Page 6 of His Wounded Heart

Don’t engage.

I kept going.

“Sir? Did you find what you needed?”

Not looking back, I just nod and wave over my shoulder as I head to the back wall of the meat department.

Made it.

When I get to the butcher shop, I zero in on the lean meats and make my selections, then turn to the first aisle, which contains the elixir of life.

Coffee.

Now here, I have no other option. I have to slow down. I have to take my time and make wise decisions. If you pick the wrong type of coffee, you’re screwed for the entire week. At least Roger understands the need to have a good assortment of coffees. It almost, not quite, but almost reminds me of my days in California.

First, there are the esoteric brands. These are nothing but packaging hype. The beans are all the same selection of overcooked burned beans, but they make it sound like you’re getting something unique. Yeah, sure, the only thing unique is the name like Matt’s Mission to Mars. I swear pot shops and coffee shops both compete to see who can come up with the craziest names for their product.

Then I see something interesting. A whole-bean from Kona; now this has possibilities, and then another bag from Costa Rica that I’m really partial to. Just picking up the bag and squeezing and smelling it brings a momentary smile to my heart. I savor the good feeling, knowing it won’t last long.

Enough of that. I’ve just wasted a good minute. I hit the canned goods. I need juices, spaghetti sauce and beans. Then I make my way to the dairy section. I pick up the smallest carton of whole milk for sautéing, then go to the oat milk and grab some half-gallons.

“Is oat milk any good? Is it better than coconut milk?”

Fuck me.

I turn and attempt a smile. By the way the grandmotherly type rears backward, my attempt has failed. Words are necessary to smooth things over.

“Do you like coconut milk?” I ask gently.

She gives me a timid smile. “No, I like milk-milk. My granddaughter likes coconut water. I saw there is coconut milk. I thought I would buy that for her while she visits.”

That is really sweet. Really sweet. It reminds me of the type of thing my mother used to do for Lizzy and me before she passed away.

I look in her cart and see that she’s selected mostly generic items and the cuffs on her coat are worn. She doesn’t look like she can afford to be buying expensive coconut milk and have her granddaughter not like it.

“How old is your granddaughter?” I ask her.

“Fourteen. This is probably the last year she’s going to want to come and visit and make cookies with her gran.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I smile. “My mom and my sister baked cookies every holiday before she got married. And Lizzy didn’t get married until she was twenty-five.”

“You think she’ll still bake with me that long?” the older woman asks hopefully.

“Sure,” I choke out. I need to leave.

Now.

But first I need to finish up what I’d started. “I would take your granddaughter shopping with you and make sure she likes coconut milk before spending money on something she doesn’t like.”

The woman gave me a warm smile. “That’s great advice. Thank you.”

I nod and turn away. It’s all I can do. Why hadn’t I ever noticed that Lizzy stopped doing things with Mom after she married Ned?

That had been a serious red fucking flag!

Chapter Three

The produce section is next. I don’t give a shit what I get. There’s green stuff, some red stuff, and some orange stuff. I just throw it in the cart and make a beeline to the check-out lane.