Page 10 of Something Borrowed

Madeline did react to these words finally. She shrugged and gave a sad half smile, her eyebrows—both this time—lifting in an expression Vic felt she already knew well, even if she didn’t quite understand what it meant.

“But I don’t mean to be. I don’t set out to. I feel bad—I—”

Madeline held up a hand, cutting Vic off before she could start stuttering excuses and non-explanations in earnest.

“So how much do you think you owe me?”

It had to be a test. Madeline must have a crystal-clear idea of how many things Vic had taken. Though, as she’d gone through her apple box, Vic had been surprised herself—and horrified—by how many items she’d . . . procured.

She’d given it a lot of thought, though, and was prepared for the humiliating question.

“Around five hundred bucks.”

Madeline shook her head. “No way. Not even close.”

Vic almost smiled at the eccentric woman. Perhaps she would have if her guts weren’t tied in such a painful knot. “Okay, maybe I rounded up. A lot. Call it a deterrent for the future. So, if you pay me ten bucks an hour, in fifty hours, I should be free and clear.”

“That’s another big no way. I can only pay minimum wage right now—so that’s $17.95 an hour, but I also give a thirty-percent employee discount.”

Vic gaped.

“No five-fingered discounts, though. I must be firm about that, I’m afraid.” Madeline’s unusual eyes twinkled again.

Vic remained at a loss for words and continued to stare.

For the first time ever in their admittedly limited conversations, Madeline looked uncomfortable. “That last bit . . . It was supposed to be a joke, lighten the mood, you know? No five-finger discounts . . . because you shoplifted? Get it?”

Before Vic could say anything, Madeline answered her own question, wincing. “Sorry—sorry. That probably wasn’t appropriate. Scratch that. It was definitely inappropriate. And insensitive.”

Vic shook her head. “No, it was—is—funny. Very. I get it now. Thank you.”

She got the joke. Did find it funny. Both things were true. She was just too nervous to laugh—and she still couldn’t figure out Madeline’s motive. Why would she do this for her? Still, she was going to stop arguing and just accept it. Maybe it was too good to be true and it was some payback scheme that would blow up in her face once she was unsuspecting, but for now?

For now, it would give her some much-needed breathing space away from Audra and a way to legitimately pay back what she owed Madeline. Or what she owed her money-wise, at least.

“This doesn’t seem like much of a punishment,” Vic whispered.

“It’s not meant to be a punishment.”

“I don’t understand—” Ugh, the sound of her own timid, always-questioning voice drove her mad. And if it drove her mad, how must it make Madeline feel? She probably hated her.

Madeline shrugged. “What else can I say? But for now, enough talking. I’ve got to get the door open, and then I’ll show you what I’d like you to tackle today. Mostly just cleaning and dusting, if that’s all right with you?”

Vic nodded, but she felt like she’d been dropped into an episode of The Twilight Zone.

Chapter 8

Madeline hadn’t been kidding when she said she wanted Vic to cover Gwen’s hours while she was away. She trained Vic like she was an actual new hire, a real employee, not some pathetic loser doing a bizarre version of community hours.

At one point, she asked Vic about previous work experience, again like a real potential employer would. And if Madeline was surprised by Vic’s reply that she’d been an insurance adjuster for almost twenty-five years, she didn’t show it. Vic didn’t bother to explain that her company had been bought out by a bigger one and that she and other senior employees had been offered a generous buyout, which she’d happily taken, daydreaming about how her early retirement would let her travel with Brent until he could retire too.

Vic’s voice was craggy, and she cleared her throat before adding, “I, um, sort of have retail experience too, though. I worked one weekend a month for about ten years in an artists’ cooperative gallery.”

Madeline’s forehead wrinkled as if in thought, but she only nodded and didn’t say anything. Probably wondering how much I stole in the decade I was there, Vic thought, but it seemed pointless to try and defend herself with the truth: not one thing. Why would Madeline believe her? Then again, Madeline was just nutty enough that she might believe her. She was unnaturally trusting.

She even took a lunch break and left Vic alone for an hour every day. It boggled Vic’s mind. The woman was obviously crazy (Shoulder Devil’s vote) or a saint (Angel’s opinion—though Angel was apparently feeling a bit salty and suggested Madeline could be both simultaneously).

Vic honored Madeline’s trust implicitly and didn’t so much as use more than the absolute minimum of required toilet paper when she used the loo, let alone pocket any of the shop’s treasures.