“Well, at least that’s still here, sort of,” she said. “But it wasn’t a paradise.”
She crossed the street midblock, dodging a cab, and went into the store.
“You should have seen the dump that was here in the seventies,” she said, eying the olive bar. “It was truly disgusting. Moldy Wonderbread, roaches. Back then, I used to make ketchup soup.”
She walked up and down every aisle, mumbling about what she saw there. All of the food, so nicely laid out, seemed to make her first sad, then annoyed, and finally, weirdly jubilant. Scarlett just got hungry.
“Let’s go,” Mrs. Amberson said abruptly. “I’ve had enough.”
She took Scarlett’s arm and wheeled to the door. A friendly-faced security guard cleared his throat and stepped in front of them.
“Just a minute, please,” he said. “Please open your bag, miss.”
Scarlett was surprised to find that this remark was addressed to her.
“What?” Scarlett replied. “Why?”
“Just please open it.”
Mrs. Amberson stared up at the ceiling, and Scarlett got a very sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t quite account for.
“Please open your bag, miss,” the man repeated.
Scarlett pulled her bag from her shoulder warily. It was unzipped. It had been zipped before, she was sure of it. She held it open. To her amazement, there were three cans of tuna fish lying on top that had definitely not been there when she left the house.
“Those aren’t mine,” she said.
“I know that,” he said. “All right. Step over to this office with me, please. Let’s make this easy, okay?”
Scarlett felt her legs start to go soft and found herself reaching out to Mrs. Amberson’s arm for support. It was amazingly muscular.
“Scarlett!” Mrs. Amberson said. “I thought we were past this!”
“What?” Scarlett replied, wheeling around.
“We have come way too far for this,” Mrs. Amberson was rambling on.
“What are you talking about?”
Mrs. Amberson angled herself between Scarlett and the man.
“Listen,” she said. “This is totally unacceptable, but please hear me out. I’m a volunteer with Teen Reach New York, which is a group that works with troubled teens.”
The man crossed his arms over his chest. Scarlett’s jaw dropped in shock.
“This is Scarlett,” she continued. “We’re transitioning her out of a very bad home environment. Scarlett used to have to steal to feed her brothers and sisters. I’m her one-on-one counselor—just a volunteer—and I take her out and help her develop new, socially acceptable habits. I’ve been trying to teach her how to buy nutritious meals on a budget. I was supposed to be watching, but she’s fast…She’s a good girl, though.”
By now, other people were watching them. All activity in the three closest checkout lanes had stopped. Mrs. Amberson was shaking a little now, like she had truly been rattled by this whole event.
“Please,” she said. “Arresting her won’t do any good. We’ve done so much work to get her out of that part of the system. I’ll…”
She looked around anxiously, then pointed to a wall of paper balloons, each one marking a one dollar donation to a local food bank.
“I’ll pay for the tuna and I’ll buy a hundred of those balloons,” she said. She got out her wallet and pulled out a handful of twenties. “This is my money, and I will give the food bank a hundred dollars. Other people will benefit, along with Scarlett. And she’ll never come back in the store again. Obviously, the counselors and the doctors have some more work to do. But please. The girl stole tuna fish. This is how she used to have to live. She’s not one of these kids that steals for a thrill.”
The man was clearly struggling with this one. He had what he clearly believed was a shoplifter…and one of them was a shoplifter…yet Mrs. Amberson’s apparent anguish had moved him.
“She doesn’t come back here,” he said. “Ever.”
“Understood,” Mrs. Amberson said, shoving the money into his hand.
“You want to sign the balloons?” he asked.
“No. I think we’d better go. Thank you for your understanding.”
She put her arm around Scarlett’s shoulders and pulled her along, out into the blinding sun. She didn’t stop until they were down the block and around the corner, where she threw up her hand for a cab, which she ushered Scarlett into.
“Sixty-ninth and Lexington,” she told the driver. “Mind if I smoke?”
“No,” he answered happily. “I will, too, then. No one ever lets me, you know?”
“Make my day.”
They both lit up. Scarlett sat, still not recovered enough to speak.