Page 71 of The Logic of Loyalty

“Are you getting a divorce?” Joey pipes up. Camden’s eyes widen, and her cheeks turn red.

I ignore the immediate, visceral denial and keep a strained smile on my face.

“Joey! I’m so sorry. They had an appointment today, and I thought I’d get some groceries⁠—”

“Jacob says that you all are living apart, and that’s what Mom and Dad did, and then it was over.”

The cashier coughs an exceptionally bad attempt at a real cough, and when I look at her, she studiously avoids making eye contact. “That’ll be one $59.26, ma’am.” I heave a deep sigh, pull out my purse, and hand over my own card to pay the girl. Our shared debit card remains in my wallet, but I haven’t touched it. Thankfully, I also haven’t touched any of my savings.

She hands over the receipt and starts working through Camden and the nosy Saul children’s items, and I use the opportunity to make a hasty escape. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you! Have a great day!”

Back to the Suburban, my groceries away, I settle into the driver’s seat and try to chill the hell out. Rubbing my belly does the trick, taking my stress down, and helping me focus on what’s most important. My babies and my boy who misses his daddy.

A horn out the window jolts me back to what I’m supposed to be doing. Right. Go home, put away groceries … “Shit.” I look back at the grocery store and shake my head. Not going back in there. I promised both Bethany and Jacob ice cream.

Piggies it is.

Mentally tallying and comparing the prices of the different brands and flavors of ice cream, I’m distracted by an annoying tittering sound coming from the end of the aisle. I look around me to see what could be so funny. Seeing nothing, I continue debating the merits of name-brand vs. cheaper, larger options when voices carry to where I’m standing, minding my own business.

“That’s definitely her. She’s the one who bagged the dad. Her husband left her, and his wife left him.”

“Shhhh. She’s going to hear us! How do you know it’s her?”

“She’s a short hoe with big hooker hair!”

I freeze where I stand, hand in the freezer, resting on the name brand because I’m a sucker and know Jacob would prefer it. Heat flames my cheeks because I know they’re talking about me. I drop my hand but remain in the open door. Not hiding, just unable to move.

“She stole Josh, or did Josh steal her?”

“Really? Josh, steal her? Compared to Caroline? Even after the baby, Carri is practically a supermodel. I think her name is Book? Brooke?”

“It’s Paige, dumbass.”

“Oh my God. Whatever. Anyway, no. Obviously, she swayed him with her … easy⁠—”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about in my store? Shit or get off the pot, you gossipy hens.”

“Jesus, Francine. We’re shopping. Alright? We get it.”

“I don’t get why your dad lets you talk like this to paying customers and still work here.”

“It’s Frankie. You know this. I’d like to see him try to fire me. Now fuck off.”

I listen as feet scuffle across the linoleum, and Francine Boars, the daughter of the owner of Piggies Grocery, steps around the corner. Her shoulders fall when we make eye contact.

“Damn, I hoped you didn’t hear ’em.”

I attempt a smile, but I’m sure I end up grimacing instead. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Not really, hun, but that’s okay. I know we don’t know each other well, but I’m not really someone you need to put on a brave face around, alright? My daddy has the meanest mouth in the county, and I’ve cried stupid amounts of times in front of the members of our fine town.”

Francine, or Frankie, is not much older than me, now that I look at her more closely. She has a little gray in her hair, but few lines on her face. She’s pretty, but dressed severely with her bun and unflattering work uniform. “Thank you, Frankie. I’m fine, though. Sticks and stones, you know?”

I try to laugh it off, but she just gives me a side-eye. “Do you mind if I hover a little until I know they’re gone? They’re mindless gossips, and should be working on their homework or something, not harassing my customers. I’m really sorry, Paige.” Her expression gentles significantly, softening the lines remaining into a smooth, her face marred only by a slender but jagged scar running through her eyebrow and down her cheek. Her eyes, an odd tannish, brown color, blink at my perusal. “Is that alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m finished, though. This is all I have.” I lift the name-brand stuff and question myself again.

“Good, good. Umm, I also need to, uh—shit. I’m sorry about what happened in July. I didn’t know it was you, and I was in the hospital, and then I had to make it through some physical therapy. By the time I learned it was you, you’d been avoiding the store. I know it’s my fault, but I heard that you were dealing with so much more, and⁠—”