Crystal Lies - Melody Carlson [16]
“The sacks are down there.” She gave her thumb a downward jerk to point to some holders where piles of brown paper bags were nested.
I pulled out a bag and struggled to open it, shaking it and snapping it until it finally seemed ready to receive the contents. Then I looked for a place to set the sack, but the counter was full of groceries. Finally I went and got another cart, set the bag in it, and managed to begin filling it with groceries.
Sylvia called out the total to me, watching, I felt sure, to see if I flinched at the amount. But keeping my cool, I handed her my debit card and returned to the impossible task of bagging my stuff. I had managed to fill, and badly, only two bags before she handed me back my card and a receipt. Then she walked over and stood with her hands on her hips just watching me.
“Good grief,” she said. “It looks like you’ve never even bagged groceries before.”
I looked up at her, noticing that her blue eyes looked red and strained, then I shook my head. “You’re right, I haven’t.”
“Well, look,” she said, reaching for a bag and opening it in one graceful snap. “You gotta put the heavy stuff on the bottom.” She grabbed several cans of soup in one hand, then planted them into the corners of the bag. “See?” Then she reached for some boxes and wedged those in between. And on she went until the bag was not only completely full, but it looked solid enough not to slump over like a tired rag doll, the way mine were doing.
“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to follow her example.
“You new in town?” she asked as she helped me bag the rest of my groceries.
“Not exactly, but I’m moving into a new apartment today,” I confessed. She seemed to study me for a moment. “Divorce?” I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.” She nodded. “He cheat on you?”
I must’ve looked startled then. “Well, no. That’s not really—”
She smiled then. “It’s okay, honey. But just take it from me, it’ll get better.” Then she laughed. “Eventually, anyway. It’ll probably get a whole lot worse first.”
I thanked her as I filled the last grocery bag, then heaped it on the pile already threatening to spill from the cart. I hoped I wouldn’t find too many broken items once I got home. Home? I thought as I wheeled the cart through the deserted parking lot toward my Range Rover. What a concept. Then moving more slowly and intentionally, as if I were beginning a marathon, I started to pace myself as I loaded, one by one, the bags into the back.
Driving toward the apartment complex, I peered up and down the mostly vacant streets, hoping I might spy Jacob’s Subaru parked along a side street somewhere. I wondered if he’d be sleeping in the back tonight. Hopefully, he’d remembered to pack his sleeping bag, although it was still pretty warm outside. Or, more likely, he’d crashed at a “friend’s” place. Most likely a friend with the kind of answers that helped Jacob to temporarily forget all his troubles. For the first time in my life, I think I actually longed for some sort of chemical escape myself. Something to take me away and end this pain. Then I remembered a story I’d read in the local newspaper. It was about a mother of teenagers who’d been arrested on drug charges. But it seemed to me she had introduced her children to the crud—not the other way around. I considered stopping for a bottle of wine as I passed by the liquor store but couldn’t bring myself to face another clerk like Sylvia.
I must’ve been up half the night unloading bag after bag of groceries from the car and carrying them up the flight of stairs. Then I opened all the cupboards, which weren’t many, and searched for places to put all these various and sundry items I had felt so compelled to purchase. Of course, my new kitchen was about half the size of what had been my master bathroom. And naturally, there wasn