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Erin rolled her eyes. No matter how much of a charmer he could be, his view of women and their limited value sometimes seeped through.
The woman chuckled. “I like to have my own tools.”
Erin’s dad grumbled. “Well, here you are.”
As he walked her to the front of the store, Erin recognized the beautiful woman as Perrin Harris, now Perrin King, one of the new owners of O’Malley’s. She rang up the order and smiled tightly as she swiped her credit card.
Erin tore off the receipt and stuffed the washer and channel locks into a bag. “Have a nice day.”
The woman’s eyes lifted and something like distrust danced in her stare. “Thanks.” She turned to leave and yelled, “Thanks, Ward.”
“Make sure you take a slice of cake on your way out.”
Perrin paused at the coffee station and crooned over the dessert dish. She sliced a piece of cake onto a napkin and took a bite, humming happily as she left the store. Erin’s molars locked.
She once read an article about the treatment of confined cattle in the US. The article claimed people consumed the cows’ depression. Yet, everyone smiled and hummed whenever they ate that miserable, godforsaken crumb cake she made each day.
“Did you get my pills?”
“They’re in my purse.”
“Took you long enough.”
“Finnegan McCullough’s stopping by for a shovel later. I told him we’d put one aside for him.”
“So long as he knows he’s paying for it. We’re not running a soup kitchen. Go unload the pallets in the back.”
Glad to get out of his proximity, she went out back where the pallets of salt were dropped off this morning. She carefully cut away the wrapping and carried one forty-pound bag inside at a time, forming a tidy stack along the back wall.
In towns like theirs, where the snow amounted to drifts the height of men and the winters were long, people tended to hoard the salt supply so they only put a small amount of bags on the floor at a time. Her shoulders ached once she moved half the supply.
Her fingers grew numb as she hoisted the chilled bags onto her shoulder. Gray clouds swathed the sky and the air wore the metallic scent of snow. With the door propped open, the back room was as cold as a meat locker. Good thing she moved the bags inside now because she already spotted a few flurries dancing in the air.
“I guess we’re heating the outside now.” Her father kicked the wedge out from under the door and the heavy metal slammed shut.
He scowled at the wall lined with salt bags. “Are you blind or just plain illiterate? That’s not what we ordered.”
She shifted her weight under the last bag, shivering from the cold. “What are you talking about?”
“This isn’t the salt we get. Who let them deliver this shit?”
“I did, and it’s not shit.” She shoved past him and dropped the last sack on the pile. “It’s easier on the pavement and better for the environment.” As she turned, her head knocked back, pinching her neck, and a burst of white light popped behind her eye.
She crashed into the stack of salt bags, landing on her knees. Her frozen hand instinctively rushed to her cheek and she cursed.
She should have expected the slap the moment she argued with him, but he still caught her off guard on occasion. Her cheek blazed, the skin stinging and her bone throbbing. Tears rushed to her eyes, an emotionless reflex at this point, but one she couldn’t help.
“You don’t make those decisions around here.”
Uncaring about the goddamn salt order, she gently touched her fingers to her face, inspecting for blood but not seeing any. “What is wrong with you?” she growled, shoving herself off the cement floor.
“I gave you a job and you can’t follow the simplest instructions. Return the order and order what I told you to order in the first place.”
“It’s already snowing. People will need?—”
Her words cut off as he shot her a threatening glare. “Get a refund or I’m taking it out of your check.”
Just then, the front bell rang. Her father tapped a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. “Go!” he barked, and she rushed back to the store as he muttered something about girls being useless.
