed in raggedy clothing from his Monte Cristo prison. “My offer for vengeance still stands.”

Edmond transformed into Hank: the homeless guy I’d become friends with over the years. He had a big grin for me, and I smiled back, handing him the brown paper bag.

“There’s a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of water in there. Oh, and my grandma made some peanut butter chocolate chip cookies.”

Hank’s eyes lit up at the mention of Grandma’s cookies, and it made this whole crazy day worth it. “You doing okay, Hank?”

Hank opened the bag and smelled the cookies, his expression grateful. “I’m better now. Thank you, Jeraline.”

“No worries. I’ll be closing again tomorrow, so I’ll see you then?”

He nodded, and my stomach tightened when his face blushed with shame. I wanted to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be okay, but I knew that wasn’t true. I was completely helpless, and the only thing I could do was make sure he was fed whenever I worked a shift.

Although our first encounter had been shaky, we’d gotten to know each other pretty well over the last few years. I can still remember the look of terror in his eyes when he first spoke to me. I had been throwing the wrapper of my breakfast sandwich away in the dumpster, and I heard Hank’s voice complimenting my bag. While turning around to face him, I thanked him and told him that I had made it. When we came face-to-face, he must have thought I was startled to see a homeless man standing there, and he had run away, but not before saying he used to be an artist as well. I was horrified that I had caused this sweet old man to run. Fully expecting to lose him, I had to try to get him back, so I called out to him and asked him what kind of artist he was.

And that was the beginning of our friendship. His true passion was painting, but he had never made a living at it, so he worked the odd job here and there until no one wanted to hire him anymore. He had been fifty-eight when he lost his apartment, and he had no family or friends who were willing to take him in. Hank said he’d always been kind of a loner, and it had been the first time in his life that he truly regretted that fact. Thirty years of his paintings were thrown out by the manager of his building. Hank told me he didn’t blame the guy, it wasn’t as if Hank had a place to store them, but I could tell it hurt him to think about. All that work, passion, and creativity, years and years of it, just gone. All because of money. No money, no life. That was how

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