A gallon of milk in the dairy case was marked at four dollars and twelve cents, up another nickel from last week.
I brought my items to Lane Four, where Arthur was already waiting behind his register.
“Just the tea and honey today, Martha?” Arthur asked.
“The autumn chill is getting into my knees,” I said.
“It is coming on fast this year,” Arthur said.
Beyond the end of the register lane, near the glass-walled manager’s office, a young man in a sharp grey suit stood watching us.
It was Gary Sneed, the new regional efficiency manager.
He tapped the screen of his smart watch twice, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s hands as they moved over the register keys.
Arthur did not look up, but his fingers seemed to slow down on the keypad.
A strip of bright yellow warning tape was stretched across the floor at the entrance of Lane Four, held down by heavy silver staples.
I figured they were finally going to patch the worn linoleum where the cart wheels rub.
Gary Sneed took two steps closer, his eyes still on his watch.
By eleven, I was back on my front porch, sitting on the wooden glider with my grocery bag.
Clara’s sedan pressed into the gravel driveway, tires crunching on the dry maple leaves.
She hurried up the porch steps and dropped a small stack of mail onto my lap.
“I saw your car was back,” Clara said. “Did you look at the brochure yet?”
My fingers found the small silver key on my keychain in my pocket.
I began rubbing the flat edge of the metal to keep my hand steady.
“I have enough to cover the gas bill, Clara,” I said.
“The gas bill is going up thirty percent this winter, Mom,” Clara said.
She twisted her wedding ring again, her gaze dropping to my pocketed hand.
