Free Alive by Chandler Baker Page B

one-year-old on a sugar rush is enough to make me want to grab Brynn
and hightail it out of here.
    Not to mention—I check my watch—it’s already four thirty.
    “Hello!” Brynn jumps up and down, flailing her arms. “McDaniel for pickup. Anybody?” She pushes to the cashier and leans over to talk to a girl with flour dashed over her
cheeks and a matching white cap on. The girl disappears into the back but returns shaking her head.
    Brynn turns to me, throwing her hands up in the air. “They lost my order.”
    A woman in high heels balancing a cake box bumps into me, nearly tripping over one of the stroller wheels. I catch her elbow right before she topples over. “Sorry about that,” I
mutter. She casts me a dirty look over her Le Panier box. “I think I better wait over there,” I tell Brynn, retreating to the front of the store with the stroller.
    With luck, I manage to find a chair and try my best to stay out of the way. Elsie’s still demanding that cookie and seems to think that she can ask anyone and everyone who passes by with a
bakery bag, “Cookie?” Of course, she knows all of ten words, and
cookie
has to be one of them. The girl has her priorities straight.
    I watch Brynn gesticulate at the cashier and then prop herself up on the counter and peer over it. Typical Brynn.
    “Hi!” I’m startled by Elsie’s increase in volume. “Hi,” she squeals again. Her hand stretches out and I follow her reach.
    In the crowd of people all pushing toward the counter, I spot a single eye peeking out from behind two teenagers murmuring into one another’s ears. The eye blinks, then disappears behind
the young couple. I lean for a better view and think I spot a swatch of dark brown hair. That was…I think, biting my lip. But, no, it can’t be.
    “Got them.” Brynn appears, brandishing a red bag. “Must have mixed up the names. You’d have thought I was trying to leave with a national treasure. Shall we?”
    I chance one last glance at the wall of customers and follow Brynn outside. “Let’s shop fast,” I tell her. “I need to get home.”
    “Before you turn into a pumpkin?”
    “Something like that.”
    Elsie cries only a little once the bakery is out of sight, at which point she realizes there won’t be any cookie today. After that she seems to forget—one of the big pluses of being
one.
    I take deep breaths in the open air as I follow Brynn. There’s no place better for people watching than Pike Place. When I was younger, my dad would take me to the market. I remember
he’d lift me up and let me touch all the fruit and veggies until I found the ripest ones. We’d watch the show at City Fish Co. and he’d let me get ice cream—a
vanilla/chocolate swirl cone. Then we’d bring our finds back to Mom, most of which we didn’t really need, and she’d concoct some sort of creative dish for dinner. I, of course,
had the most important part, since I’d done all the finding.
    I know it’s been years, but somehow you never expect your family to change.
    Brynn and I amble past the produce and all the other fresh-food stands to the section of the market where vendors sell handcrafted jewelry. I can’t help but sneak glimpses over my
shoulder, but after a few quick scans, I join Brynn’s hunt, slipping on a few bauble rings with fake gems and a leopard-print scarf for good measure.
    Nothing’s catching my eye. Except for the time. How did it get away from me? My phone reads five o’clock.
    “Are you ready?” I ask, tapping my toe to let Brynn know she’s taking forever.
    She holds up two barbs, one blue and one hot pink. “Which one?” She holds each up to her ear.
    I huff. “Who cares? They’re rods you stick through your flesh, Brynn.”
    “I can’t decide.” She ducks so that she can better see her reflection. The number of people is starting to feel overwhelming. I check the time again, and my knuckles go white
around the handles of the baby stroller.
    “Brynn?” I try