(no subject)
“Did you hear Irene Butterman died?”
Edward pries his eyes away from the article declaring such. One of his employees, a cashier named Kelly, is filling in the slow minutes between customers with the local news.
“Says so in the paper,” he replies, lowering his eyes back to the words of the paper. “Terrible news, don’t you think?”
“I never knew she had it in her!”
Edward’s head snaps up, regarding the employee closely. “Had what in her?”
The employee, Kelly, shrugs her shoulders. She twirls her long dirty blonde hair around her index and middle finger, staring pensively out into the shop. “Suicide. Seemed like such a nice lady. Always goin’ round, smilin’, helpin’ out. She really cared about this village. I guess all the travelers yesterday drover her nuts. Or-” Kelly lowers her gaze onto a rubber ball some child had left on the counter. She spins it idly, still twirling her hair with her other hand. “Maybe it was somethin’ else. Can never tell.”
“No,” says Edward, “but if you ask me, she cared far too much.”
Kelly stares at him, her brow beginning to crease. “How-”
“Kelly.”
A commanding voice, soft as a whisper. A familiar voice for both of them. Kelly straightens; Edward slouches.
“Morning Sis-”
“Kelly, that charming little prop wouldn’t happen to belong to you, would it?” Edward’s son hadn’t given his father so much as a glance before he looked sharply at Kelly.
Kelly shakes her head. “Somebody left it here.”
“Oh. What do we do with items that have been left behind?” asks Simon, folding his long, thin arms across his chest.
“We put ‘em in the lost and found?”
Simon nods his head slowly. “Yes, Kelly. We put them in the lost and found.” He unfolds his arms, removing the ball from the counter, holding it up to her face in order to make a point. “We don’t play with them where customers can see.”
Edward straitens up. “Now, listen here, Sissy!” Simon turns his face towards Edward, hints of irritation in his cool gray eyes. Edward gulps. He shouldn’t be intimidated by his son (but he is). “She’s not doing anything wrong. She’s just having a little bit of fun. You know how it is here. You want her to be bored out of her mind while she waits for customers to show up?”
Simon places the ball in his pocket, turning full body towards Edward. “If you ran your business correctly she wouldn’t have to wait for customers,” he sneers. Edward’s arm snaps back a few degrees, hand flexing between curved and straight. All Simon needs to do is stare at the hand that might hit him for Edward to relax it, holding it awkwardly in front of himself as his mind races from anger to embarrassment.
“I’m putting this ball back in the lost and found,” Simon says, then turns on his heel and walks away. Edward stands there thinking of the words he said about Mrs. Butterman: she cared far too much. So did Simon. And Irene Butterman killed herself. He didn’t know if Simon was capable of suicide, but if things went on the way they did, something was going to happen. Edward couldn’t put his finger on what. He just hoped, with all his heart, that he wouldn’t lose his son in the process.