pushed her shopping cart down the aisles of Le Natural Foods, Nalley’s upscale grocery store, she hummed the theme from Singing’ in the Rain .
She sensed Helen would take her recommendations, she loved contributing to society again, and the challenge of transforming Hot Diggitys into a modern cash cow. After her husband’s death, and being laid off from her job, she’d felt useless.
Though no Donald Trump, Helen was hard working and a good mother.
Agatha wheeled the cart to checkout and paid for her groceries. Still humming, she pulled into her detached garage then carried the groceries to her back door. The door flung open startling her. Agatha staggered back, dropped her groceries, and pressed her palm to her chest.
“Mom?”
Before her stood her gaunt, tattooed son with a blackened eye and a swollen, cracked bottom lip. “Jeremy? You scared me half to death.”
Jeremy picked up the bags and carried them into the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, I let myself in.”
Agatha didn’t want to know how. “What’s going on? What sort of trouble are you in?”
“Can’t I visit my mom without being in trouble?”
“You could, but you wouldn’t.”
“It’s nice to see you too Ma.” Jeremy’s sneer revealed yellow-and-black teeth.
The last time she’d seen Jeremy was at Arnold’s funeral three years earlier. Jeremy had only been interested in whether he’d received an inheritance. “Where have you been living?” Agatha asked.
“When did you get a new car?”
Agatha’s tense posture went rigid. She pulled a carton of milk from her bag and opened the refrigerator. Her meatloaf was gone as well as a block of cheddar cheese.
She told herself she’d had too much food for one person anyway and put the milk inside. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have purchased extra groceries.”
“I don’t have a cell phone, and pay phones are hard to find anymore.” Jeremy sat at the kitchen table and draped his arm over the back of the chair. “Mercedes. Those aren’t cheap.”
Agatha had the motherly urge to admit the truth, that Alfred had had a great life-insurance policy. Jeremy had a right to know didn’t he? Her other two children knew. “My ancient Volvo finally broke down,” she said.
“I didn’t know you made that kind of money being a secretary.”
“Office manager.”
“I’ll make lunch.” Jeremy popped out of his seat. “What do you want?”
Meatloaf. “I can make my own—”
“Nah. I feel like I should since I ate your leftovers. What do you want?”
“How about soup?”
“No problem.” Jeremy flipped open cupboard doors.
A man reeking of body odor with blue-and-red serpents wrapping his arms was out of place in her pristine kitchen. Agatha worked to keep her heart rate down.
“Where do you keep it?” Jeremy asked.
“Keep what?”
“The soup.”
“In the refrigerator and the cupboard. I don’t buy it in cans.” She tried not to sound patronizing, but failed. “I’ll make myself lunch.”
Jeremy wacked the back of cabinet door, it slammed into the base and bounced back open. “Mother know best. I’ll go watch TV.”
Agatha nodded.
Jeremy started out of the kitchen.
“Jeremy,” Agatha called. “You can wear your father’s clothes if you like. I put them in the spare bedroom. Maybe you want to take a shower and change?”
“Sure.” He kept his back to her and took another step.
“Jeremy!”
He stopped again. “Yeah?”
“How long will you be staying?”
He faced her. At least he had the nerve to look her in the eyes. “Only a couple weeks, maybe a month. Until I can get back on my feet.”
She forced a smile. “I’m glad you came.” She opened the refrigerator as he disappeared from view.
****
Ben turned onto Interstate 5. He drove a Home Depot rental truck full of appliances, equipment, and supplies. It would take an hour to get back to Helen’s house. He knew she’d never agree to his help, so he’d opted for the
She sensed Helen would take her recommendations, she loved contributing to society again, and the challenge of transforming Hot Diggitys into a modern cash cow. After her husband’s death, and being laid off from her job, she’d felt useless.
Though no Donald Trump, Helen was hard working and a good mother.
Agatha wheeled the cart to checkout and paid for her groceries. Still humming, she pulled into her detached garage then carried the groceries to her back door. The door flung open startling her. Agatha staggered back, dropped her groceries, and pressed her palm to her chest.
“Mom?”
Before her stood her gaunt, tattooed son with a blackened eye and a swollen, cracked bottom lip. “Jeremy? You scared me half to death.”
Jeremy picked up the bags and carried them into the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, I let myself in.”
Agatha didn’t want to know how. “What’s going on? What sort of trouble are you in?”
“Can’t I visit my mom without being in trouble?”
“You could, but you wouldn’t.”
“It’s nice to see you too Ma.” Jeremy’s sneer revealed yellow-and-black teeth.
The last time she’d seen Jeremy was at Arnold’s funeral three years earlier. Jeremy had only been interested in whether he’d received an inheritance. “Where have you been living?” Agatha asked.
“When did you get a new car?”
Agatha’s tense posture went rigid. She pulled a carton of milk from her bag and opened the refrigerator. Her meatloaf was gone as well as a block of cheddar cheese.
She told herself she’d had too much food for one person anyway and put the milk inside. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have purchased extra groceries.”
“I don’t have a cell phone, and pay phones are hard to find anymore.” Jeremy sat at the kitchen table and draped his arm over the back of the chair. “Mercedes. Those aren’t cheap.”
Agatha had the motherly urge to admit the truth, that Alfred had had a great life-insurance policy. Jeremy had a right to know didn’t he? Her other two children knew. “My ancient Volvo finally broke down,” she said.
“I didn’t know you made that kind of money being a secretary.”
“Office manager.”
“I’ll make lunch.” Jeremy popped out of his seat. “What do you want?”
Meatloaf. “I can make my own—”
“Nah. I feel like I should since I ate your leftovers. What do you want?”
“How about soup?”
“No problem.” Jeremy flipped open cupboard doors.
A man reeking of body odor with blue-and-red serpents wrapping his arms was out of place in her pristine kitchen. Agatha worked to keep her heart rate down.
“Where do you keep it?” Jeremy asked.
“Keep what?”
“The soup.”
“In the refrigerator and the cupboard. I don’t buy it in cans.” She tried not to sound patronizing, but failed. “I’ll make myself lunch.”
Jeremy wacked the back of cabinet door, it slammed into the base and bounced back open. “Mother know best. I’ll go watch TV.”
Agatha nodded.
Jeremy started out of the kitchen.
“Jeremy,” Agatha called. “You can wear your father’s clothes if you like. I put them in the spare bedroom. Maybe you want to take a shower and change?”
“Sure.” He kept his back to her and took another step.
“Jeremy!”
He stopped again. “Yeah?”
“How long will you be staying?”
He faced her. At least he had the nerve to look her in the eyes. “Only a couple weeks, maybe a month. Until I can get back on my feet.”
She forced a smile. “I’m glad you came.” She opened the refrigerator as he disappeared from view.
****
Ben turned onto Interstate 5. He drove a Home Depot rental truck full of appliances, equipment, and supplies. It would take an hour to get back to Helen’s house. He knew she’d never agree to his help, so he’d opted for the
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