Chapter 3 - The Transaction
"Where is it?"
The words came out as a broken rasp.
It was barely louder than the mechanical hum of the freezer behind her.
Martha’s moistened thumb paused mid-air, hovering over George Washington’s face.
She didn't turn her head.
But her shoulders stiffened noticeably beneath the garish floral print.
"Where is my milk?" Elara’s voice cracked, rising an octave into a ragged pitch.
She took a shaky step forward.
Her bare heel slapped wetly against the cold floor.
Martha slowly lowered her hand, placing her palm flat over the stack of bills.
She pressed down, claiming ownership of the paper.
She finally turned her head, her face a mask of smooth, unbothered stone.
"I sold it."
The three syllables dropped into the room like heavy lead weights sinking into mud.
Elara’s jaw slackened, her lips parting in a silent gasp.
Her hands, hovering uselessly in the air, suddenly seemed to lose all motor function.
"You..."
"I sold it," Martha repeated.
Her tone was utterly flat, devoid of inflection, as if confirming the time of day.
She patted the money once, her rings clinking against the table.
May you like
"To the woman down the street. The one with the twins."
She turned back to the money, her posture dismissing Elara entirely.
