Chapter 4 - The Women Who Were Told to Be Grateful
The first woman was Renee Price, a former cashier who had been fired in April after twenty-six dollars went missing from her till. She now worked early mornings washing uniforms for a hospital. When Alana called, Renee said she couldn't afford another fight.
“I don't have benefits,” she said. “I don't have a union. I have two grandbabies and rent due on the first.”
“I'm not asking you to fight for me,” Alana said. “I want to know what happened to you.”
Renee was quiet long enough for Alana to hear washing machines turning in the background.
“Craig said I looked suspicious when I asked for my register log. He told me our people should be grateful a company like that puts a store in the neighborhood. Then he offered to erase the complaint if I signed a resignation letter.”
“Did you?”
“I did.”
“Did you take the money?”
“No.”
Alana knew what it had cost Renee to say that. She asked permission before giving her number to Erin.
The second woman, Keisha Morgan, had been demoted after reporting spoiled meat in the store's donation shipments. Her new job was on the other side of town, a two-hour bus ride from the apartment she shared with her father. She had kept photographs of pallets stacked beneath a broken refrigeration unit.
“Craig said I was trying to make the branch look bad,” Keisha told Erin. “Then he said maybe I wasn't suited for management. Funny how everybody he called difficult looked like me.”
Erin documented the statements and arranged separate interviews. She did not promise the case would be easy. Allegations of racial discrimination, retaliation, and financial misconduct would be examined through different processes. Alana had to live long enough, and earn enough, to see them through.
The hospital released her with follow-up instructions. Marcus drove her and Nia home at Alana's request, keeping the radio low while Nia slept in the back. Outside their apartment, the sidewalk glittered with ice. The string of colored lights in the lobby had burned out halfway through the word WELCOME.
Alana unlocked the door and immediately noticed a yellow notice taped inside the mailbox: BENEFITS REVIEW PENDING. Her pantry contained cereal, two cans of beans, and the sweet potatoes she'd been saving for Christmas dinner.
“Is that all?” Marcus asked before he could stop himself.
Alana bristled. “It feeds us.”
“I'm sorry. That was rude.”
He did not offer to fill the room with groceries. Instead he told her about a church pantry Odessa used. Alana said she'd call in the morning. The decision, he understood, needed to be hers.
Nia opened her pencil case and placed the red star on the windowsill. “It's going to sit here till Joy comes.”
Alana eased into the couch. “Put it where I can see it.”
The little apartment had no full-sized Christmas tree. Alana had hung a string across the window and clipped homemade decorations to it with clothespins. June Carter had started that tradition after a storm ruined their only boxed tree. “We don't need a tree,” she'd told Nia, who was then five. “We need a place to put the things worth remembering.”
That night, Alana found June's holiday notebook beneath a stack of old recipe cards. The first pages held grocery lists and instructions for a sweet potato pie. Later pages recorded every family she'd helped through the neighborhood mutual-aid group: apartment numbers, dietary needs, and notes like MRS. SANDERS CAN'T CARRY THE BIG BOXES.
The last page had a sketch of a red star and a message: Every household gets a name. Nobody disappears into a number.
Alana rubbed her thumb over the writing. Her mother's little paper stars had been more than decorations. June attached one to every donated bag so the delivery volunteers could check that the right food reached the right door.
Craig's fraud had copied the same system.
The next morning, a representative from the supermarket's corporate office called. She introduced herself as Meredith Shaw, director of employee relations. She said the company hoped to resolve the dispute privately and offered three months' pay in exchange for Alana's resignation and a broad release of claims.
“Will you restore the food benefits you flagged?” Alana asked.
“That's administered externally.”
“Will you correct the statement calling me a thief?”
“The company hasn't made a definitive finding.”
“Your press office called me one.”
Meredith said nothing.
Alana refused to sign. When she told Erin, the attorney asked for the offer in writing. Within an hour it arrived, bearing an attachment labeled EMPLOYEE INCIDENT SUMMARY.
Before opening the attachment, Alana had to ask Nia to turn down the television. A commercial for a family Christmas dinner showed an enormous turkey surrounded by smiling parents and grandparents. Nia reached for the remote without complaining.
“Did Grandma ever have a big table like that?” she asked.
“Her table held four,” Alana said. “She could feed twelve on it if she set the chairs sideways.”
“Did she ever make people feel bad for needing food?”
“Never. She'd say there were seasons when you brought the casserole and seasons when you needed somebody else to bring it.”
Nia leaned her forehead against Alana's arm. “Are we in a season like that?”
“Yes. And we'll get through it with people who respect us.”
Alana waited until her daughter returned to her drawing before reading the attachment. She refused to let an unsigned company document take every peaceful minute from the house.
May you like
The summary attributed a sentence to Alana she had never spoken: “Those families won't notice if a few boxes are missing.”
Beneath it appeared the signatures of Craig Harlan and Viola Grant.
