Chapter 19

Walking to the grocery store, Beatrice always thought about the time she was stabbed there and didn’t know it until she got home and Vera pointed out that she had a knife sticking out the back of her neck. It was so odd to not feel that. According to the doctors, no nerve endings existed where the blade was plunged into her—right through her coat and scarf. It was a cold morning, like this morning, except then it was spring, and now it was fall. Beatrice preferred the cool spring to the cool fall. Perhaps it was because of what came after—summer and winter. God, she loved her seasons. She reached up and touched her scar, as had become her habit. Also, she paid more attention to who the people were around her. Today maybe more so than other days.

She walked in the store and turned the corner to head for the produce. She loved looking at the tables and tables of fruit from all over the world. Loved the smell that came off of it. When she was a child, she had never heard of a pomegranate. Now she could buy one at the local grocer.

“Good morning, Ms. Matthews,” the produce manager said to her as he fussed over the bananas.

“Morning,” she said. What was he so friendly about? She’d known the Stickles family for years, and friendly wasn’t the term she’d use to describe any of them. Especially Fred, this young man’s father, who once hit a neighbor’s dog with his car and never turned around to see if it was okay. This boy appeared to be on the cusp of having serious mental problems.

“What’s going on over at your house? I saw some graffiti,” he said.

Beatrice shrugged. So that was it. He wanted the scoop.

“Yeah, when I drove by, cops and stuff were everywhere,” he said.

“Yep,” she said and kept walking. She reached for the roll of plastic bags and unrolled it. The damned plastic always gave her fits. She tore off a bag, opened it, and shoved her bananas inside. She was thinking about getting a pomegranate.

“So, what happened?” he persisted.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Some young fools probably.”

She dumped her bananas in her cart and decided to make a run for it. She didn’t want to talk with this kid about the symbol on her house. She didn’t like the way he had inserted himself into her life. Why, he hardly knew her. But then again, it was probably the talk of the town by now, with the way the grapevine worked so eloquently in Cumberland Creek. The problem was half the time it was full of half-truths and innuendos.

“So, are you a Nazi or a witch or what?” he asked as she walked away.

“Excuse me?” she said, turning around.

“I asked if you were a Nazi . . . ,” he mumbled.

“Absurd. Why don’t you . . . I don’t know . . . go and read a book, young man?” Beatrice said, turning away from him.

“That symbol—”

“Phillip,” said Eric, the general store manager, coming to the rescue. “Finish up there. They need you in the deli.”

Eric looked at Beatrice and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said.

She waved him off, as if to say, “Whatever.” She moved through the aisles, checking out the specials and new products.

As she was leaving, she noted that the Stickles boy was in the office, which was in the corner and raised, so she couldn’t see much of it. But the top part had a window in it, so she could see he was in the office with his hat on his head. Was he getting ready to leave? Hmm. She hoped she didn’t run into him again. The stupidity and crassness of some people were hard to take. The older she got, the worse it was. She found it hard to keep her thoughts to herself. But if people were going to offer their uneducated opinions, it was her philosophy that they got what was coming to them. Yes, indeed.

As she walked down the few blocks to her house, she waved to the schoolchildren getting ready to cross the street. Too soon, Elizabeth would be in school. Her heart sank.

Two bags of groceries in her arms, one in each now, she made her way to her house and stood at the gate. When she set the bags down to dig out her house key, she heard someone on the pavement behind her. She turned and saw the Stickles boy walking by her house. She placed her hands on her hips. Had he been following her the whole time?

He turned and looked at her, his eyes glaring. His middle finger lifting with attitude.

Beatrice laughed. Maybe she should be offended? But she found it hysterical that he actually thought that she cared what he thought about her. Humph.