Behind Maya, the line stiffened like a rope being pulled tight. Someone sighed. Someone else whispered something under their breath. Eyes stared, then quickly looked away.
Poverty had a way of making people uncomfortable in public.
As if it were contagious.
Standing a few steps behind her was Jonathan Carter.
His white dress shirt looked freshly pressed, his suit tailored perfectly. A polished watch gleamed on his wrist, and the expensive scent of his cologne floated faintly in the air.
He was a man used to doors opening when he arrived.
Waiting in line at a random supermarket in downtown Houston felt like an error in the system. The only reason he was there at all was because it was his weekend with his son, and his ex-wife had insisted.
“Do normal things with him,” she had said. “Let him see you live in the real world.”
Jonathan glanced at his watch.
“Unbelievable…” he muttered loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. “How long is this little show going to take?”
His son, Ethan Carter, stood beside him.
Seven years old. Clean school uniform. Hair neatly combed.
But Ethan wasn’t looking at his father’s watch.
He was looking at Maya.