Having gotten to bed far later than usual and having gained the suspicion of a cold from spending more of the evening outside than planned, and in a misty rain at that, I hesitated following Chloe the next time she bought groceries. But how could I not? You question that? Well maybe you’re the type that can ignore things that seem out of the ordinary, and to that I say, enjoy the tsunami you didn’t see coming. However, I needed the peace of settling the question of Chloe’s strangely varied grocery items. I mean c’mon. Who buys all things wasabi, then takes a 180 degree turn the next week to an entire cart of bland?
So the next time she walked out of the store, I clocked out (easy to do since I work plenty of overtime) and followed her again. And again she did not return home. She went to a small white church that had sat empty for as long as I could remember. Again she jiggled the door handle just so and let herself in. Again she turned on a light. And again I sat outside into the night, this time in between some bushes nearby.
And so it went. One week it was what appeared to be a small apartment in the basement of an old building (she had to descend outside stairs before she did the jiggle
of the door handle thing). I had never noticed its existence until that evening. Another week it was what I supposed to be a garden of sorts enclosed by a stone wall, and still another, the back door of a public library after it was closed for the day. A run-down playground. A boat house. My effort to discover the why of her grocery peculiarities gave no satisfaction at all, but rather led to more questions, and I began to lose sleep.
I decided I was going about things the wrong way and spent a few days at my computer trying to find information about Chloe (there was none except her home address) and about each place she spent an evening (nothing of note).
“You’ve been looking rather peaked lately.”
Chloe’s voice startled me. I was squatting, putting boxes of cereal on an endcap. I scrunched my eyes and made an effort to look at her like I was composing a police report in my head. It was unsuccessful.
“If you’re interested, I’d like to invite you to my house for supper tonight?”
It seemed an odd invitation since we knew each other only by sight. I glanced into her cart. Pasta, fruit, hamburger, french bread, and salad fixings sealed the deal. There was no reason to decline, of course. I nodded my head.
“You know where I live?” she asked with the hint of a smile.
I nodded again.
“See you at 6:00.”
to be continued . . .
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goods. Or rice. Not many shop for fish unless it’s in a little round can. For the most part, maybe without conscious intention, customers put the same things in their carts week after week, year after year.
What. She jiggled the doorknob just right, turned on a light, and let herself in. It began to mist, but curiosity kept me crouched behind an old oil drum for the rest of the evening. I must have dozed, because when I opened my eyes around midnight, the light was off, my clothes were soaked, and she was gone.
emptied the cold coffee from her mug into the sink, and refilled it from the still-hot carafe.
make a beeline for the cheeping sounds of chicks kept in a large trough under warming lights at the back of the store. As a young man, I found satisfactory clothes there and, when I was on my own, I bought the kind of food and drink a person can actually enjoy. Tools? For home and auto, just like an insurance commercial. Hunting and fishing supplies capped my needs. In fact, I’ve often thought everything I’ve ever needed can be found at the Fleet Farm.
I’d been moseying through the aisles, stopping too long at fishing lures and probably not long enough at propane. It was because I was gazing at the new fishing lure in my hand, that I ran smack into a customer at the endcap. She nearly fell, but I caught her; and we stood there for a split second locking eyes and sizing each other up. It was uncomfortable and a little exciting at the same time. I’m not sure she felt the same way.
That secret space;
turned myself completely around and reaching my destination after it closed. Fortunately, there was another auction nearby the following day, and I didn’t care to return home and risk a late arrival not to mention wear and tear on my truck. It was the first time I’d ever parked in the first space in a parking lot.
$15.00 and took them to my truck to see if there was anything of value. They held some pictures taken around the 1920’s I guessed, an old set of encyclopedias, an interesting variety of electronics, and a few things I thought maybe I could sell on FBMP.