I Don't Need to be Saved, Pt. 2
pt. 2 of this short story. More chance meetings -JJB
What am I doing here?
His shift had ended a few hours ago, and here he was, back in the parking lot. He’d changed out of his work clothes, at least.
But he was waiting, and he knew why. He wanted to see if Sarah came in.
She’d been on his mind all day. So different from one day to the next. The strange part was that she wasn’t even his type. She was the kind of pretty he would never have approached in high school, much less college. But there was something else to her, something hidden. And that bruise on her wrist was ominous.
And of course, the shoplifting.
He saw her stepping out of a gray Volvo several rows over. She was wearing the same blue sweater from this morning, but now her hair was down, golden and cascading across her shoulders.
His heart jumped, and his hand went to open the door. But he stopped himself.
How lame would it be to chase her down in the parking lot?
C’mon, man. Get a grip.
He waited for her to cross the lot. When she grabbed a cart and went inside, he jumped out of his car and made his way around the maze of foreign cars.
He pulled his Orioles baseball hat down and walked through the doors. He walked straight by the front office and hoped no one saw him. The store was busy—busier than the parking lot made it seem. He saw her wander into an aisle three rows down.
He decided to camp in the next aisle, hoping that, like most people, she was just moving from aisle to aisle.
He walked into the middle of the aisle and stopped in front of a display of cookies.
Five long minutes passed.
He saw Sid walk by the aisle, and he turned his head in the opposite direction. As he did, Sarah pushed into the aisle, her eyes glued to the shelves. He turned his head back to the cookies so quickly he felt his neck crack.
She moved closer to him, and he kept his eyes on the same pack of cookies.
I don’t even like vanilla crème.
She stopped just in front of him.
“Tom?”
And…turn.
“Oh, hey Sarah.”
She looked at the cookies and then back to him. She smiled, and Tom saw how white her teeth were.
“So, you work here and shop here too?” she smirked. “That’s dedication.”
Tom held up the cookies. “My favorite. I was just on my way home.”
She nodded. Her eyes were bright and cheerful.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
He looked at her cart, filled with a smattering of food, cleaning supplies, and a new mop.
She broke the silence.
“So do you live around here?”
He was staring at the way her hair touched the edges of her shoulders. Wearing her hair down made her face seem softer.
She reached up to push it out of her eyes, and he noticed the bruise on her hand was gone.
Bruise cream, he thought.
“What? Oh—no. I live off the highway, closer to Baltimore. But I go to school here.”
She looked at her watch, and her expression shifted. She put her hands on the cart.
“Well, I’ve got to get moving,” she said, beginning to move back into the aisle. “See you around?”
No, no, no. Do something.
She began to move past him.
He turned.
“Sarah?”
He still had no idea what the follow-up would be.
She stopped the cart and turned to face him. She was smiling with what seemed like expectation.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what your plans are, but would you like to get some coffee? There’s a great little spot up the street.”
Her smile got a little wider.
“You mean The Magic Bean? I’ve heard of it.”
In a flash, though, it changed, and the smile was gone.
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve got to get back and get the house cleaned up before he gets home.”
He gets home.
Who is he?
He tried to hide his expression behind a wan smile.
“No problem. Maybe some other time.”
Her eyes brightened again.
“Maybe. Soon, I hope.”
She turned back to her cart and pushed it up the aisle.
Tom watched her leave, trying to figure out if he had succeeded or failed. He looked down and realized he had crushed the sleeve of cookies. Turning, he dropped them back into the display.
She clearly wanted to go, but whoever “he” is stopped her.
Husband?
She wasn’t wearing a ring.
Boyfriend?
That seemed more likely.
He needed to know more.
Who is she, really?
All he had was a name. No address. No age.
She could be anyone.
But how can I—
He looked at his watch.
One of the pharmacy techs might help him.
He turned and bolted out of the aisle and toward the pharmacy.
The pre-dinner rush was over, so the pharmacy was slow, with only a couple of people at the counter.
He ran to the pharmacy and opened the door to the dispensary.
There was only one tech on duty tonight—Sheila. She and the pharmacist, Josh, were both staring at their computer screen.
Sheila looked up first and waved.
Tom sighed with relief.
He knew Sheila from school, and they covered for one another all the time.
Tom gave a shy wave back and pointed to the team schedule on the wall. He walked over to it and pretended to study it.
Josh the pharmacist looked up, pushed his glasses back on his face, and yawned.
“I’m going to go get a soda,” he said to Sheila. “Will you be alright for a couple minutes?”
Sheila nodded.
“No problem. Can you get me a Dr. Pepper?”
Josh stood up straight, tried to button his too-tight pharmacy jacket.
“Sure thing.”
He walked past, saying nothing to Tom, and left the dispensary.
Tom watched him go, then turned and walked over to Sheila.
“Hey, I need you to look someone up for me.”
Sheila moved a pile of prescription bags from one side to the other.
“You’re kidding, right? You know we’re not supposed to do that. We’ll both get fired.”
Tom rolled his eyes.
“Josh isn’t here. I just need an address. I’m not gonna look at anything else.”
Sheila blew a strand of brown curls away from her eye.
“What’s the name?”
“Sarah Wolfschen.”
Sheila typed the name in.
“You after this girl?”
“No. Just a friend. I need to return a book I borrowed.”
Sheila looked at him like she knew it was a lie.
“Uh-huh.”
Tom saw the screen change and the file come up. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.
“810 Windmere Road.”
Tom wrote it down.
“Windmere Road? Where the hell is that?”
Sheila laughed.
“Oh, right. I forget you aren’t from around here. Windmere Road is Old Towson. One of the first neighborhoods. Fancy, too. Big houses.”
Tom put his hand on Sheila’s shoulder.
“Okay, now how old is she?”
Sheila looked at him incredulously.
“Hey—you said you only needed the address.”
Tom waved it off.
“Since we’re already here, it’s only a couple of lines down.”
Sheila sighed.
“Fine. She was born in 1961. So…27.”
It was Tom’s turn to look incredulous.
“Really? That old?”
“Yes. Ancient,” Sheila smirked.
Tom frowned.
“Okay, now what else?”
Sheila took her hands off the keyboard.
“No. I gave you her address and age. No more.”
“Come on, just tell me if you see anything interesting. There’s something odd about her.”
Sheila stared at him.
Tom put his hands together.
“Please?”
Sheila blew out a breath.
“Man, if I get fired—”
“You’re not going to get fired. Besides, we look at people’s files all the time.”
“Yeah. For medical questions, Tom. Not for information on one of your ‘projects.’”
Tom looked offended.
“She’s not a project. Just a family friend. I swear.”
She turned back to the keyboard.
“Fine. Keep a lookout for Josh, okay?”
While Tom watched the door, Sheila looked through the file.
“Hmmm.”
Tom turned back.
“What ‘hmmm’?”
“Well, I mean, it’s not super abnormal, but really the only thing in her file is birth control, iron pills, and painkillers.”
“Painkillers?”
Tom thought about the bruise on her arm.
“Yeah. Darvocet mostly. Pretty common.”
“So what—she’s addicted?”
Sheila rolled her eyes.
“No, I don’t see that. But she does get them every few months. Maybe she’s got an old injury or something.”
“Okay,” Tom said. “But what about the iron pills?”
“Anemia, mainly. Could be genetic.”
“Do you want to know what the birth control is for?”
“Har, har. I can guess.”
He folded up the paper and put it in his pocket.
“Thanks, Sheila. You’re the best.”
“So you say.”
Pt.3 coming soon