Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [12]
“I may be full of years,” Tillie countered, “but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my gumption.”
I wasn’t full of years myself, but I found the heat exhausting. “Can we rest inside a minute, Tillie?” I asked.
“Plenty of time for that when we get home,” she said.
She parked the wagon by the door and helped Valerie out.
“We can’t just leave the wagon here, can we?” I moved to catch up with Tillie, who was already marching into the store, Valerie in tow.
“This is Mills River,” she said. “No one’s going to steal it.” She grabbed a shopping cart and lifted Valerie into the child’s seat in front. Before she had gone more than a few feet, she raised a hand toward one of the silver-haired cashiers. “Good morning, Hazel.”
“Why, Tillie,” the woman said, slapping her thigh, “I’d heard you got out.”
“Merciful heavens, honey, you make it sound like I’ve been in jail.”
“Knowing you, Tillie, that’s exactly what it was.”
Tillie rubbed her fleshy chin. “You’ve got a point there, Hazel. Five months cooped up in that place, it’s a wonder I didn’t lose my mind. But I’m out now, and I’m back in my own home, where I intend to die when the time is right.”
“Good for you. You know I’ve always admired your spunk.”
“Yes, well, I’m just doing what I’ve got to do. By the way, I’ve got houseguests now, and here are two of them, Rosalind and Valerie.” Tillie waved a hand, first toward me and then toward Valerie in the cart. “I’m taking care of them while their mother works, poor thing.”
Hazel beamed at me. “Well now, how do you do?”
I raised my hand in a small gesture of greeting even as my eyes became angry slits. I wanted to explain that Tillie was our houseguest and not the other way around, and that my mother was not a poor thing for having to work, which I figured Hazel would understand, since she herself was there behind the cash register, but I was a child and Hazel was an adult, so I kept quiet.
“Listen, Tillie, when you check out, come on through my line. I’ve got some extra coupons you can use,” Hazel said.
“Appreciate it, honey. We’re just picking up a few things, so I’ll be back around in a minute.”
From there, we headed toward the meat department at the back of the store. “Fred!” Tillie hollered.
A thick-waisted man in a bloody apron paused with his knife poised over a slab of beef. “Ah, Mrs. Monroe! You’re back with us!” When he smiled, his great jowls quivered and his mustache curled over his front teeth. “I knew that place couldn’t hold you. I told everyone, I said, ‘That Tillie Monroe, she doesn’t belong in the old folks home.’ ” He waved his butcher knife in the air for emphasis.
“You were right, Fred. I was a fish out of water there. I couldn’t breathe.”
Fred nodded knowingly. “Some people, okay, they go to the old folks home and they make their peace with it, and maybe they’re even happy there, but not you. No sir. Not Tillie Monroe. I told everyone, I said, ‘That Mrs. Monroe, she’ll never be old. Never.’ ”
“I’m glad you see it that way, Fred. If only my sons did.”
“That Johnny!” The butcher knife sliced the air in one quick motion. “I said to him, ‘Johnny, how could you do that to your own mother?’ ”
“Good question, Fred.”
“He said he had only your best interest at heart.”
“So he pulled that one on you too, huh?”
Fred slammed the butcher knife into the beef and came to meet us at the counter. He was shaking his head. “I don’t know, Mrs. Monroe, but if I had a nice lady like you for a mother, I sure wouldn’t stick her in some old folks home.”
“Thank you, Fred. If Johnny tries to do it again, I’ll disown him and adopt you.”
Fred smiled, looking genuinely pleased. “And how’s the hip, Mrs. Monroe?”
“Good as new,” she said. “It only aches when it’s going to rain. I’ve got a built-in barometer now, which comes in rather handy.”
The butcher responded with a belly laugh. “You were always one to find the silver lining! If only we were all so inclined. Most of my customers, they come in here moaning and complaining, not a good word about anything. Well, you know how it is, Mrs. Monroe.”
“That I do.