A couple of teenagers are hanging out by the fruit. They’re huddled together over a carton of strawberries, which at this time of year will probably set them back half a year’s college tuition. As I approach, one of the girls looks up at me and her eyes widen, then she and her friends bunch closer together, whispering even faster.
I’m nearly past them with my cart when one of them, a boy with green in his hair and a ring in his nose, says, “Um. Hi.”
“Hi,” I say.
“How are you?”
Are they trying to steal the strawberries? Prank me? “Fine. Yourself?”
His nostrils flare, making the ring flash, but instead of answering, he spins back to his friends. There’s more whispering, but they don’t say anything else to me, so I keep going. Whatever they’re up to, it’s not my business.
I make my way down the next aisle. Someone must have gotten a new shipment of toilet paper, because it’s on sale. I grab two packs, then put one back because Stef and Robbie are leaving for Anchorage soon, and I won’t need so much when I’m back to living by myself again.
The thought makes me uneasy. I liked having them close. I didn’t like that Stef was struggling, but I liked being able to help. And now what would I do? I was supposed to be at the lodge all summer. My boat’s gone, and the licenses for the season will have been sold and distributed. If Damian hadn’t—
A crash brings me back to reality, and I turn to find a man and a woman staring at me where they’ve run their shopping carts into each other.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman says to me. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
I don’t know why she’s talking to me when she should be apologizing to the other guy. I give them both a smile and carry on my way.
At the end of the aisle, the kids with the strawberries are waiting. They push the green-haired boy toward me again.
“Hi.” He’s breathing so hard he must be dizzy.
“Look, whatever you’re doing, I’m not interested. Buy what you came for, or I’ll call the store manager.”
The girls behind him giggle, and he seems to take a little courage from that, but only a little, because the next words out of his mouth are so fast I can’t even understand them.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You could call the manager,” he says, more clearly this time, “or you could let me call you Daddy.”
The girls all laugh hysterically. One of them lifts her phone to take a picture.
Oh God.
“Is this about...” I can’t finish the question. I glance over my shoulder, and the two people who ran into each other before have come down the aisle and are hovering behind me. There’s more than enough room for them to go around, but they stand there, gaping. Over my other shoulder, another group of shoppers is standing together, watching me and whispering.
David was wrong then. No reporters, but that doesn’t mean I’ve escaped.
“Excuse me.” I push past the teenagers. They watch after me with awestruck faces, but they don’t say anything else. The same with the other people. As I approach, they scurry to get out of my way, but no one says anything, at least not to my face. But once I’m past, I hear someone whisper, “My daughter said it was on the internet. I haven’t watched it, of course.”
No, of course not. Why would anyone watch what was meant to be a private thing between two consenting adults?
Ridiculously, I suddenly wish David—or Damian, or whatever he wants to be called—was here. It’s his fault any of this is happening. And he probably knows how to deal with things like this better than I do. Hell, he practically offered to help. All I can manage is to push my cart to the cash register. Since everyone’s watching me, there’s no line, and I throw the vegetables and toilet paper on the belt without glancing back.
The cashier is Sandra. She and her husband, Al, own the store. They’re older than my parents, and I’ve known them forever.
“Is that everything?” Sandra asks as she puts my things in a bag.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s all.” Stef doesn’t know it yet, but until she moves to Anchorage, she’s in charge of all the shopping.
I pay, and Sandra smiles blandly at me as she hands me the bag. “Have a great day.”
“I will. Tell Al I said hi.” I turn to go, relieved that at least she isn’t eyeing me like I’m a sideshow freak, then pause. “Sandra?”
“Yes, dear,” she says.
