Aj Blackbird's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

Friday came, and Aj had no money. The rent was due by dark. She sat in Will's grocery store while he stacked jars of imported honey on a polished shelf. The store looked rich, but Aj knew the truth. The cash drawer behind the counter sat empty. Will had spent it all on her. "There has to be something," Aj said. "We can sell. We can work." She twisted her hands in her long black dress. Her big eyes stung. Will closed the honey box. "The store makes money slow," he said. "Not by tonight." His face stayed flat, but his eyes turned a worried green. Then the bell above the door rang. Barbara stepped inside. Aj's mother filled the doorway, round as a snowman, her thin grey hair floating around her face. She wore white gloves and a soft cream sweater. She smiled the way a machine smiles, all teeth, no warmth. "My daughter is in trouble," Barbara said. "I always know. I am always right about my daughter." She looked at the empty drawer behind the counter, then at Will. "He gave you everything. Now he has nothing. I said this would happen. I said it, and I was right." Aj stood. Her legs shook. A week ago she had pushed this woman out her door. "How did you find me here?" "A mother finds her daughter." Barbara opened her purse. She pulled out a thick fold of cash and set it on the counter. "Rent money. All of it. You take it. You come home. You leave this man and his empty store." The cash sat there, real and heavy. Aj looked at it. She thought of the landlord waiting, the brass key, the three cats asleep in the flat. One word and the debt was gone. Will said nothing. He did not reach for the money. He only watched Aj. Aj picked up the fold of bills. For a moment she held it. Then she set it back on the counter and pushed it toward her mother. "No," she said. "Not with strings. Never again." Barbara's smile did not move. "You will fail. I am always right. You will come crawling back." She took the cash, tucked it away, and turned. The bell rang as the door shut behind her. The store went quiet. Aj's heart pounded. She had said no. And now Friday was almost gone. Will walked to the counter. He knelt and opened the heavy old safe underneath, its wheel worn smooth. Inside sat a single ledger and a small stack of coins. "Store deposits," he said. "Two months saved. It's not rent yet. But it's a start we own." Aj knelt beside him. The coins were few, but they were theirs. No strings. No mother. She closed her hand around them. "Then we build from this," she said. The rent was late. The landlord would be angry. But the money would be clean, or it would be nothing.