“Good catch,” he says with a wink.
That’s all it takes for my earlier snappishness to dissipate as my lips lift.
“Drive safe,” Mom adds, “and don’t get lost.”
I give her an—are you crazy look. “That would be kind of hard to do.”
“The town isn’t that small,” Dad grumbles with a roll of his eyes.
“Whatever you say.” With a wave, I grab my purse from the credenza in the front hall before walking out the door and heading to the Volvo. I start it up and pull out my phone to search for the closest Target. It takes a moment for a response to pop up.
Hmmm. Apparently, the nearest one is over a hundred miles away.
All right, let’s look for Wal-Mart.
That also turns out to be a no-go. I wrack my brain, trying to recall if I saw any big-box stores when we drove through town. But let’s face it, I was a little shellshocked at the time and had stopped processing my surroundings. As I search for the closest store, the only thing that comes up is a place called Rothchild’s.
Never heard of it.
With little in the way of choices, it’s a simple decision. I tap the screen until the map sets with turn-by-turn directions before easing the SUV out of the drive and onto the street toward town. I switch on the radio and flick the channel until Billie Eilish explodes from the speakers and some of the tension filling me drains away.
I press the button on the door handle and the window disappears as the lush green scenery passes by. The sun casts its last rays of light before dipping beneath the horizon. I guess all those twangy country songs are right. There is definitely something to be said for country roads and wide-open spaces. Fields of tall grass and trees that spear up into the sky. The smell of fresh air as it hits your nostrils. I’m more used to bustling city streets crammed with cars, people, and skyscrapers.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of Rothchild’s which is located on the opposite end of town and cut the engine. It’s a single level, squat white brick building. The kind of store that probably would have been popular before Target and Wal-Mart took over the market. I swipe my purse from the front seat and exit the vehicle. The parking lot is about a fourth of the way full.
Apparently, on a Sunday evening, this is the place to be. I push through the front door into the vestibule and grab a cart. It’s like my head is on a swivel as I wheel past aisles of greeting cards, cleaning products, health care goods, a small selection of furniture, and clothing before hitting the jackpot.
Happiness fills my heart at the wide assortment of school supplies.
I’m one of those dorks that secretly enjoys shopping in July for materials. If my life hadn’t been turned upside down, that’s exactly what I would have done. Usually I have a list of everything I need for first semester. Today, I’ll have to wing it. I run my fingers over the covers of plastic bound notebooks before tossing a few in the cart. I grab a couple packs of mechanical pencils and gel pens which are, hands down, my favorite. My fingers are already itching to open them and doodle in a notebook. A few binders and folders get added. Who am I to resist a box of colored pencils and Post-it Notes in a variety of pastel colors?
Hmmm, should I get a calculator?
If my schedule mimics my old one, calculus will be one of my classes. And my calculator has gone MIA in the move.
There are only a couple options to choose from. I pull one from the rack, turn it over, and study the list of capabilities. It’s more than a hundred dollars. I don’t want to spend that kind of money if it’s unnecessary.
I’m in the middle of doing a side-by-side comparison when two girls turn into the aisle. They’re chatting and laughing. One holds a small basket that dangles from her arm. I scout them out, all the while pretending to be engrossed in the calculator packages.
The first thing I notice is that both are wearing short shorts that barely cover their ass cheeks and shirts that hug their curves. It’s the same kind of outfit girls at home would wear. I suppose that’s a positive. It can’t be totally ass backward here if the fashion is similar, right?
My gaze gravitates to the girl with long blond hair. She’s the one who has been doing most of the talking and gives off that whole I’m in charge vibe. The other has brunette hair pulled back into a ponytail. Both are pretty. I try not to make it too obvious that I’m eavesdropping on their conversation. Although, the blonde is loud in an obnoxious way, so it would be difficult not to hear what she has to say.