“Honey? I asked you a question.”
He took a bite, and only after swallowing did he answer. “Okay.”
“Just okay?”
When he nodded, she waited. “Did you have a bad dream?” As soon as she asked, she realized she could be speaking about herself.
He shook his head.
“Honey? I’m trying to talk to you. Did something happen last night?”
“It was loud.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to keep any concern from her voice. It couldn’t have been Gary; there was no way he could have found them yet.
“There were crickets. Like a million of them. I think there were frogs, too.”
She smiled. “We’re in the country, so you’re probably right.”
He nodded. Took another bite.
“How do you like the school? And your teacher?”
For the life of her, Beverly couldn’t remember the teacher’s name, but then again, there wasn’t much time left in the school year and she’d only been at the school long enough to sign him up, so she supposed she could be forgiven for her lapse.
“Tommie?”
“She’s okay,” he said with a sigh.
“Have you made any friends yet?”
He ate another spoonful of cereal, then finally looked up at her. “Can we get a dog?”
He’d asked for a dog before, yet another reminder that there was so much more she wished she could do for him. Gary had never allowed one, but even though that life was behind them now, she knew she couldn’t afford to take care of a dog. And who knew when they’d have to run again? “We’ll see,” she hedged.
He nodded, knowing exactly what her answer meant.
When Tommie was finished with his cereal, Beverly tugged at his shirt, straightening it, then helped him on with his backpack. Still barefoot, she ducked upstairs to her bedroom and put on her shoes before walking with her son toward the stump near the road, where they sat and waited for the school bus. The air was becoming soupy, and she knew it was going to be another hot one.
The bus arrived minutes after they’d taken their seats, and as Beverly watched Tommie silently board the bus, she noticed the heat was already turning the horizon into liquid.
The small grocery store nearest the house wouldn’t be open for at least an hour, so after the bus vanished in a swirl of gravel dust, Beverly wandered back inside, thinking it was finally time to tackle the oven.
She went to the bathroom and made a quick ponytail, using a rubber band she found in one of the drawers, then searched under the kitchen sink and in the pantry for the cleanser. She sprayed the surface of the stovetop and began to scrub, noting the burns and scratches, but some of the spills seemed welded to the surface. With a strange sense of satisfaction, she wrapped the tip of a butter knife in the dishrag and, bearing down hard, watched the crusty remains slowly curl away.
After the stovetop, she’d nearly sweated through her shirt from exertion. She sprayed cleaner into the oven, knowing it needed to soak for a while, then went upstairs to the bathroom and removed her shirt. She washed it with a bit of shampoo, then hung it to dry over the shower curtain. It was pointless to put a single piece of clothing in the washer. After that, she started to get ready. She slipped into a clean shirt, pinned up her hair, and slid on the wig, becoming a short-haired brunette again, before wrapping her chest in the Ace bandage. She added dark foundation, changing her complexion, and applied dark lipstick. After donning her sunglasses and baseball hat, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. Perfect.
She left the house and marched down the gravel road that led toward town, feeling the crunch beneath her feet. She stopped twice to peek over her shoulder at the house, trying to gauge when it could no longer be seen from the road. Since moving in, she’d automatically turned toward the windows whenever she heard a vehicle approaching, watching to see if it slowed, and she wanted to know how far away a vehicle could pull over and park without being seen.
It took almost an hour to walk the three miles to the store; it would take longer on the way back because she’d be carrying bags, one of which would include a gallon of milk. She knew it was good exercise, just as she knew she was already too thin and that too much exercise was the opposite of what she needed. As she’d glanced in the bathroom mirror while hanging her shirt, she was able to count almost every rib.
The store was family-owned, not part of a chain. It was called Red’s and looked as though it had been in business since Kennedy was president. Across the street, there was a gas station that appeared equally dated, next to a small hardware store. After that, there was a bunch of nothing for at least another mile, until the motel and the diner. It might be less expensive to shop if she ventured farther into town to the bigger stores, but that meant a much longer walk.