“Would you mind, um…” Helena blanched, trying to ask the bag boy for help bringing her groceries to her car. She gestured vaguely. “I’m a little bit dizzy. I, um. I skipped breakfast.”
The bag boy had big, goopy eyes that made her think maybe he’d smoked marijuana. Helena didn’t want to have to explain herself again. Thankfully, he figured it out, grabbed her cart, and easily maneuvered it to the front door.
“Where did you park, ma’am?” the bag boy hollered behind his shoulder.
Helena gestured toward her 2004 Chevy, which looked ancient next to the other cars. She’d had it since she was in her twenties, but she was in her forties now. The bag boy shot over to it, not bothering to wait for her. She took her time, praying that she wouldn’t fall. When she reached the Chevy, she unlocked it and watched as the bag boy filled the trunk. She wanted to tip him, but she didn’t have cash, probably because she never went anywhere.
“Thank you,” she offered meekly. “I do really appreciate it. Next time I’m here, I’ll bring you something.”
Again, the bag boy blinked at her, annoyed. She wanted to ask him if people usually tipped him anyway. But would he be honest about that? Would Helena have been honest in his position? She’d known at that age that you had to push your weight around in the world.
Finally, Helena was back in the driver’s seat. She looked at the clock and realized that yes, she’d been right. It had only taken twenty minutes, all told. But it had been an awful twenty minutes. She turned the key in the ignition, then raised her chin to look out the rearview.
It was then that her heart stopped again.
Standing two rows away was Meg, her arms crossed as she spoke to a man. She looked worried, her hair shimmying as she moved her head around. Helena realized then that the man she spoke to wasn’t just any man. No. This man was Elliott—Helena’s ex-husband.
What was Elliott doing at the grocery store? Back when they were married, Elliott had seldom gone to the store. Helena had been the one to do the errands and plan the meals. On the few occasions that Elliott had come on his own, he’d called her to make sure he was buying the right thing. Although she’d said this was annoying to her, she’d also sort of liked hearing from him. She liked the sound of his voice.
Helena couldn’t look away from Meg and Elliott, not for a long time. Elliott looked older. There was more gray in his hair, and it looked as though he’d been working out. His shoulders were muscular and bigger than before their divorce.
Helena wished she could hear what they were saying. It was strange that they’d all come to the grocery store at the same time, as though something gravitational had brought them together.
But it was then that Meg burrowed her face into Elliott’s chest. Elliott wrapped his arms around her, scooping her into a hug that was much more romantic than friendly.
Helena couldn’t breathe.
Meg and Elliott remained like that for nearly a minute. She could see that Elliott was murmuring to Meg, consoling her. But Helena couldn’t say why.
Before they caught her spying on them, Helena drove slowly and carefully out of the parking lot, all the way back home. Once there, she sat in the driver’s seat of her car for a very long time, until her vision cleared and her breath returned.
3
Orangeburg, South Carolina
By the time Helena finally got up the energy to go inside, it was nearly seven at night. Slowly, methodically, she put her groceries away, then poured a can of vegetarian chili into a pan and stirred it till it bubbled and popped. She sat at the kitchen table, eating and trying to clear her mind. Today had been a nightmare, but it was over. She could sit in front of the television and watch whatever movie came to mind. Something funny, maybe. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed.
Helena left the pot soaking in the sink and changed into a pair of sweatpants. In the easy chair, she wrapped herself in blankets and searched through her two streaming platforms till she landed on a show that seemed vaguely romantic and vaguely comedic. Although romance was out of the question for the rest of her life, she liked living inside other people’s romantic fantasies. It reminded her of her past, of the life she’d been allowed to have before the diagnosis, before she’d lost so much.
She told herself she couldn’t think about Elliott, not tonight. Maybe she’d deal with the emotional fallout tomorrow, or thenext day. Maybe she’d call that therapist she’d seen for a while, the one who’d told her to have more grace for herself.
But within the first ten minutes of the television show, Helena’s phone rang.
It was a strange sound, as Helena wasn’t used to being contacted. A shiver ran down her spine as she knew it could only be from one of two people. She ignored the first try. But when it rang a half-hour after that, she forced herself to walk into the kitchen and retrieve her cell.
The ID read: Husband.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t changed it.
Helena gaped at the word “husband” for a long time, wondering what good could come of this. Wasn’t it better to ignore, block, and move on? Then again, seeing Elliott today had triggered something in her imagination. It had been ages since they’d spoken to one another. It had been ages since Helena had spoken to anyone about how she was.
Maybe curiosity led her to answer it. But when she did, she didn’t say anything. She held the phone to her ear and waited. What on earth did Elliott want to say?
“Helena?” He said it after several strangled-sounding breaths. “Helena, are you there?”
“Elliott,” Helena said, then winced. She hated how good it was to hear her name in his voice. She hated how good it was to say his back.
“Hey. Thanks for answering.” Elliott sounded nervous. “How are you?”