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The Walmart Special
From Chapter One:
“I see you like the whole grain tortillas,” he remarked raising an eyebrow suggestively as my groceries paraded past the scanner.
I was uncomfortably aware that a box of tampons would be rolling by on the conveyor belt for him to assess at any moment. “Um. They’re actually for my kids,” I stammered.
“Kids are great,” he enthused like a man who had watched them perform many times on TV. “How many do you have?”
I almost said twelve, but honesty and a vague suspicion that I recognized the woman two carts back from spinning class at the gym prevailed. “Three.” I offered him no more information, my polite smile fading a little as he continued to milk the connection he had apparently felt during our five-second moment by the bagels.
From Chapter Two:
Gordon grasped for a lifeline. “What about on-line dating?” Katie lit up like a cheap fluorescent light, flickering for a moment as she contemplated selling it to me. I noted a momentary surge as she reached for her laptop and then a slight dimming as I objected, “That’s pathetic! On-line like Match.com? You aren’t serious.”
Apparently my adamant protest gave her hope. A little like my youngest son now that I think about it, who when told “no” in response to “may I have a piece of candy” buoyantly followed up with “then can I have two pieces of candy?” Katie brightened in the same forcefully optimistic sort of way. She didn’t look up as her fingers flew over her keyboard. Against my will I was reeled in, gazing in transfixed horror over her shoulder as she brought up an on-line site. “I’m not desperate!”
Gordon was however. It was silent as he splashed a refill into our wine glasses and nudged us forward. “That one’s kind of cute.” He pointed at a twenty-something leaning against a red pickup truck. Katie raised an eyebrow.
“Is he even old enough to vote?!” My eyes rolled over to the search box. “Change the age, Katie. It says I’m trolling for twenty-year olds.”
From Chapter Six:
Rounding the corner I came upon one of the Center’s many gathering rooms and spied Frank immediately. Palsied and wheelchair bound, he was hunched in my direction over a freshly polished table wearing his trademark plaid flannel and sporting a bit of drool down the left side of his mouth. His blue eyes always out-sparkled the spit, however. And I got a definite boost from the way those blue eyes of his lit up when I walked into view. Improving significant patches of the world might be less likely now with my divorce-altered life plan, but I knew I could brighten a short moment for Frank.
Visiting only the person you came for in a nursing home felt like sticking to my grocery list. And I rarely had the discipline for that when faced with an unexpected bounty of atalfo mangos or a sale on dark chocolate pudding cups.
I walked over and leaned into his line of sight. “Hi Frank! How are you doing today?” His expression went from bored observation of his tablemates’ card game to an expectant smile as soon as he heard his name. He awkwardly wrenched up his right shoulder and wrestled his stiffened body around to face me better. I ignored the drool. We grinned at one another for a moment. I had nothing to say to this man. Knew nothing about him beyond what I’d noticed in passing on the dresser in his room: a couple of grown sons, an affinity for OSU collegiate teams, and a reverence for baseball. He wore a generic brand of bladder control undergarments and always had a full pitcher of water at the ready (Light bulb moment. Connection!). Not a lot to go on, but there was always the weather. So I went with the obvious and easy, “It’s wet out there today!”
From Chapter Seven:
Gordon smiled in my direction and offered to fetch more wine. My head wobbled a “no” as I reached for my almost empty water glass. A piece of ice slipped down the front of my dress, prompting a more determined reach for the next water glass to my left. I sipped carefully and hoped I hadn’t had too much wine. How much was too much? Katie seemed fine. We’d had the same number of cupfuls.
“Ho-ow many haf we had?” I asked her. She looked at my remaining green beans. Puzzled. I tapped her cup, sloshing the wine a little.
She shrugged. “Four maybe…? I think you have had three counting that one. Gordon got me another when you were in the bathroom.” She seemed fine but was speaking very deliberately. That irritated me a little.
“I need. To dance.” Burning off the alcohol sounded like a good plan for that future moment when the four walls of the room settled into one place again. The one by the dance floor had begun shimmering and wavering in the distance. I hoped the parquet floor wasn’t a mirage.
From Chapter Thirteen
“I don’t care about your damn toilet paper,” Grandma shrieked. “Enough already!” I switched off the TV. “Some people have no class,” she muttered as I crossed the imaginary line back to her side of the room. I didn’t bother mentioning that Clara wasn’t actually present. If Grandma thought Clara was being rude and annoying, then Clara was being rude and annoying no matter what I might tell Grandma.
Clara chose that moment, however, to shuffle back into the room, knitting needles extended before her and dangling an in-progress baby blue scarf over her right shoulder. She smiled quietly to herself, acknowledging neither of us. Grandma snorted, “Well if it isn’t Miss High and Mighty herself.” Somehow, Clara’s mysterious travel through space and time didn’t faze Grandma a bit.
Clara raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. I saw her flick a glance our way as she inched around the curtain, however.
“She is just a disgusting human being,” Grandma stated loudly. I hastened to divert what was sure to escalate into “ugly”. “Now Grandma, that isn’t so. Did you see the lovely scarf she’s knitting? I bet it’s-”
A voice corrected me from behind the gold curtain. “It’s a sweater dammit.”
I called back, “Well, it’s a very pretty color, Clara.”
“Same damn blue yarn I use on everything.” I gave up.
From Chapter Fifteen:
“Eric, you have to remember to hang up your towel! And remember, you can use them more than once. They’re not like toilet paper!”
“Ew…” Smile. Point made.
I adjusted my bathrobe belt and Eric commenced his target practice. “Ow! Not so hard, honey.” I grinned at him, barely catching a bullet pass to my middle, and Eric laughed. God, I love him! He gave his next toss a big windup before lobbing it high in the air. The football arced high enough to threaten the ceiling fan but wobbled on towards the hall bath. “Sorry, Mom!” I braced myself and leaped to grab it before it hit a hammered copper framed mirror that hung a little too precariously on a small finishing nail.
At that moment, the doorbell rang. I twisted around on my landing to spy a small dark haired man peering in through the side panel windows. He waved. Damn! Aren’t contractors supposed to be late?!
I wavered between dashing into my bedroom for a t-shirt and sweatpants and answering the door. He’d seen me already. There was no hiding. I gathered my robe up and around the base of my neck, scurried over to the door and cracked it open.
“Nice catch.” He smiled broadly, revealing white teeth and a dimple.
