Celeste slapped her hand away.
Not hard enough to injure.
Hard enough to humiliate.
The sound was small.
The meaning was not.
Nia froze.
The cashier looked up sharply.
Celeste pushed the box across the counter.
“She doesn’t need these.”
The cashier looked from Celeste to Nia.
“Would you like me to hold them?”
“No.”
“Return them to stock.”
Nia’s eyes filled.
She turned her face away before anybody could see.
Celeste began unloading the rest of the purchases.
“Jordan, put the blue bag up here.”
He obeyed slowly.
Layla did not move.
“Layla.”
The girl looked toward Nia.
Then at her mother.
“Mom, maybe Nia can just get—”
“I said enough.”
Celeste’s tone ended it.
Layla placed the bag on the counter.
The cashier scanned each item.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Shoes.
Clothes.
A handbag.
Headphones.
A jacket Jordan did not need.
Another pair of sneakers.
The total climbed.
Nine hundred dollars.
Twelve hundred.
Fifteen hundred.
Nia watched the numbers without really understanding them.
Celeste never seemed worried about money when she was buying things for Jordan and Layla.
Money became important around Nia.
That was a rule too.
Celeste opened her handbag.
She removed a dark metal bank card.
Nia recognized it.
Her stomach tightened.
She had seen the card only a few times.
Her father kept it in a small fireproof box inside his home office.
Once, when Nia needed new prescription glasses, Aaron had used it to pay the optometrist.
Another time it paid for summer camp.
The card carried a small line of silver lettering.
DANIELLE BROOKS FAMILY TRUST
FBO NIA BROOKS
Nia did not understand every word.
She understood her mother’s name.
Danielle.
Her mother had died when Nia was five.
Four years earlier.
Cancer.
Nia remembered her mother in pieces.
Perfume after showers.
Red slippers.
A laugh that became breathless if she laughed too hard.
The warm spot beside her in bed when thunderstorms woke Nia at night.
A song she could no longer remember completely.
And one afternoon at the hospital when Danielle had held Nia’s face between thin hands and said:
“Whatever happens, Daddy and I already decided something.”
“What?”
“You will always be taken care of.”
Nia had not understood.
She still did not completely.
But she knew the card with her mother’s name was not Celeste’s normal card.
The cashier took it.
Her eyes moved over the front.
Then she looked toward Nia.
Celeste noticed.
“Problem?”
“No.”
The cashier swiped.
The terminal beeped.
DECLINED.
Celeste frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
She tried again.
Another beep.
DECLINED — CONTACT ISSUER.
Celeste’s jaw tightened.
“Run it manually.”
The cashier examined the card again.
“Ma’am, may I see identification?”
Celeste stared.
“I shop here all the time.”
“I understand.”
“I’m asking because the card name doesn’t match yours.”
Celeste’s voice lowered.
“My husband manages the account.”