Conflicted

Chapter 21

Ada Johnson's P. O. V

"Hi. Ma'am. Do you need any help?" I question the sweet old lady. The woman who was mere seconds ago fretting about, peering between two antique vases turns to me with a slight frown on her face. I take a hesitant step back just in case she doesn't want any help but her frown turns upside down and into a thankful smile.

"Yes. I would love some." The woman beams as she then continues to asks me questions about vases that I have no idea about.

I don't even have a vase in my apartment.

Nonetheless, the woman leaves the shop with a blinding smile on her face and a newly claimed case tucked under her right arm wrapped in a brown bag with some string tied around it to secure it in place. Noting the lull in customers, I leave the main sales floor and head into the back where I hear a few curse words being uttered followed by the scraping of something along tiled floors.

Flinging the door open noiselessly, I catch sight of a huffing Sam keeled over a huge cardboard box filled to the open brim with what looks like piles upon piles of multi coloured children books. Her freshly bleached blonde hair sitting atop her head in an incredibly messy drunk looking bun as half of it falls out of her hair tie and falls into her face due to it being lopsided.

"You don't need any help do you?" I tease as her chocolate brown eyes meet mine, lips pressed into a firm thin line as she shakes her head before standing back up right from her bent over position.

"I'm just fine." Comes her reply laced fully with sarcasm causing me to laugh as I join her side, ready to lug the huge box about to wherever she needs it to go. "Where are we taking this bad boy." Sam physically cringes at my last words before pointing to the level above us, my jaw dropping at the sight of the rickety stairs that will no doubt collapse under our weight.

"You must be crazy. No one even goes up to the weird attic. I swear, it's haunted." I mumble with a silent shiver wracking down my back.

Denise doesn't believe me whenever I tell her, but usually when I'm the last one left to lock up, the sounds of heavy feet stomping above me on the attic floor have me hightailing it's out of there. Of course it could just be my imagination but the thought still makes me want to jump into bed and hide under a blanket like I used to do when I was a kid.

I still do that sometimes but that's besides the point.

Sam merely gives me a weird look and goes to answer but rolls her eyes when Denice's overly loud voice cuts the air as she calls Sam to take over the till for a few moments. Walking past me, she clasps me on the shoulder as she tilts her head towards the box. I sigh as I already know that means I have to take the box up to the attic type place myself. Staring after Sam trudging outside with her stomping Doc Martins, I wait a few seconds just in case she comes back but there seems to be no such luck.

Letting out another sigh, this one much more louder and exaggerated for Sam to hear which she is probably ignoring knowing her, I look at the hefty box and then the stairs before grumbling and bending down. It does take a few tries to get a good grip on the box as my hand keeps slipping. The next task consists of me trying to right myself back to my original position as my bent frame tries to lock my knees into place so that I can left the heavy box up. Two cracked knees later, I press the box into me as I blindly make my way forward, testing out the flooring with my right leg extended to see if the floor is flat or not.

It takes me a good few seconds to reach the stairs and I pause momentarily as a loud creaking noise echoes throughout the room. I know I won't be able to rush up the stairs because of the box but I don't think taking too long will be smart either. Just in case the stairs fall out from under me. The thought of landing flat on my back with a pile of books tumbling onto me isn't the most pleasant imagery.