“Mary Jane—”
I violently shook my head and put my fingers to my lips again.
Izzy half-whispered, “Mary Jane, what about the ratio?”
I pulled Izzy’s head toward mine, put my mouth against her ear, and whispered, “We’re hiding from someone in the next aisle.”
“The witch?!” Izzy said loudly.
I wondered if anyone in the Cone house ever fully whispered. They yelled so much that it had started to feel like plain old talking to me. And when they talked, it felt almost like a whisper.
“Witches hate grocery stores.” I turned the cart around so I was facing the checkout counters. I couldn’t see each cashier, but would see if my mother went to the middle one.
And then my mother turned up on the far end of the aisle we were on.
I jerked the cart and dashed around to the canned soup aisle. What was my mother doing in the store now? She went shopping every Friday morning. Today was Monday! She’d already gone shopping for the week!
I considered pulling Izzy from the cart and running from the store. We could wait behind the newspaper boxes, spying to see when my mother walked out.
Then I remembered the gift corner. There wasn’t much there: packaged candies, boxed chocolates, and some coffee mugs and aprons that had eddie’s printed on the front. The wheels of the cart wobbled and clacked as I almost sprinted toward the gifts and then came to a jerking stop.
“What are we doing?” Izzy whisper-shouted. “What about the ratio?!”
“Let’s pretend we’re chefs!” I pulled two aprons off the rack and put one on myself quickly. I put the top loop of the other apron over Izzy’s head and then tied it around her waist. It was like a maxi dress on her. I was double knotting it behind her back when my mother strolled up.
“Mary Jane?” My mother’s body was stiff, upright, an ironing board on end.
“Mom! This is Izzy.”
“Hello, dear.” My mother nodded down once at Izzy, who stared at her, openmouthed and bug-eyed, as if my mother were the witch. “Is it safe to ride on the cart like that?”
“What are you doing here?” I ignored my mother’s question, and Izzy didn’t answer either. She must have intuited that my mother’s words were a statement of disapproval disguised as a question.
“Your father called from work and said his stomach was upset. I need to change the dinner menu tonight.”
“Oh, poor Dad.”
“Why are you in aprons?” Mom’s head tocked to the side. I could almost hear her thoughts. She didn’t like dillydallying and obviously didn’t approve of what appeared to be dangerous game-playing in the grocery store.
Quickly, I blurted out, “Mrs. Cone asked me to buy some for them and I thought it would be fun to wear them while we shopped.”
“Are you doing the grocery shopping for Mrs. Cone?” Now she actually showed her disapproval on her furrowed brow. To my mother, shopping for one’s home was serious business.
“We need Popsicles,” Izzy said. Her voice wasn’t as jumpy and high as usual.
“I thought we’d start with the aprons, you know. To make the shopping more exciting.”
“Hm.” My mother nodded, examining me. “I suggest you don’t wear them until you pay for them.”
“But it’s so much fun for Izzy.” I held my mother’s gaze and smiled.
“I’d think twice about that if I were you.” Mom turned her head toward Izzy, balancing on the end of the cart. “And you need to be safe, too.”
“Okay. Yeah, maybe we’ll hang out here a few minutes, just for fun.” I finally glanced at Izzy, who was now staring at me. She seemed confused but also appeared to know that she shouldn’t say anything.
“See you tonight, dear.” My mother turned abruptly and walked to the closest checkout counter. She didn’t look back at us. I could feel my heart like a drum in my chest and knew it wouldn’t stop until my mother was entirely out of the store.
“Your mom is scary,” Izzy actually whispered.
“Really?” It never occured to me that she looked or seemed scary to anyone but me. Her voice was always in a steady, calm middle tone. She was tidy. Clean. Not many wrinkles. Her hair was blonder than mine. If she colored it, she didn’t let me know.
“Does she spank you?”
“No, not often.” She’d whacked me across the head many times. But she’d never pulled me over her knee. My father had never spanked me either, but he did have a big fist that balled up in silence when he was angry. Usually his anger was directed toward the newspaper, or the news. He disliked many politicians, and he particularly hated the heads of most foreign countries.