Nancy Pickard - The Scent of Rain and Lightning

She couldn’t control people’s responses to her.

She could barely control her own reactions, so why expect more of other people?

All she could do was breathe, and grit her teeth when need be, and put all her energy into buying a bra without weeping over it the way Chase had sobbed over the fence post. She could only smile and reply, “Twenties will be fine, thanks,” and, “Oh, good. I’ll add a black one.”

She had learned to take Jody with her wherever she went, partly to get the child to do something besides follow her around in the house all day, but also for the selfish reason of manipulating people’s reactions. Only the crass would risk talking about Hugh-Jay or Laurie around their orphan. To protect Jody, Annabelle felt no qualms about saying firmly to people, with a reminding glance down at the dark top of her small head, “Let’s change the subject, shall we?” She couldn’t easily say that for herself, alone, but she could get the words out in defense of her granddaughter-even though she was the person who put Jody in the position to hear such words. But taking Jody along also solved the problem they were having with the child being afraid to stay anywhere without a member of her family near her. Babysitters were still out of the question. The child who hadn’t been afraid of much of anything, seemed now to be frightened of everything. Nothing upset her as much as thunderstorms, though, and it didn’t take a child psychiatrist to understand that she associated them with the loss of her parents.

Annabelle thought that was desperately sad.

She wanted the child back who clapped her hands at thunder and lightning.

“She’s afraid of God,” she had told her husband. “She’s afraid of God because Laurie made her say that awful prayer every night. You know the one: ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.’” Annabelle had thought it was a bad idea to begin with, because good grief, what a thing to put into a child’s head that she might die in her sleep! But it turned out to be bad for an unforeseen reason-nobody had warned the child that it was her parents who might die while she slept. Jody didn’t trust God anymore. She thought he’d been tricky. He’d distracted her into praying for herself while he sneaked in and stole her parents away.

Tricky ol’ God, Annabelle thought bitterly as she helped Jody out of the backseat. The child has a point, you know, she said silently, with a sardonic glance to the sky. You ought to be ashamed of Yourself. She heard a deep voice in her mind retort: I never told anybody to say that stupid prayer, and she laughed a little at her own ridiculous fancies.

“What’s funny, Grandma?”

“Nothing, honey.” Absolutely nothing anymore.

This trip to the store was going to be extra challenging.

It was a Saturday, when the store was usually the most crowded.

Valentine Crosby worked on this day, at this hour.

Until now Annabelle had avoided seeing Val.

WHEN ANNABELLE and Jody walked into George’s Fresh Food & Deli, a rolling silence fell over the store, starting with the first people to see them up front. Then the woman closest to them smiled, someone else gave them a little wave, and business went on as usual-except for the feeling Annabelle had that the two of them were being covertly watched by people who were curious or concerned and trying not to show it.

The smell of cooking food nearly gagged Annabelle.

She swallowed hard to keep from throwing up.

This time she was going to attempt to walk up to the meat counter where the bloody fresh cuts were and ask for a whole fryer. The smell and the sight of blood had kept her away from the back of the store before now, but she was determined to change that on this trip.

“George” wasn’t a man’s first name, but rather the last name of the couple who owned the store. Livia George, the wife, came hurrying up, smiling too brightly. “Hello, Annabelle! Is it okay if Jody has some C-A-N-D-Y?”

Jody grabbed Annabelle’s right leg and clung to it.

Annabelle looked down at her and gently asked, “Would you like Mrs. George to give you a piece of candy?”

“No,” Jody said, edging partly behind her grandmother. Annabelle wanted to remind her to add Thank you, but didn’t have the heart to chide her. They could deal with manners later. For now, just getting the child to step six inches away in a public place would be enough.

The store owner bent down closer to Jody. “It’s choc-o-late!”

“Another time,” Annabelle said, stepping fully in front of her granddaughter. “Thank you, Livia. That’s very kind of you.”

When they got a grocery cart, Jody held onto both of them, grandmother and cart.

With slow progress they managed to pick up fresh fruit and vegetables, cereal, milk, and other staples that Annabelle wouldn’t want to cook and nobody would want to eat. Every time she spotted something that her eldest son had loved, or that her youngest son had preferred, her throat closed and she prayed that nobody would pick that moment to ask, “How are you?” Not good, that’s how. That’s how they all were. The Linders were not good at all, including Annabelle’s son in Army Basic Training, to judge by Bobby’s lack of letters or phone calls home.

Fresh chicken wasn’t actually her main goal today.

Even when she successfully took it wrapped from Byron George’s hands, she felt no accomplishment yet.

Her main reason for coming waited at one of the front checkout counters.

When she reached the two counters, she saw there were ten people waiting for one of them, and only one customer standing across the moving belt from Val Crosby. Annabelle pushed her cart in behind the single customer, with Jody holding onto her skirt behind her. The customer, a woman she knew only slightly, looked up, saw who was behind her in line, and looked flustered. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, although it wasn’t clear why. In the same sardonic inner tone with which she tended to address God lately, Annabelle wondered if the woman was offering her condolences or her apologies for failing to snub Valentine Crosby as the other shoppers were doing.

When it was Annabelle’s turn, she stood in front of Billy’s wife.

“Hello, Valentine.”

The girl flinched when she saw who it was. She looked wretched. She had already been thin-scrawny, as Annabelle’s sons might have said-but now she looked gaunt, all eyes and bones. She also looked as if she was either going to cry or run away at the sight of the grandmother and child in her checkout line.

Byron George came hurrying up and said, “Annabelle, we can make room for you in the other line if you’d like to use it.”

She shook her head. “This will be fine, Byron.”

Annabelle straightened her back, took a deep breath and prayed that the frightened-looking young woman standing across from her wouldn’t burst into tears, as she looked as if she might. She had something to say to Val. She had practiced it at home, in front of Hugh Senior, and now she desperately tried to remember what came next. At first her mind went blank and she thought she might be the one to cry. But then it came back to her and the words burst out. “My husband and I want you to know that we are always thinking of you and wishing the best for you.” She raised the volume a little so she would be sure to be overheard by a number of people, all of whom she was positive were furtively, understandably, watching or eavesdropping. “I hope people are treating you all right, Valentine.”

Annabelle knew they weren’t. That’s why she was here.

The girl’s eyes filled and her lips trembled.

Annabelle reached across and took her hand, and as she did, she looked up at the store’s owner. “Byron, I’m sure Valentine is an excellent employee and that you will treat her well, as you do everyone who works for you.” He looked startled, confused, but then he nodded in a way that looked like a vow rather than just an affirmation. “That’s good of you, Byron,” Annabelle said.