Saving Rain(64)

Finally.

“Where did they put the canned beets?” Helen Kinney, mother to Officer Kinney, muttered to herself that same day, wandering down the aisle pushing a cart. “They were right over here a couple of weeks ago. So, where did—”

I looked up from mopping up a box of shattered sauce jars and pointed to the left. “Oh, all canned vegetables were moved to aisle four.”

She turned and offered a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Soldier,” she said in her melodic Irish accent. “Why’d they have to go and move everythin’ around?”

I shrugged and leaned against the mop handle. “To make your life a little more difficult, obviously,” I teased.

She laughed lightheartedly. “Certainly feels that way!”

Then, with a wave of her hand, she was off, heading toward aisle four. I got back to my mopping as Mrs. Greta Montgomery tottered down the aisle I was working on.

Now, Mrs. Montgomery was a tough cookie. She was older than sand and bore the resemblance of a turtle with a hunched back, which only made her short stature even shorter. She was also a cranky old woman who didn’t lower her guard easily to newcomers. She didn’t trust me, and she made no secret of that by how she pointed her sour expression in my direction.

“I hope you’re changing the water in that bucket,” she said, jabbing a knobby finger toward the bucket at my feet. “If there’s one thing I hate at the church, it’s when they mop the floor with dirty water.”

I was certain there were a thousand things she hated more, but I wasn’t about to say so. I’d won plenty of fights in my time, but I wasn’t sure I could win against her.

“I’ll be changing it as soon as I’m done cleaning up this mess,” I promised, giving her my biggest grin.

“What’s the point of mopping if you’re just going to use dirty water? Might as well not clean at all.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“I feel the same way about that Facebook,” she went on, moving along and pushing the cart past me. “What’s the point of yammering away on there when you can just call someone?”

I shrugged. “I don’t have Facebook, so I couldn’t say.”

She stopped to glance at me with studious eyes. “You’re not on the World Wide Web?”

I stifled a snort as I lifted one shoulder in another shrug. “Not really.”

“How do you talk to people then?”

“I call or text all the people I care to talk to,” I replied. “Although, to be honest with you, most of the people I want to keep in touch with live here anyway, so …”

“What about family?”

“Don’t have family.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Everyone has family.”

“I don’t. My grandparents are dead, no aunts or uncles or cousins.”

Her scowl might’ve softened just a little as she asked, “What about your parents? Siblings?”

I pulled in a deep breath before replying, “I never knew my father, I’m better off not knowing my mom, and I’m an only child.”

“Hmm.” She looked away, studying her bony fingers clutching the handle of the cart. “Everyone deserves family.”

I nodded. “I agree. But they weren’t a part of the plan for me, I guess.”

She huffed another contemplative sound as she nodded. Then, she stared right into my eyes and asked, “Do you like banana bread?”

The unexpected question left me taken aback as I nodded. “Yeah, I do. Haven’t had it in a long time, but—”

“Stop by my house later if you’d like some. I just baked a few loaves.”

And just like that, she was wandering off again and leaving me to finish the mopping. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, feeling like I’d finally made some headway with the old crone, when she stopped abruptly and turned around.

“And remember what I said about mopping with dirty water!”

I snorted and lifted my mouth in a lopsided grin. “I have a feeling you’ll never let me forget.”

***

“Soldier!” Howard greeted me as I headed back inside after helping Marjorie Bush load her car with her grocery bags.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna come into my office for a second?”

There was a long list of things I’d prefer to do over spending any time in Howard’s office. The guy was nice enough—I mean, he had offered me a job, experience unknown, and I couldn’t forget that—but, man, his office always smelled like onions and egg salad, and having any kind of conversation with him was about as exciting as watching the hands of a clock tick away the hours. But he was my boss, and he knew I wouldn’t say no, onion stench and all, so I nodded.

“Yeah, sure. Hold on a sec,” I said before hurrying over to purple-haired Kylie, wife of local music legend Devin O’Leary, who was having one hell of a time trying to reach a sack of flour off the top shelf.

I grabbed it for her, no problem, and she returned the favor with a grateful smile.

“I was ready to climb the shelves.” She laughed, her cheeks pinking beneath the warm overhead lights. “Shopping always sucks when Devin’s not around.”

Devin was a couple of inches shorter than me at six-five, which was nothing to scoff at. The one time I had the pleasure of meeting the guy, he’d laughed good-naturedly before graciously handing over the title of Tallest Guy in Town.