For Seven Years I Sent Forty Thousand Dollars Every January, Until Emma Finally Spoke
My boots squeaked on the scuffed linoleum.
My hands moved on their own, arranging the fruit into a pyramid.
I kept seeing that blank signature line on the pink paper.
I kept thinking about Emma passing me the hidden note in her kitchen.
Eleanor stood behind the front register, counting out change for a customer buying a loaf of bread and a newspaper.
When the customer pushed out through the front door, Eleanor walked over to the produce aisle.
She held a damp cloth and wiped the metal edge of the display bin over and over.
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