“Can I take Saturday off, Mr. Lefkowitz? I’ll work on Sunday if you want, or extra hours on Monday”
It’s kind’ve unexpected to discover something really weird about yourself while you’re stacking cans of Bumblebee Tuna and Heinz Baked Beans. But then again, nothing in these past two weeks had been what Marjorie expected.
Who woulda thunk? That after traveling thousands of miles in her search for freedom, Marjorie Burton would wind up opening boxes, stacking shelves, slicing cheese, and sweeping up the detritus of grocery shoppers who came in barefoot and tracked what seemed all of San Francisco’s dust onto the floor?
And even crazier — that she would like it?
But now, most shocking of all… where had those words come from, the words she’d just said to Mr. Samuel “Sammy” Lefkowitz, proprietor of the tiny corner grocery that had become a kind of haven for her?
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
