Chapter 3

"I liked their stock. Good quality, new styles. It'll sell fast at the stall. Owners with a temper, that's normal, don't let it bother you, honey."

Just as I'd figured. Not only did Myra let the owner's attitude slide, she went out of her way to explain it to me.

I said, not caring either way, "Suits me. If you think it'll sell, grab it. Don't drag it out."

She was the one going out to run the stall anyway.

Money comes in, I spend it.

No money comes in, I take it out on her.

I couldn't be bothered worrying about any of it.

Myra quickly picked out several big bundles of goods.

Back home, I went back to my shows and games.

Myra kept busy sorting the stock, getting ready to head out to the stall that night.

Once she was done, she asked me, timid in the eyes, "Honey, what do you want for dinner? I'll go get groceries."

I barely lifted my eyelids. "Don't bother about me. I'm going out for a big dinner. You're hungry, keep eating your instant noodles."

I knew her little game.

Saying she'd cook for me was really just an excuse to get a decent meal in herself.

I wasn't about to give her the chance.

Her expression stiffened, and a flicker of disappointment showed in her eyes.

Maybe she was just used to it. She said nothing, swallowed the hurt, and went to the kitchen to boil her instant noodles.

I didn't think I was being unreasonable.

This was her second marriage. Her first husband had died in an accident.

And she was the one who'd offered it up front, no bride price, no car, no house, just a hot meal and enough not to starve.

If not for that, I'd never have married a widow who buried the men in her life.

So however great the injustice, she had to take it.

"Honey, I'm off to the stall."

Myra drank the last of her noodle broth, called out to me, hoisted the two big bundles, and went out the door.

I didn't even glance at her, too busy with the latest episode of my show.

Only, most days she stayed out running the stall until late into the night.

Today, in under an hour, she was back hauling those same two bundles, and her face was tight with panic.

"Get chased off by the city inspectors?"

I couldn't help asking.

Myra shook her head, flustered and urgent. "Honey, we got scammed. The clothes are all defective. They can't be sold at all!"

Frowning, I opened a bundle and looked.

Every piece was either torn or covered in stains. There was no selling any of it.

I snapped at her right away. "You picked the stock, didn't you? Are you blind? How did you not catch this then?"

Myra explained, blaming herself. "The samples looked fine at the time. The owner must have swapped in defective knockoff stock behind my back—"

I cut her off. "Get to the point. What now?"

Myra bit her lip. "We can't just eat a loss this big. Tomorrow I'll go back to the owner and return them."

I yelled at her, irritated. "You really are useless. Can't even buy stock without getting played. Didn't the guy already say it? All sales final once you're out the door. There's no way he takes it back. Just eat it!"

That stall owner was clearly not someone to mess with. I wasn't about to go looking for trouble.

Myra said, unwilling, "This is fifty thousand in stock. How many days at the stall would it take me to earn that back? A loss this big, I'm not eating it. If you won't help, I'll go fight the owner for it myself."

I told her, do whatever you want, just don't count on me for any of it.

Myra cried out of sheer anger, and shedding the meek, put-upon manner she always wore, she screamed at me.

"Douglas Dickerson, is bullying me at home the only thing you're good for? Somebody cheats you out of fifty thousand and you don't dare go stand up for it. You even call yourself a man?"

I smiled.

She couldn't hold it in after all. She was about to show her true face.