Intent(9)

“Layne, George Edwards is our superior court judge and Louise is his beautiful wife, who tells him what to do so he can do it right the first time.”

“It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Welcome to our fair city,” George replies. “Are you staying long?”

“A few months. Until the end of summer.”

Louise smiles knowingly. “Go ahead and start looking for a permanent residence. By the end of summer, you won’t want to leave here.”

“I don’t doubt that at all. I’m looking forward to getting out and exploring the area.”

“Where are you from?” Louise asks.

“New York.”

“Well, we certainly hope you enjoy your stay,” she replies.

I thank her just before Tara steps in front of me, placing my meal on the table. “I had to save you,” she whispers, “or Louise wouldn’t quit asking you questions.”

Her words almost make me snort with laughter, but I just barely manage to contain it. “I appreciate that, Tara,” I whisper back.

As I devour my delicious, early afternoon lunch, I realize that I’ve smiled, laughed, and felt lighter more in the short time since I left home than I have in the last several weeks. The realization that this trip is exactly what I needed relieves some of the stress I’ve carried over taking a leave of absence from my job. As I pay the bill and leave Tara a nice tip, I decide to hit the grocery store while I’m already in town.

“Where is the grocery store from here?”

“It’s just a couple of blocks down on the right,” Tara replies as she turns to the window to point in the general direction. “You can’t miss it.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“Come back and see us,” Tara calls as I walk out.

She was exactly right—there is no way I could’ve missed the grocery store. In this small town, there’s really no way to get lost. The grocery store sits back off the main road with what appears to be more parking spots than there are people in this town. Shaking my head, I wonder if these people realize the stark difference that I see. Parking in the city is an expensive and rare commodity, yet here’s a parking lot that would accommodate every resident in this town with space left to spare.

The customers here apparently all park as close as they can because all of the spaces directly in front of the store are taken. “I need to stretch my legs anyway,” I say aloud to myself as I pull into a space farther away from the doors. Casual glances and outright blatant stares greet me as I walk the aisles with my shopping cart. Undeterred by the curious patrons who obviously recognize that I’m not from here, I fill the basket with enough groceries to last one person the next few days.

“Hi. How are you today?” the cashier asks as she begins dragging my items across the scanner. She looks young, and I realize she’s probably still in high school and just working a part-time job after school.

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Pretty good. Can’t decide what’s worse—school or work. At least they both get me out of the house, though.”

“Working keeps you from being bored to death at home, right?” I counter.

A strange look passes over her face before she quickly hides her feelings again. My suspicions are instantly raised, and I wonder what kind of home life she has. “Yeah, that’s true,” she replies with a noncommittal shrug of her shoulder.

“What grade are you in?”

“I’m a junior right now. We get out of school for the year in a few weeks, and I’ll officially be a senior. One more year,” she says wistfully.

“Do you work here during the summer break, too?”

“Yeah, but still just part time.” Her melancholy tone and omitted words tell me more than she realizes.

“Well, Zoe,” I purposely say her name as I pay. “I’ll be back in here to check on you soon. Make sure you’re not too bored.” I wink. The playful jest earns me a genuine smile from her.

“Make sure you come on a day I’m scheduled to work. My shifts always start after noon because of school, and it just carries over into summer to make it easier to schedule. If I’m not right here, you’ll have to shop on another day.” She’s half joking and half serious.

“You got it. I’ll only shop here when you’re working.” My agreement to her terms seems to please her more than I thought, making me wonder how much attention she really gets at home.

As I walk back toward the Jeep, a sudden movement, followed by an elderly woman’s shriek, jars me from my thoughts. The scene in front of me plays out in slow motion even though my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. A beautiful little blond girl, who looks to be around three or four years old, is running full throttle toward the store. The elderly woman with her can’t catch up to her, and the intense fear written all over her face is contagious as I follow her gaze.

A full-size four-wheel drive truck, complete with a lift-kit and oversized tires, is backing out of a parking space. Even if the teenage boy driving the truck was actually watching where he was going, the truck sits up too high for him to see the little girl darting directly into his path. The boy inside the truck is focused on his radio, trying to find just the right song to listen to and is completely oblivious to the elderly woman screaming in terror.