“Grady! Get back here.” Wade’s stern voice sounds like Dad’s, freezing me in place. “You dragged me from bed. At least explain yourself.”

He flicks his cigarette into a puddle.

Christie ushers me into the huddle with an encouraging smile on his long face.

“Give us the full story. What’ve you got to lose?” Christie says encouragingly. Behind him, his daughter Wren exits the trailer and sits on the front steps, holding a book.

“Fine. The car accident not only hurt her but cost her a car, her wedding day, her fiancé, and her job. Now, she’s stuck working at the funeral home, all because of me.”

“Marnie’s at the funeral home?” Wren winces. “That must hurt her positive energy.”

“Definitely,” I say.

“Oh, Marnie’s too cheerful and friendly for that,” Christie agrees. “And too creative. I loved her displays in Sunny’s gazebo.”

“She’s wasting away in a dead-end job because she has no better option. I believe the G&G could give her purpose and hope again.”

“Despite appearances, I ain’t running a rehabilitation center here,” Wade argues. “Take your stray dog somewhere else.”

“Ah, Wade. She’s not a dog,” Christie argues in a hurt tone. “She’s a lioness.”

I don’t know what to say to that. “Um, there is nowhere else. I’ve called every grocery store, retailer, and market within twenty miles. They’re either not hiring or only filling managerial positions from within. She’d have to start at minimum wage, a heinous joke. She needs more and deserves better for the ten years she’s put in.”

“She won’t find better here,” Wade counters, motioning to the G&G down the lane.

The large convenience store looks so rundown that it might as well be abandoned. The outside is littered with nonsensical junk. The large gravel parking lot butts up against the swamp, where a short dock looks more likely to hold sunbathing alligators than people. Since no one’s working there at noon on a Saturday, the only sign of life is a blinking neon sign in the window that says PEN as the O has burnt out.

“Make her manager, and she’ll turn this heap into a profitable business again,” I say, hoping it’s true.

“How intriguing,” Christie beams, turning toward his daughter. “Wren tells me Marnie practically ran Sunny’s. All the beautiful displays were her ideas. Plus, she’s done wonders for Wren’s social skills, though no one should be forced to smile so much.”

“It hurts my face,” Wren says.

“I know, honey,” Christie returns.

“I can’t afford a manager,” Wade snaps after a long belch.