Page 5 of The Unraveling

“Are you okay?” he asks as I dump the sandwiches on the counter.

“I-I’m just starving,” I admit.

His gaze lowers to the glass counter covering an array of lottery tickets, and he swallows.

I study him as he rings up the sandwiches. My eyes lock on the Canadian flag pin on his work shirt. Smiling, I stutter, “Y-you’re from Canada?”

Frederick’s eyes dart to mine, then to the cash register. “This is Canada.”

Folding my arms on the countertop, I lean forward so my wobbly knees don’t give out beneath me. “I-I’m from California.”

As his brows stitch together, he lowers his hands to his sides, eyes searching my face. “What do you mean?”

I sniffle—the taste of iron on the back of my tongue—and wipe my nose with the side of my hand. When I tuck my arm back against the counter, a faint smear of blood streaks the glass. Frederick’s eyes widen before I have a chance to wipe it away.

“I-I live there.” I smile, thinking of my white house and the fifteen-minute walk to the thrift shop where I worked.

Frederick’s words stretch with confusion. “What do you mean? You’ve lived a few blocks away, at least for the past six years I’ve worked here . . .”

My eyes narrow on him. The historical home I share with Victor juts tall within my mind. “Yes?”

Of course. I had to travel for Dr. Todd’s treatments before I eventually moved in. But why is he bringing up how long I’ve lived there?

Frederick searches my eyes for something—the truth, perhaps.

My lip twitches back as I grit my teeth. I much prefer it when he’s too afraid to look at me instead of trying to piece together what I am.

His wide gaze falls, and I exhale in relief.

“Is that everything?” he asks, an edge as chilly as the night to his voice. “You always get a lot more.”

My stomach tangles at the thought of coolers and rows full of food behind me. Not one item seems appetizing, and yet my body screams with hunger. I know that empty cupboard is due to be filled.

“You’re right. I’m not done shopping.”

A deep swallow works its way down his throat. “The usual? I’ll get it for you.”

Forcing my back straighter despite my legs threatening to turn into accordions, I simply say, “Thank you.”

What’s the usual? Why do I always come here if it’s not just to grab sandwiches on my way to work?

He nods and rounds the counter, disappearing behind me. I let my heavy lids rest for a moment while his rummaging through shelves and coolers fills my ears.

“Are you okay⁠—?”

My eyes fly wide. I lean away from the counter, from Frederick, who crept back around with steps as silent as the night.

Arms full, he freezes, gripping the packages tighter.

“You snuck up on me!” I accuse. My heart struggles to settle in my chest.

“I-I’m sorry, Isla. I didn’t mean to.” He trains his eyes on the collection of food—a chocolate cake, beef jerky, chips, microwave meals, pre-made salads, other treats I have no taste reference for—as he sets everything on the counter. He scans each package with a quivering hand.

I’ve done nothing to make him afraid of me. He simply grew that way each late night I came in. I’ve always wanted to tell him that whatever fears he has are misplaced. Why on earth would I eat the nearby convenience store clerk?

Frederick continues scanning the packages, placing them in a fabric bag with a painting of the Rocky Mountains on the side. The memory that we’re in British Columbia returns to me with a hot flash in my cheeks. I try to recall the town, but I’m not sure I’d be able to figure it out even if I looked over the provincial map in the rack just an arm’s reach away.

“How’s Dr. Todd?” he asks.