And Everything Nice Read Online Free Page B

always looks good.”
    â€œAren’t you the charmer tonight,” she said. “Would you like more pasta?”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    I came to the next night’s choir practice straight from work. I was early and the door to the church nave was closed. A sign posted on it said:
    SILENCE PLEASE. SMALL GROUP
AUDITIONS IN PROGRESS.
ENTER QUIETLY
OR COME BACK AT 7:25!
    I needed a coffee anyway. I’d had a long day. I’d had to fire a sales associate after he showed up half an hour late, for the fifth time. Then I had to fill in for him at the register after he left. And that afternoon I’d caught a shoplifter, a punky girl about twenty.
    I’d seen her before, lurking around in a sweatshirt, dirty jeans and Converse sneakers. This time I was ringing up a sale when I spotted her across the floor, standing behind a table display of Henley shirts. She had her back to me, but I saw her slip two shirts into a shopping bag she carried. I got someone to finish my sale, and I snuck up on her. When I asked if she’d like to try on those shirts, she dropped the bag and ran away fast. Which was lucky. I would have had to call the cops on her if she hadn’t.
    I hated calling the cops. An arrest always caused a scene in the store, in front of the paying customers. And going to court to testify was such a hassle. The hearing doesn’t take place for months, and when you go to the courthouse, you wait for hours for the case to be called. Then you see the shoplifter waiting too. With a legal-aid lawyer and maybe a parent or an older sibling who looks upset. And the cops sit around joking with each other like they don’t give a shit, which they don’t. And the judge sometimes yells at the thief, to try to scare them straight or whatever. You end up feeling sad and sorry for the person you collared. Rather than feeling that justice is being done. I did anyway.
    There was a coffee shop a block away from the church. With twenty-five minutes to kill before the practice started, I walked over to it, ordered a large coffee and looked around for a seat.
    The shop was crowded, mostly with people I didn’t think were choir members. Except for Anna, over in the corner. She was sitting at a high counter with a coffee cup beside her, writing.
    I wasn’t going to disturb her, but she saw me and waved me over. “Hi, Steph! There’s space here. Come sit.”
    I set my coffee down and motioned to the notebook in front of her. “Is that the journal you used on Noontime ?”
    â€œIt’s the same kind. I go through a new notebook every few months.”
    â€œMy mom’s big on journals. And writing. But when I had to keep a journal in high school for English class, I hated doing it. What I wrote was so boring.”
    â€œYou don’t feel a need to express yourself then?”
    â€œI guess not. I don’t get why people have blogs either. Or go on Twitter. Like their lives are so interesting.”
    She said, “I have to blog and tweet for my work; it’s part of my job. But my journal is just for me. It really helps me sort out what I’m doing and feeling. And it’s cheaper than going to a shrink.” She slipped the notebook into her bag. “But are you saying you saw one of my ‘And Everything Nice’ segments on Noontime ?”
    I didn’t want to seem like a stalker. I said, “I caught it this week, randomly. The farmers’ market one.”
    â€œWhat did you think of it?”
    â€œIt was, uh, nice.”
    â€œYou liked it that much, huh?”
    â€œI don’t think I’m in the target market. I hardly ever watch daytime tv. But the root-vegetable mash that you made with the maple syrup? It looked good. My mother said she would make it sometime soon.” Okay, she might have said that if she’d watched more of the show.
    â€œBut you wouldn’t?”
    â€œI don’t cook much.”
    â€œNeither do most