“And you always said you’d forgotten your wallet.”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly tell my little girl we were broke.”
I hugged her before leaving.
An hour later, I was reaching for milk when I heard an elderly woman plead, “Please. I only need one.”
We were broke.
At the end of the refrigerated aisle, a woman in heels and a camel coat was loading discounted turkeys into her cart.
All twelve of them.
Each marked $9.99.
I recognized her immediately.
Beatrice belonged to a wealthy family known for apartment buildings, car dealerships, and an enormous mansion outside town.
I only need one.
Beside her stood a tiny woman in a worn blue coat.
I remembered Mom’s empty grocery bags. Whatever was happening here, I wasn’t walking away.
“My grandson has the flu,” she explained. “I raise him alone. I wanted to make soup.”
“Then buy chicken,” Beatrice replied.
