These Lives We Live (Book 2)

By LeKat All Rights Reserved ©

Romance / Fantasy

Prologue

What they didn’t understand was how arbitrary it all was.

Most of them did try to understand the fragility, I could give them that credit. Many could even name the day they realized that death was not just for pet goldfish. They saw an ending in their own futures and then proceeded to overcompensate—filing up their lives, longing to be missed, conscious that their handwriting would far outlast their minds. These were the ones that made an effort to truly live, because it could be over without warning.

Still, they couldn’t see the web of their lives, the interwoven chain, couldn’t guess which random link was the load-bearer. A pause to look for their wallet before leaving the driveway. A task they decide to put off until later. The friend who sat next to them in high school who introduced them to their vice. All so illogical. Choices with no thought and disproportionate consequences. Impossible for them to predict which one really mattered.

I could. I looked at them and I knew. The trick was finding the link that was weak, the one that was about to snap and bring the rest of the chain with it. It took practice.

Today, I wandered aimlessly through the grocery store, my empty cart pulling insistently to the left on a sticky wheel. It was crowded today, full of people who didn’t pay attention to me or to anyone else. I made a lap around the store, watching them, and then started filling my cart.

In the first aisle, a young mother was stolidly ignoring her child, who was throwing a violent tantrum in the confines of his seat. While she compared the prices of paper towels, I removed the packet of red grapes from the back of their cart and placed it in my own because the child was going to choke on one.

In the produce section, I distracted a middle-aged couple with a question about how to choose a ripe melon. While the woman demonstrated the proper method, holding a cantaloupe in well-worn palms, I took away the dish towels they were planning to buy. The man would accidentally leave one on the lit stove and they would go up in flames along with their house.

I took peanut butter from a young man whose stance and stash of energy drinks marked him as a college student. He hadn’t had an allergy attack yet, but he would.

When I came to the mother and daughter, I paused. The daughter was about fourteen, and she slouched against the shelves as if she were incapable of holding herself upright. She had headphones in her ears and her fingers tapped against the screen of her phone. All the mother wanted was her daughter’s attention; she tried in vain to get her daughter’s opinion on which brand of pasta they should buy. There were only two things in their basket—a pack of batteries and a can of tomato sauce. Neither of those things was what was going to kill the mother. No amount of stealing from shopping carts was going to save her.

I left my cart and approached them. The mother noted me, but didn’t react until I reached forward and pried the headphones from daughter’s ears.

“Excuse me,” the mother cried indignantly. She would have made a physical move, but the basket was between us.

The daughter merely looked surprised, her eyes wide, her fingers still.

“What’s your name?” I asked her.

“Kim,” the girl answered before her mother could command her not to tell me.

“Kim,” I repeated. I took the phone from her hands, a feat only possible because she still hadn’t moved past surprise and her grip was loose.

“Hey!” Kim exclaimed, annoyed now that I had her toy. “Are you crazy?”

“Ma’am, you need to walk away.” Kim’s mother had made her way around the basket. Her hand was on my shoulder.

I took Kim’s fingers with the hand that held the phone and removed her mother’s hand from my shoulder with my other. I placed their hands together and squeezed them with my own so that they were forced to hold on to each other.

“Kim,” I said, holding her eyes. “All your mother wants is to spend some time with you. She didn’t bring you here so you could play with your phone in different scenery.”

The mother glanced at me, and then down, as if embarrassed. I held my attention on Kim, watching as she slowly took in my point. Clearly, she had never considered it before.

“Appreciate your mom,” I continued. “She won’t be around forever.”

This too, was something Kim had obviously never considered. Her dismay was clear.

I held on for a beat longer, and then let them go. I handed Kim’s phone back to her. She put it in her pocket.

I walked back to my cart.

“Wait.”

The mother’s hand was back on my shoulder. I turned to her.

Her eyes were bright, more intense than the moment should warrant. “Thank you.” And then she broke. She did it softly, quietly, keeping her back to her daughter. “How did you know?” her barely audible voice was quivering, her eyes wet.

I grabbed her in a hug because she needed one far more than she needed an answer. I held her just long enough for her to compose herself before turning back to her daughter.

Then I released her, grabbed my cart, and exited the aisle with a hollow feeling of helplessness in the pit of my stomach.

There was nothing else I could do for the woman. Her web was frayed, and soon it would snap. She may have felt momentarily comforted, and maybe Kim would take my point to heart, but I only felt guilty and sick.

I decided to find the other mother and her child and make sure she hadn’t picked up any more grapes.

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