Read Online Mrs. Kimble by Jennifer Haigh - Free Book Online Page B

asked.
    “Fine, thank you,” said Birdie. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows; his blond forearms were thick and suntanned. A flush built in her chest and washed over her throat, her face, up to the roots of her hair. Perry’s eyes followed the same path.
    “What’s your name?” he asked. “You ain’t Rose. I know that.”
    Her heart quickened. “Birdie.”
    “You’re new.”
    “I started last week.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two women come into the luncheonette and sit at one of the tables, their chairs scraping the linoleum. The sound seemed very far away.
    Perry chuckled. “I bet Fay’s happy. Since Rose left they been working her to death.”
    “Did you know her?” said Birdie. “Rose.”
    He grinned. “Why? What have you heard?”
    “Nothing,” said Birdie. “I just wondered where she went, is all.”
    Perry shrugged. “Got married, I guess. All the pretty ones do.” His eyes went to her left hand. “You’re not married?”
    “No,” she said, her heart pounding. She could not hold his gaze. Her eyes dropped to his hands, his thick fingers gripping the coffee cup. His fingernails were perfectly black. She turned away quickly.
    “Excuse me,” she said. “I have customers.”
    She left him sitting at the counter.

T he car started with a great rumble. It smelled the same inside, old leather and peppermint and his father’s hair cream. The smell engulfed Charlie like a warm bath. He’d forgotten the distinctive odor, the hollow tinkling of the turn signal.
    “Can I turn on the radio?” he asked.
    “Hold your horses,” said his mother. “Wait until we get on the highway.” She had a spot of red on each of her cheeks, like a giant rag doll. She frightened him, the floppy bonelessness of her, as if at any moment she might slump over the wheel or flop over sideways, her head lolling out the open window. But the car, his father’s car, rolled smoothly down the hill. In the backseat Jody clapped her hands and squealed.
    “What’s that light?” Charlie asked. He pointed at the dashboard.
    His mother looked down. “How should I know? Isn’t it always on?”
    “No’m,” said Charlie. The light looked important, a glowing square of red.
    “Never mind about that,” said his mother. “First things first.”Ahead of them a traffic light turned yellow; she stepped hard on the brake. Charlie lurched forward, then fell back into the leather seat. He knew you only had to stop on red, but he didn’t say so. He could see that she was nervous.
    “We need bread and milk,” he said instead.
    “Whatever you want,” said his mother.
    Charlie made a list in his head: cereal, hot dogs, bologna for sandwiches. He didn’t trust her to remember.
    The A&P was cool and bright inside. The glass doors opened as if by some magic force. Charlie ignored the gumball machines, the wire cage of bright rubber balls. He led the way down the first aisle, grabbed a bunch of bananas and placed them in the shopping cart. His mother didn’t seem to notice. She stood at the front of the store looking all around, blinking.
    Charlie kept on. The sacks of potatoes were too heavy for him. He looked back. His mother stood near the cash registers, flipping through a magazine.
    “Mama!” he cried.
    She looked up, startled.
    “Are you coming?” He’d tried for weeks to get her inside a store; now that they were here, she seemed to have forgotten how to buy things. He felt the first tears behind his eyes.
    “Hold your horses,” she said. But she put the magazine down and pushed the cart up the aisle.
    Charlie raced down the next aisle. He wished he could carry more. He picked up a loaf of bread and a box of cookies. Then he saw the man.
    He was at the back of the store, reaching into a refrigerator case of raw meat. His back was turned, but Charlie recognized the white shirt, the long hands, the wristwatch with the stretchy goldband. The man put down the meat and walked away quickly, his dark