There were sprawling horse farms on the outskirts of town with slick fences and emerald green pastures. I could almost smell the wealth and privilege. It reminded me of Warner’s parents’ country club.
Four bikers in worn denim and leather roared past us on motorcycles, the engine rumble a vibration in my bones, as they escaped the confines of town.
Horse people and bikers. It was a unique combination.
The farms disappeared and were replaced by tidy homes on tidy lots that got closer and closer together until we were on the main street. Traffic was light. So I was able to pay more attention to the downtown area than I had this morning. There was a farm supply store and a gift shop next to the mechanic. Opposite was a hardware store and the pet store where my Volvo had been stolen.
“Grocery store’s this way,” Waylay called from ahead of me as she took another left turn much faster than I felt prudent.
“Slow down!” Great. Half a day in my care and my niece was going to end up knocking out her front teeth by riding face first into a stop sign.
Waylay ignored me. She zipped down the block and into the parking lot.
I added bike helmets to my mental shopping list and followed her.
After parking our bikes on the rack by the front door, I pulled out the envelope I’d —thankfully—hidden in a box of tampons. Minutes before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, my mother had handed me a card full of cash.
It was supposed to be our wedding present. Spending money for the honeymoon. Now it was the only money I had access to until I could replace my stolen credit and debit cards.
I shuddered to think how much money I’d stupidly shelled out of my own savings for the wedding that never happened.
“Guess you can’t buy too many brussels sprouts since we’re on bikes,” Waylay observed smugly.
“Guess again, smarty-pants,” I said, pointing at the sign in the window.
Home Delivery Available.
“Aww, man,” she groaned.
“Now we can get a truckload of vegetables,” I said cheerily.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” I demanded, waggling stalks of asparagus at Waylay.
“No to asparagus,” Waylay said. “It’s green.”
“You don’t eat green foods?”
“Not unless it comes in candy form.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You have to eat some vegetables. What about fruits?”
“I like pie,” she said, poking suspiciously at a bin of mangos as if she’d never seen them before.
“What do you usually eat for dinner with…with your mom?” I had no idea whether Tina was a touchy subject or if she routinely left Waylay to fend for herself. I felt like I was blindfolded and being forced to shuffle out onto a frozen lake. The ice would break under my feet sooner or later, I just didn’t know where or when.
Her shoulders hiked up toward her ears. “Dunno. Whatever was in the fridge.”
“Leftovers?” I asked hopefully.
“I make Easy Mac and frozen pizzas. Sometimes nuggets,” Waylay said, growing bored with the mangos and moving on to frown at a display of green leaf lettuces. “Can we get Pop-Tarts?”
I was getting a headache. I needed more sleep and coffee. Not necessarily in that order. “Maybe. But first we have to agree on a few healthy foods.”
A man in a Grover’s Groceries apron turned the corner into produce. His polite smile vanished when he caught sight of us. Eyes narrowed, lip curled, he looked as if he’d just spotted us drop-kicking a plastic, light-up Baby Jesus in an outdoor nativity scene.
“Hello,” I said, adding an extra punch of warmth to my smile.