Chapter Thirty-nine
By the time Parrott left Andrea Baker’s, it was past four o’clock. Armed with photos of the fragmented plastic UPC codes given to him by Skip Oppermann, Parrott swung by the closest of the stores in the area who sold large lithium batteries, Cabela’s.
The parking lot was more than half full, most likely from customers stopping for a needed item on their way home from work. Parrott didn’t mind parking at the end of the lot and sprinting into the store. His long legs covered a lot of ground with each stride, and he enjoyed moving.
Entering the store, he breezed past the crowded checkout counters, and he scanned the banners above the aisles, looking for the truck and auto section. He walked past interior accessories to exterior, finally spotting the large lithium battery he’d seen online. This one had a different UPC number, 100897402. A sign on the shelf said, “Deep Cycle Marine Battery, $499.99.”
Eager to check out the UPC sticker, Parrott lifted the product and peered underneath. The sticker was not kelly green to match his fragments. He turned over several other products on the shelf—a GPS navigator, a radar detector, a power invertor—none had kelly green stickers.
Trekking back to his car, Parrott decided to put aside his search for the green stickers until he had a better handle on a potential perpetrator. Finding the store probably wouldn’t lead to the person, but finding the person might lead to the store. As in most things in life, timing was everything, and right now, Parrott’s stomach told him it was time to go home for dinner.
When he opened the door to the house, Horace swooped across the room and landed on his shoulder. “Pretty bird?” he asked. Parrott petted Horace’s feathers and sniffed the air. “Roast beef and mashed potatoes?”
Tonya was at the table with her laptop, taking notes. She grinned at his question and stuck her pen above her right ear. “Actually, we’re experimenting tonight.” She jumped up to give him a hug, and Horace flew to his perch.
“Uh-oh. Experimenting how?” He looked around, but nothing looked new except the notes Tonya had made from the computer.
“Did you know there’s a PTSD diet?” She dragged him by the hand to the oven. “Roast beef has been replaced by turkey breast, and mashed potatoes by brown rice casserole.” She opened the oven, and a cloud of steam puffed around them, as she lifted the aluminum foil from the two dishes. “The rice also has walnuts, edamame, and red pepper in it.”
Parrott thought of the delicious stroganoff he’d eaten at lunch time, and a guilty mantle settled over him. Maybe he wouldn’t talk about what he’d ordered at Portabello’s. “Smells delicious. Is turkey better for PTSD than roast beef?”
“Tryptophan, my love. A superpower for the brain. And while potatoes are on the diet, whole grain pastas and rice are even better. They help form glycogen.” She flipped off the oven. “Ready to eat?”
Roast beef and mashed potatoes would have had him salivating more than turkey and brown rice, but Parrott would never say so. If a diet of bird feathers would help Tonya heal, he would eat that every night without complaint. “Sure. Let me wash up first.”
When he returned to the living area, Tonya had put away her laptop and set the table. She was carving the turkey breast and placing thin slices on a platter. “How about carrying the rice and gravy to the table?” she asked. “I’m excited to try this new diet. Better nutrients help form better pathways in the brain, and better pathways make other therapies work.”
“How’d you hear about this?” Having carried the food to the table, Parrott held his wife’s chair for her to sit.
“I was researching therapy strategies in preparation for working with the mentally challenged adults at Elle’s, and I stumbled onto brain research, pathways, and nutrition. Somehow, PTSD popped up. A great article with lots of tips.” Tonya served herself rice, while Parrott put turkey on his plate. Then they switched.
Taking his first bite of turkey, Parrott said, “Delicious. What were the other tips mentioned?”
“Things like drinking water to hydrate the brain throughout the day, getting adequate sleep, exercise, getting out in the sun. Oh, and get this one—reducing the amount of time watching TV.”
“That’s easy for you. You’d rather read than watch TV any day.”
“True. The article says these same suggestions work for alcoholics, drug addicts, abuse victims—anyone who has nightmares or flashbacks.”
Parrott wondered whether Wyatt Wukitsch was sitting in the rehab facility, eating turkey and brown rice, the same as he and Tonya were. As he washed a bite of rice with edamame down, he said, “If this scrumptious meal is good for the brain, I’m all in.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Ollie. I’m happy you don’t mind changing the way we eat.” She drank from her tall glass of water. “I know it’s a sacrifice, but I’m determined to overcome this PTSD and have a normal life—even if it kills me.”