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“Jazzy,
sweetie, I’m going out to dinner with my bridge group,” Mama
announced as she walked through the living room.
“And I have a
sleep over,” Rayna piped up. “You remember that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I
know.” Rayna and the girl next door were inching their way toward
friendship, and that was the best news I’d had in a long time.
Considering Rayna’s personality, making new friends would be the
only thing that would change her attitude toward Meadow Lake.
Mama and
Rayna left for their respective activities and I was stuck with a
bowl of popcorn and a DVD. Was it possible to be a wallflower at
50?
“Crumb,” I
muttered, searching the kitchen cabinets for the bottle of wine I
had seen a couple of days ago. Did I drink it?
“Jeeze,” I
groused. Grousing had become my favorite form of communication.
As I grabbed
the car keys from the foyer table I accidentally caught a brief
glance in the mirror.
Good gosh! I
looked like a refuge from swap meet. What in the world had happened
to the woman who could confidently walk into a roomful of men
wearing thousand dollar suits?
She was
obviously on vacation. Either that or she’d died.
Well, crap!
I pulled my hair up into a Bam Bam ponytail, smeared on some lip
gloss and called it good. I was only going to the grocery store for
a bottle of wine – never mind that in Meadow Lake the Super Saver
was the hub of civilization.
Sure enough,
the parking lot was crammed with cars. What? They were having a
run on dairy products? Considering the fact it was Friday night,
more than likely it was a run on beer – beer they’d take to a party,
a party that I wasn’t invited to. Yikes! Self-induced pity was
so disgusting.
In my
previous life I didn’t have time for a wasted trip to the store, and
habits die hard; so I grabbed a cart and went through a mental
inventory of things we needed.
I headed
straight to the Snickers aisle. Pigging out on chocolate sounded
like a wee bit of paradise - Snickers, chocolate brownie ice cream
with caramel, or double fudge Keeblers. If I didn’t get on my
current binge, my butt was going to end up broader than a barn
door. What’s with the barn door thing? The longer I hung out in
the Lone Star state the more I thought in terms of Texan-isms.
So instead of
whacking myself up side the head – yikes, there it was again - I did
the adult thing and wheeled my cart through the produce section.
The melons were plump. The peaches were juicy. The oranges, well,
they were orange, and there wasn’t a single solitary thing in the
whole section that produced endorphins. Those wonderful, wonderful,
make me feel good endorphins.
Skip that – I
was on to the meat section where I found a huge display of menudo.
Only in south Texas could you find packages of cow’s stomach
snuggled up next to a selection of pot roasts. That was one
delicacy I could skip. Forever!
So far so
good, I hadn’t seen a soul I recognized. The wine and beer aisle
was another story, indeed. Friday night, small Texas town, six
packs of Shiner Bock – yep, half the town was perusing the
refrigerated beer counter - at least the folks who weren’t Baptist.
Oh well, in
for a penny, and all that garbage. I turned the cart toward my
destination. By that time I wasn’t picky; I’d take just about
anything in a bottle with a cork. I had my standards. I drew the
line at screw tops.
I had just
grabbed a bottle of Fredericksburg white when I heard the voice
– oh, what a voice.
“Sunshine,
what are you doing here?”
My world was
about to be turned on its axis, again. Slowly, very slowly, I
turned and there he was, Charlie Morrison in all his blond, still
broad shouldered, handsome glory. Speaking of wine, that man had
aged like a fine merlot.
Through all
the ups and downs of life with Dom, I had never been able to get
Charlie out of my mind. Out of the blue I’d start thinking about
him and wondering what he was doing. Now suddenly, there he was
right in front of me. He was still gorgeous, and I was. . I was.
“Hi,
Charlie,” I squeaked. “I’m picking up some wine.” Like an idiot I
held up the bottle, but before I could say anything else he
enveloped me in a huge hug. It was an action that drew stares from
some of the people who were checking out the selection of Napa
Valley products. Since when had hugging in public become taboo?
“It’s good to
see you.” He held me out at arm’s length and took a look. “Are you
here on vacation?”
The rumor
mill obviously hadn’t burped out my sordid story to the entire
populace.
“Well, sort
of and sort of not. I’m here testing the waters.” I didn’t explain
what I meant by that comment.
He laughed
and I was delighted to discover that he still had that wonderful
belly laugh. The one I remembered so well, and realized I had
missed desperately. It was the memory of that sound that sustained
me through the darkest years of my divorce.
“Here,” he
took the bottle out of my hand, put it in the basket and took
command of the cart. “Let’s check out and head over to the Coffee
Cup, my treat. We have a lot to get caught up on.”
Charlie and
my grocery cart were halfway to the check out stand before I could
close my mouth much less summon a cogent thought. And that thought
was “good grief.”
This was not
a rational girl’s daydream. In a fantasy I would have looked like a
million dollars – not a dollar store babe.
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