Page 55 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
“Everything okay?” Great. Now Henry had limped over, looking all concerned and wonderful in his paint-stained T-shirt and jeans.
Edith opened her purse. “Not really. I need twelve cents and I can’t find my wallet.”
“The one under your arm?” Henry asked.
Edith glanced down. Her wallet. Tucked in her armpit. Right where she’d placed it as soon as she entered the checkout lane. She released a long exhale. Henry had already dug change from his pocket and handed over a dime and nickel.“Keep the change, ya filthy animal,” he told the clerk with a horrible gangster accent.
The young clerk laughed and pointed at Henry. “Home Alone. Nice.”
Nice? Hardly. It was awful. Edith’s lips twitched, desperate to tell Henry so. Desperate to hear him laugh. To hear herself laugh. Which was why she needed to get away from him. How did that one proverb go? Too much laughter makes the heart... confused? Something like that. “Thanks,” Edith mumbled and bolted for the door.
“Edith.”
What now? Edith looked over her shoulder. Henry held up her pepper.
Could she drag this scene out any longer? She scurried back, not even bothering with the cart. “Thanks,” she said again. His fingers grazed her palm as he handed the pepper over, sending a spark of energy up her arm and down to her belly. Whoops. She made the mistake of meeting his eyes.
Lord, why did you make one man so handsome? Couldn’t you have sprinkled it out a little more among the general population?She swallowed. “I need to go. I’m making a stew. I just forgot the pepper. But now I’ve got the pepper, so I should really add it to the stew. It’s supposed to simmer for several hours. I’d hate for it to... you know, not simmer.”Walk. Away.
Henry nodded. “Nobody likes an unsimmered stew.”
“It’s the worst.”
His eyes crinkled at the edges. “It was good seeing you again. We should—”
“Good seeing you too.” Edith took a step back. Theyshouldn’t. Whatever it was he wanted to say, they shouldn’t.“I better get back to the stew. Now that I’ve got my pepper.”
“Of course.” Henry motioned to the door. “Don’t want to keep a good stew waiting. Especially on a stifling hot summer day.”
“You wouldn’t know a jalapeño if it bit you on the nose,” Perm Lady interrupted them before Edith could respond. She elbowed Henry out of the way and yanked the pepper out of Edith’s hand, still harping at her husband. “The only reason you don’t recognize it is because it’s not wrapped with bacon.”
“I still say it’s a serrano,” a voice shouted from the checkout lane.
Perm Lady rolled her eyes and twisted back toward the checkout. “If it was a serrano, would I do this?” She popped the entire pepper into her mouth, held her palms out in a there-you-have-it motion.
Edith gasped. “I can’t believe she just did that. That was the last pepper.”
“I know.” The gray-haired man shook his head in wonder. “Isn’t she amazing? That’s why I married her.”
“I’m not so sure that was a good idea,” Henry added.
“What, marrying her?” The man turned on Henry. “Hey, pal, what are you saying?”
“I was talking about eating the serrano,” Henry said.
“Oh? Well, maybe you didn’t hear what my wife said. It’s ajalapeño.”
“It’s not,” Perm Lady croaked. Her face had flushed bright red, sweat popping out on her forehead.
“Ma’am?” Edith stared at the woman’s face. “Are you okay?”
She clutched Edith’s arm, her eyes bulging. Her husband was too busy arguing with Henry to notice her face had transitioned past the shade of tomato, heading straight toward eggplant.
“Uh, you guys?” Edith said.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha—” The woman began panting worse than a woman in labor.
“Hey, I googled it. I know what it was now.” Mr. Mustache held up his phone. “It’s a ghost pepper.”
