We were just going bowling, right? — Patrick’s Books & Magazines was a tiny storefront that squeezed in between a drug mart and a dollar store on Dundas Street. Nobody knew who Patrick was, or even whether it was a first or a last name. Jean and I came in after I had soundly defeated her at bowling, her hand fleshy and warm in mine. I was beginning to think that this was a date, and absentmindedly noticing old callouses on her palm. The bookstore was not fancy. Pulpy paperbacks were stacked in a loose approximation of alphabetical order, with genre written on pieces of duct-tape stuck to the shelves. Some of them were going yellow. Behind the counter – okay, really a table with a cash register on it – a middle-aged woman briefly made eye contact and then returned to her tabloid. ‘What are we doing in here?’ I said quietly. ‘Just check it out,’ Jean said. ‘Isn’t this the greatest place?’ ‘I don’t understand.’ It was a pretty cruddy little shop. Jean shrugged and lead me deeper into. Barb stayed with her every other weekend so I could spent time with my girls. Like I said before, CeCe was from money. She never had to work for it so she never understood its’ value. I was working class, but my parents had given me guidance when I needed it, so I had a healthy respect for money and was careful with it. Amy was what could be called ‘dirt poor’. Raised by her mom without the benefit of child support from a dad she had never met. She was in school on a full scholarship, pinching pennies, working part time jobs during the summer. When they started rooming together she was amazed at CeCes’ extravagance. She hardly ever went out because she couldn’t afford it. When Ce figured it out she started insisting she go with her, paying for everything. She resisted at first, but gave in under relentless pressure. Ce did have a way of getting what she wanted. Amy wasn’t having a lot of luck with jobs that summer and confided it to Joanne one night. The next day she put the nurse on.
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