part 7
Roger mechanically transferred his groceries from his cart onto the moving belt at the grocery checkout line. He zoned out while shopping, just picking the usual packages from the usual places on the shelves. He barely noticed when the elderly clerk called for a price check. But then she asked him where he found the package of cookies. “Can’t find the code to scan,” she said. “Didn’t know they still made these.” Roger finally looked at the cookies. He bought a package of Oreos every month or so. These were chocolate sandwich cookies too, but the package said “Hydrox.” Wasn’t that the brand his mother had insisted on when he was a kid? The clerk couldn’t find a UPC code because, when the head cashier checked, it wasn’t there. They sent a teenage bagger to the cookies aisle to check the price, but he came back with a shrug. “Couldn’t find one.” The head cashier keyed in something and said “Three bucks sound about right?” Roger guessed it did, and that was that.
After stowing his groceries in the kitchen, Roger went into the office to see if he could find anything to help answer the questions about the car and the plates. He noticed the calendar on the wall behind the desk. Could it be the first time he’d glanced at it? It was one of the free ones the local bank handed out every year. Or used to, at least. Funny he hadn’t noticed it before…like, ever…because it was a 1982 calendar. Turned to the same month it was now. It was behind his head as he sat at the desk; that must be why he hadn’t noticed before. He pulled folders out of the filing cabinet almost at random, scanning old receipts and papers. He didn’t know what he was looking for, and just hoped something would click.
Nothing did. Two hours later he was looking at all the folders he’d have to put back in the cabinet, and starting to wonder if a small bonfire might be a better idea, when the doorbell rang. He was startled; he hadn’t heard the doorbell ring in ages. Apparently it still worked.
He went to the front door where a woman was holding a covered Corningware baking dish. White with spidery blue pattern on the side. “Oh, Roger,” she said, “I just thought you could make good use of this casserole. I’ll stop back in a few days to get the dish; I hope you’re doing okay.”
“Uh, thanks…Mrs. Avery,” Roger said. He took the casserole dish. He’d remembered the woman’s name just in time. She’d been a friend of his parents. Mrs. Avery lived on the same road, just a few houses away. He remembered her; she and her husband had sometimes come for dinner and stayed to talk or play card games with his parents. He tried to think; what was something people said to each other? “How is Mr. Avery?” was all he could think of.
“Just fine, thank you,” said Mrs. Avery. He couldn’t remember her first name. “Do you have any plans, Roger? You know, for the house and all? Or is it too soon?”
He didn’t know what she was talking about. Too soon after the accident? It had been years. Too soon after what? “Um, I, er, don’t really know.”
Mrs. Avery (Nancy!) patted his arm. “That’s perfectly understandable, Roger. Do let us know if there’s anything we can do to help. Goodbye, now.”
“Bye Mrs. Avery. Thanks again.”
Well that was strange. Was Mrs. Avery was having an episode of some kind? He took off the cover and inspected the casserole. It looked like macaroni and cheese. Seemed perfectly normal. It was about 5pm, so he preheated the oven. He liked macaroni and cheese, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any.
He looked out the window over the kitchen sink while he waited for the oven to warm. He jumped a bit when the phone rang. The phone mounted on the wall in the kitchen. With a dial. The phone he apparently had forgotten was there.
