3:30 AM in the morning and notorious bank robber Michael Townley stood in front of the fridge at a complete and total loss. Just as he had both suspected and feared: they were out of pickles. He stared a minute longer, hoping if he blinked enough times they would magically appear.
"Michael?" came the strained yell, punctuated by a two year old's scream.
"Yes, Amanda," Michael replied flatly.
"Did you find any pickles and peanut butter yet?"
"No, Amanda," he replied, completely monotone. Usually Tracey slept straight through the night. Usually she was like a light switch: bright eyed and bushy tailed or out like a light. But not tonight. No, tonight her daddy had been gone, so as soon as he snuck back in, she screamed, and screamed, and screamed some more. He swore if she didn't grow up to be a damn opera singer with those lungs, she could get a job as a sneak detector. Jesus, she'd heard him when countless professional security guards would have gone about their business, completely unaware of his presence. And in fact, several had done just that earlier in the day...
"Would you bring me a glass of water?" Amanda called and Michael shut the fridge door.
"Yes, Amanda," he repeated and grabbed a glass from the overhead cabinet. He filled it with water from the tap and walked back down the narrow hallway in their trailer to the baby room. Amanda paced in the small, 5 feet of free space in the room. Between the crib, a reclining chair chair, an armoire and a closet, the room was crammed. Amanda bounced the wailing toddler Tracey on her hip, trying to keep her from punching or kicking or squirming onto her mother's protruding pregnant belly.
"You're an angel," she said, trading Tracey for the glass of water. The toddler immediately latched onto her fathers hair with one hand and grabbed his cheek with another.
"Daddy!" the toddler exclaimed at the top of her lungs, making both of her parents wince. Amanda chugged the water.
"Shhh, sh, shhh," Michael muttered, similarly bouncing, her almost by instinct.
"No pickles?" Amanda asked.
"No pickles," Michael confirmed and Amanda sighed, staring forlornly at her glass. Michael knew that look. "Do you need me to go get some?" he asked, and her face lit up like he knew it would. "I'll go get some," he concluded and went to hand back the toddler. Amanda put down the glass and grabbed Tracey, who immediately began screaming.
"Daddy, no leave, no, leave no," she screamed, inconsolable as both her parents told her he'd be right back. He wondered if she would ever stop doing that. He could still hear her after he closed the front door. He shuffled down the steps, letting the mild chill of the night bite his cheeks and wake him up. He took the sedan and drove the couple miles to the general store. The cashier said something but Michael didn't bother trying to listen. He went straight to the grocery aisle, passing the other condiments and finding the pickles soon enough. He stared down the aisle at the refrigerated section, and mentally counted how much beer he had left at the house. He picked up a twelve pack for good measure and went to the register.
"Hello, sir," the cashier greeted.
"Hey, how ya doin'," Michael responded automatically, putting the pickles and beer on the counter.
"Did you find everything you need, air?" the cashier asked and Michael started to pull his wallet out of his back pocket before he looked up and froze. The cashier must have seen the immediate look of shock, "Are you alright sir?"
They'd robbed this fucking guy a couple weeks ago; he vividly remembered the same cashier standing in front of him pulling a bat from behind the counter, only to be broadsided by the butt of Michael's rifle. Don't be a hero, he'd said.
"Sir?" the cashier persisted. But this wasn't the same shop. Michael would have never agreed to hit a place so close to home, especially not the one he made late night beer runs too. One of the cashier's hands was under the counter. Michael shook himself out of it.
"yea, no, sorry, I just realized I forgot something..." he stammered, waving his hands where the cashier could see them. "But I can't for the life of me remember what," Michael said, laughing tiredly. "My wife's gonna kill me when I get home and forgot... Whatever the fuck it was."
The cashier leaned back and smiled. "Ahhh, your wife, she is expecting?"
"Yea, and we already got a two year old," Michael replied, trying to keep his voice level. He handed the cashier a couple bills from his wallet, and the cashier opened the register for change.
"Delightful. I have three myself at home," he said, dispensing the last couple coins into Michael's hand.
"Oh wow," Michael forced himself to say, "must be a real handful." Michael put the change in his wallet and shoved it back in his pocket.
"It's delightful," the cashier responded, and Michael put on a crooked smile as he took his bags and left. He cranked the radio up loud for the return home. He opened the glove compartment, pushed past the 9mm hand gun, and grabbed the bottle of antacids. He popped a couple and went up the stairs. He opened the door slowly, and quietly, and listened. Not hearing any wailing yet, he went inside. Amanda immediately stood up from her chair at the table. Michael fished out the jar of pickles from the bag and handed it to her. She kissed him on the cheek and went straight back to the table where she had the peanut butter waiting. Michael shook his head and put the beer next to the fridge before he tip-toed down the hall. He paused in front of the door to the baby room and looked back.
Amanda was eating a pickle spear dipped in peanut butter, but she saw him and stopped. He pointed at the door, and Amanda tilted her head, and rested her cheek on her clasped her hands, making exaggerated, silent snores. Michael chewed his bottom lip and put his hand on the doorknob. She stared, agape. He put a finger to his lips and creaked open the door. So far so good. He crept in on the balls of his feet and made it to the edge of the crib draped in pink. He held his breath and peered in.
Tracey laid sprawled out, a pink rabbit already losing its fuzz haphazardly askew at her feet, tangled with the blankets. Her little limbs almost touched the sides of the crib. They'd be able to transition her to a bed soon. He rubbed his forehead. They'd have to move the armoire and probably ditch the chair to fit even a child size bed in the room next to the crib. Or he could loan it to Trevor. Actually, he'd give it to Trevor. The man needed more furniture, and it'd be nice to have some place to sit over there that he knew didn't come from the dump.
Michael was startled out of his reverie when Tracey stretched a little, taking a deep breath and holding it for just long enough to make him nervous. She let it out and relaxed again, chewing on air. Michael almost laughed, but instead he grabbed the stuffed rabbit from her feet and laid it back down near her head, before pulling the blanket over them both. He brushed her bangs to either side, and her eyes opened just the tiniest bit but her breathing remained the same.
"Goodnight, baby doll," he said, and she smiled. Really it was just a slight deepening of the dimples in her cheeks but he saw it, and smiled too.
