There aren’t any bugs in her mother’s apartment, so I can’t listen in. That was exhilarating but too close for comfort.įollowing her home, I know this is the last time I’ll probably see her until Saturday. Grabbing my plastic bag at the end of the cashier’s stand, I walk swiftly out the door and into the parking lot to find my car a few rows down. I pick up the plastic stylus and scribble something completely illegible. I’m overjoyed with the proximity but acutely aware of the danger.Īnd there it is-the signature line. The scent of her being so close crawls all over me, but I can’t even turn around to see her. I’m just waiting to sign and leave as swiftly as possible.Īh. My credit card is shoved into the card reader.

I give a curt smile but refrain from speaking. “Not much of a Thanksgiving meal,” the cashier says, trying to make small talk, while putting my items in a plastic bag. I twist my body to keep my face out of sight with my head down, my cap hiding my face as much as possible without looking suspicious. A pacemaker for the fragile position I’m in. The sound of the codes being scanned could be the rhythm of my heartbeat. The last thing I want is for her to recognize me here and familiarize herself with my face, only to expose my presence back on campus. The chill from the refrigerator shimmies down my spine. “Well, if you really think I need it that bad.” Their voices get louder, and I feel them near me with my back turned to the rest of the store. I assumed Penelope and her mother would use the self-checkout or one of the other stalls near the exit closest to where they parked. Once I know their shopping list is complete, I head to the far end aisle and begin checking out the four items in my basket.

I peruse the nuts and dried fruit but have no intention of buying any. I toss an orange in my basket and move to the back of the store. “I think all we need are potatoes.” Penelope leads her mom through the produce section.

But she hasn’t burdened Penelope with her problems, and for that, I’m grateful I don’t need to interject myself into her life as well. She would have been better off selling Avon items at this point in her life. For some reason, her mother decided to pursue med school and obtain student loans. They weren’t left with much more than a mortgage.

She used to be a stay-at-home mom until Penelope’s father died when she was fourteen. I imagine they used to have a grand family meal every year.

Planning Penelope by Erin Lockwood