Chapter 14

Leah has gotten to an age where grocery shopping with her is impossible.

When she was an infant, it was easy. I just put her in one of those baby carriers and I’d walk around with her glued to my chest. Usually, she slept through the whole thing. Then when she was a little older, I’d put her in the cart and she’d enjoy riding around while I shopped.

Now Leah starts out wanting to be in the cart, but within five minutes, she wants to get out. As soon as she’s out, she wants to either run everywhere in the store, steer the cart herself (usually into other customers), or get back in again. It’s exhausting. And don’t even get me started on those carts that have little cars attached to the front of them. Leah will ride in that car for sixty seconds, then I’m stuck pushing around a giant, heavy cart that is impossible to steer while she runs away from me.

Right now, Leah is running free, her red curls flying behind her, while I struggle to manage my rapidly filling cart. She’s running down the candy aisle, of course. It’s not bad enough that they taunt you with candy at checkout—they’ve got have a whole aisle devoted to it?

“Want this,” Leah tells me, pointing to a bag of peanut butter cups.

Those are Ben’s favorite. I used to frequently surprise him with a package of peanut butter cups when I went to the grocery store. Even though I did it fairly often, he always seemed so thrilled when I left the peanut butter cups on his pillow.

I reach for the bag, considering the purchase. It will make Leah happy, that’s for sure. And Ben.

But no. The last thing we need in our house is a ginormous bag of peanut butter cups.

“It’s too much candy, Leah,” I tell her.

Leah considers my words, deciding if it’s worth a temper tantrum. Finally, she points to a box on a lower shelf, “This, Mommy?”

It’s cracker jacks. Sweet, crunchy, salty cracker jacks. I haven’t had cracker jacks in a really long time.

Actually, I can tell you the exact last time I ate cracker jacks. It was when Ben and I had been dating for a little over a year.

We were in a 7-11 late at night and he noticed the cracker jacks on the shelf. “Cracker jacks!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t eaten these since I was, like, ten years old.”

“Probably because they’re disgusting,” I said .

“No way!” Ben pulled the box from the shelf and stared at it eagerly. “They’re delicious. And there’s a prize inside. A prize .” He shook the box in front of me. “We’re buying this, Jane.”

“Aren’t you a ‘foodie’?” I teased him.

“Yes. And that’s how I know these are awesome.”

So that’s how we ended up buying a box of Cracker Jacks. And actually, Ben was right—they were good. I couldn’t see myself eating a whole tub of them, but the caramel and peanut had that great salty and sweet combination that I love. And about halfway through the box, Ben fished out the prize: a cheap-looking gold ring with a salt-dusted purple gemstone.

“Wow, a ring,” I commented. “Ben, you getting any ideas?”

I was joking. I was obviously joking. But Ben looked at that ring with the oddest expression on his face, and I started to get worried, like I’d said the wrong thing. Just when I was about to apologize and assure him that I had zero interest in marriage, he did something that completely shocked me: he got down on one knee, right on the dirty sidewalk, and took my hand in his. With the other, he held out the Cracker Jack ring.

“Jane McGill,” he says as he gazed into my eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“ What ?” I hadn’t expected that to be my response to my first proposal, but the whole thing was so ridiculous. What else could I say? “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am.” His cheeks colored slightly. “I’m sorry. I know this ring isn’t… I mean, I’ll go out and get you a real ring tomorrow. I just… I want to marry you. I really, really do. And I know this proposal isn’t… look, I’m kind of starting to regret doing it this way, but I just thought… I mean, I saw that ring and…”

“Get up off the sidewalk,” I said, because it was really truly filthy down there. He probably had his knee in urine.

“I’m sorry,” Ben mumbled as he scrambled to his feet. “That was stupid.”

I smiled at the embarrassed expression on his face. “No, it wasn’t.” I leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. “I will marry you, Ben Ross.”

A smile of his own spread across Ben’s lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I poked him in the arm. “But you better get me a nicer ring than that.”

I allowed Ben to put the Cracker Jack ring on my finger. It was too small to fit on my ring finger, so I wore it on my pinky. We kissed for a long time after that, then walked home together hand in hand, excitedly discussing plans to move in together.

I still have that Cracker Jack ring. It’s in the jewelry box on my nightstand. I actually treasure it more than the expensive diamond ring that Ben bought me a few days later. I still consider it my real engagement ring. I just wish I had decided that before I let Ben blow a thousand bucks on a diamond ring that I never wear.

“I want it, Mommy!” Leah is saying.

“Okay,” I mumble, and absently drop the Cracker Jacks in the cart. There’s no way I can escape this aisle without buying her something. May as well be Cracker Jacks.

Leah is so thrilled, she decides now would be a good time to burst into song. Instead of her usual repertoire of children’s songs, she launches into a Meghan Trainor number. “You know I’m all about that Mommy, ‘bout that Mommy, no Mommy,” she sings. “I’ve got that Mommy that all the boys chase, and all the right junk in all the right Mommy.”

And of course, just as she’s singing those lyrics, that would be the moment I’d hear a voice from behind me: “Dr. McGill!”

I get a sick feeling in my stomach. One of the downsides to living relatively close to the VA Hospital is that I occasionally run into my patients. A lot of the times, I don’t even recognize them, and I have to desperately search my brain to come up with a name—usually, I can’t.

Except this time, coming up with a name isn’t a problem.

“Mr. Katz,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face. Of all the patients I could possibly run into at the supermarket, Herman Katz would be my last choice. It’s bad enough that I have to hear about all his physical woes when I’m at work. I’m really not in the mood to hear about it right now, in the candy aisle of a supermarket.

“What a pleasant surprise running into you here!” Mr. Katz says. He’s wearing a tan sweater under his pea green coat and seems more relaxed than he usually does during our visits. “And this must be your little girl! She has a beautiful voice.”

“Yes,” I say without offering Leah’s name. She eyes him silently, no longer singing any risqué lyrics.

I glance at Mr. Katz’s grocery cart. It’s filled with bacon, beef, potato chips, and the bag of peanut butter cups that I talked Leah out of purchasing. None of this stuff is going to keep his arms from rubbing against his chest when he walks. But I’m certainly not going to start lecturing him in the middle of the supermarket.

“Hello, there.” Mr. Katz bends down to address Leah. “Your mommy is a really, really good doctor. And a really nice lady. She reminds me a lot of my own daughter.”

Strangely enough, in all the times I’ve talked with Mr. Katz, the subject of his daughter has never come up. “You have a daughter?”

His face brightens. “Yes. Her name is Rachel. But she moved upstate just before my wife died so I don’t get to see her or my grandkids very much.” He frowns. “Judy used to do most of the long drives. ”

I feel an ache for poor Mr. Katz. First his daughter moves away, then his wife passes away. No wonder he’s always running to the doctor—he’s probably just lonely.

“Anyway.” He straightens up. “I won’t keep you, Dr. McGill. You must have lots to do on your day off.”

“Yes,” I say. I clear my throat. “It was nice seeing you, Mr. Katz.”

He smiles at me. “Same here. Have a great day, Doctor.”

I watch him push his cart of horribly unhealthy food down the aisle. Before he gets out of sight, I’ve grabbed the bag of peanut butter cups and stuffed it in my own cart.