Beneath the Night Tree by Nicole Baart

traits that he claimed made me perfect for the job. Since accepting the promotion in June, my days had consisted of a lot more desk work and a lot less on-the-floor melodrama. There was always some soap opera going on between the clerks, shift managers, and bag boys, but I felt impervious in my ivory tower. Actually, my office more closely resembled a windowless dungeon, but I had brightened it up with photographs of my family, a few pieces of art that I had scrounged from summer garage sales, and a stuffed green and blue snake that Simon had won at the county fair. He gave it to me as a gift when I was named assistant manager.
    Michael had seemed less than enthusiastic when I told him about my new title, and though I hadn’t understood it at the time, I realized as I grabbed my purse off the floor of the car why my position caused him alarm. He thought that it would be harder for me to leave Value Foods if I was anything more than a clerk. I bit my lip when it struck me that he was right. At least a little. There was more to it than that, but I couldn’t help taking pleasure in a job that I had never hoped would be anything more than a way to earn some money. I had never imagined myself assistant manager material.
    Sure, the scheduling and record keeping were mundane, but Mr. Durst also let me do some of the purchasing and sales, and after the first month he completely handed over control of the weekly Value Foods flyer and promotional discounts. I quickly discovered that I loved unearthing wholesalers who could provide items we’d never stocked before. It was like finding treasure.
    At first, my manager had been skeptical that we’d be able to move items like garam masala or the fresh raspberries that I contracted from the farmer who lived just down the road from us. But I had provided a recipe for spicy pork curry with the masala coupon in our flyer and made a Local, Homegrown sign out of old barn wood to post by the woven tubs of gem-colored berries. Both had been a huge hit, with jars of masala disappearing off the shelf and people begging for more raspberries. Mr. Durst just laughed in wonder and told me to keep at it.
    In spite of being more or less abandoned by my boys, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as I wrenched open the heavy back door of Value Foods. The storeroom was cool and my favorite worker was filling a grocery cart with cans of tomato sauce to restock the shelves.
    “Good morning, Graham,” I said, offering him a little wave. He had grown up so much in the years that I had known him. The scrawny boy who had stood a whole head shorter than me when I started working as a stock girl was now a star athlete who towered so high that I worried about neck cramps when I looked at him. He had even gone to a major university on a basketball scholarship. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to college?” I asked, confused that he was handling tin cans instead of basketballs and books. “I didn’t schedule you for this week.”
    “Yeah, but I actually don’t start until next week. I commandeered a couple of shifts. Textbooks aren’t cheap, you know.”
    “You could always quit and keep working here.”
    He knew I was teasing, but he seemed to give my suggestion serious thought anyway. “You’re easy to work for, Jules, but I think I might still like to get my degree.”
    “You’d better,” I told him, leveling a finger at him like the mother I was.
    He winked and went back to work, but just as I was about to disappear through my office door, he called, “Hey, Julia! I thought we had something special.”
    I gave him a puzzled look.
    Graham’s smile was crooked and endearing. “I’m just jealous that you’re getting flowers from some other guy.”
    Spinning a finger around my temple to let him know he was crazy, I edged my office door open with one hip. Suddenly I got Graham’s strange joke. In the middle of my desk was a vase of flowers so big, it stood nearly as tall as I did.