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“Your mom with you?” Johnny asks, starting to scan Mom’s weeks’ worth of groceries.

Glancing over the rack of magazines and recipe books, I search for my mother. As soon as we’d gotten in line, she’d dashed off for one more thing.

“Yeah. She’s coming.” I point to her walking toward us with a package of hot dogs. She hates hot dogs, and I’ve never liked them. But they were a staple in our house up until I was thirteen.

“I almost forgot!” She waves the package at me as she side steps through the people behind us and drops it on the conveyer belt.

“Did you need buns?” Johnny points to the package.

I shake my head.

“No. Thanks.” I pull the cart through the checkout lane and start loading the bags into it.

“Harley.” Mom wiggles her fingers to get my attention. “Hun, can you hand me my wallet; it’s in my purse.” She points to the black handbag in the cart.

I dig through it, find the small wallet, and go to hand it to her.

“Can you grab my debit card for me?” She opens her palm.

I open the well-worn, leather, folded-up wallet. I freeze, just for a moment, before flipping past the wallet-sized photographs, all of them of Quinn, and finding her debit card.

I wait for her to slide the card through the machine and hand it back to me, keeping her wallet closed and not giving into the temptation to flip through the photographs. There are more of them now.

When Mom hands the debit card back to me, I shove it in her wallet and throw it back in the bag.

“What’s wrong?” she asks me, after finishing with Johnny.

“Nothing,” I say, moving out of the way as she pushes the cart toward me. “Want me to push?” I offer.

“Yes. Please.” She releases the cart and steps to the side. I grab ahold of it before it rolls off into the vending machine of scratch-off lottery tickets.

“Do you want to stop at the library on the way home?” I ask.

“No. I’m tired.” She sighs as we walk through the electronic doors and into the parking lot.

“All right.” I follow her to my car and open her door for her before unloading her groceries into my trunk.

It’s hot today. The humidity has my hair frizzing and sticking to my neck.

I close the trunk of my well-used Toyota Camry and freeze.

A man.

Aspecificman stands across the parking lot, in front of a car, staring at me.

It’s the same man from the coffee shop yesterday afternoon.

He has sunglasses on this time, but his build is the same. Muscular, broad, like he puts a lot of effort into his physique. His jaw line squeezes when I don’t move.

Just like yesterday, the same dark brown eyebrow arches over his left eye. He’s challenging me, I think. He definitely wants something.

“Harley, what’s wrong?” Mom calls from her opened window. “Hun, you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, Mom.” I break eye contact with him and push the cart to the return.

When I head back, I look for him, but he’s not there. His car is, but he’s gone.

I shake my head. He wasn’t here for me. It’s a grocery store. He’s getting groceries. That’s all.

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