Free Ain’t Misbehaving by Jennifer Greene

children’s section. The Little Engine That Could was a must. So was The Giving Tree. And she’d need a book for Robert, the new boy she’d met at the hospital that morning; she could tell at a glance he wasn’t the best of readers. Tugging The Rainbow Goblins off the shelf, she checked it for easy words. The pile of books next to her kept growing.
    There were plenty of other fish in the sea. She didn’t need a mystery man with sad eyes who was stingy with his last name, who had to be coaxed into laughter, who played poker like a Las Vegas dealer and climbed fire towers.
    Her book pile kept growing.
    If he called tonight, she’d turn him down. She didn’t like games and never had. There were enough men who did call that she didn’t have to sit around waiting for Mitch whatever-his-name-is to be in touch.
    “Kay, you have to be joking. Even for you,” said the cashier.
    Kay raised her eyes above the pile of books, smiling faintly. “Um. You won’t cash my check before Monday, will you?”
    “Monday night,” the cashier answered wryly.
    “That’ll do.” Enough time to transfer some savings into checking, although the Lord knew what she was going to buy groceries with. She swung her purse strap to her shoulder and picked up the overstuffed plastic bag and held it in both arms. It was too heavy to carry in one hand.
    “Hey. Want some help?” the cashier asked.
    “Believe me, I’ve managed worse,” she called after him, tucking her chin on top of the pile to balance it. Her arms ached instantly from the weight of the books. Somehow a few choice children’s stories had multiplied into a couple dozen. Well, not somehow. Rampant enthusiasm was definitely the weak point in her character, and in the meantime there was a full mile to walk home.
    A stranger held open the door for her; she tried to nod a thank-you and failed, offering him a smile instead. Snowflakes pelted her cheeks as she maneuvered carefully outside; the air had turned colder, the sky darker. People were hurrying suddenly, bustling all around her, as if shopping no longer took precedence over getting home to hot cocoa and a crackling fire.
    She bumped into someone, apologized. The top book shifted; she righted it with her chin. She’d forgotten to button her coat, and the wind stole around and in like a bandit, sneaking a chill under her sweater.
    Someone else brushed her arm and she nearly stumbled. She had to stop and readjust the entire bundle. A mile? She was going to make it a mile this way? Kay, this is really it. as of this instant you are going to turn into a rational, sensible person, she informed herself.
    ***
    Mitch saw her from across the street and three stores down. First a glimpse of swinging soft hair, almost lost in the bustle of people. Then he saw that her arms were full. Her lips, so red, were parted in embarrassed apology to someone she’d collided with, and then she was lost in the crowd again.
    He frowned. Swinging his bulky package under his arm, he gave in to a full-blown scowl and kept on walking.
    For another very long minute.
    Waiting at a crosswalk, flanked by a group of kids and harried mothers, Kay closed her eyes as she waited for traffic to pass, mentally counting to ten. You will hold up, arms. If you go another quarter-mile, I’ll give you a rest. That really doesn’t sound so far, now does it?
    The cars passed; the kids surged forward and around her, bumping her left elbow, then her right thigh. Her aching arms had been just looking for an excuse. Almost in slow motion, the books shifted in a long, undulating wave; she knew in one glum moment that it was all over. The flimsy plastic bag had already split; now a book surged out through the hole, flying for the street.
    She grabbed for it, which freed the rest of the books to tumble in a skittering mess all across the street. If she hadn’t been so exasperated, she would have cried.
    Frantically, she glanced back for approaching cars, and found a lazy,