2. The Neighborhood Market

Chapter 2

The Neighborhood Market

L ocated beyond the center of town was Raskin’s Neighborhood Market—a white building with its name written in black cursive lettering above a matching awning that stretched across its rectangular facade. A banner tied to the side of the building read, Serving the Neighborhood for over 50 Years!

A small crowd of people exited the market, pushing carts of newly acquired groceries. Another group filed in. Raskin’s Neighborhood Market was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon in this small town. Hugo pulled his car into the lot and parked in his usual spot, the furthest one away from everyone else. He exited the car and headed inside.

The overwhelming smell of flowers from the florist greeted Hugo as he entered. The place bustled with activity as shoppers searched for their goods. Three checkout lines jam-packed with waiting customers. The teenage cashiers, some working their first jobs, turned away from scanning items to greet anyone who entered.

Should have grabbed a hat . His body tightened; his shoulders arched up as he tried to bury his head in his jacket. He grabbed a shopping cart and darted down the nearest aisle. He relaxed his shoulders once he had a little more privacy from gawking eyes.

Hugo was tactical in his approach, trying to minimize the time he was visible in the public setting. First, he went down the snack aisle to grab a few bags of chips. Then he grabbed a few cans of chili and various soups.

Hugo hurried through the market. Bread, wine, then deli, then milk. Also, cheese, Hugo recited his grocery list.

He zipped around other shoppers, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact. He passed the shelves of bread and grabbed a loaf without looking, casually tossing it into his cart. Dog food, he thought. Can’t forget the dog food.

Hugo backtracked to the pet section. Being a small-town grocery, the choice of dog food wasn’t extensive, but Max didn’t mind. Food was food. Hugo bent down to grab a large, blue bag of “Cheesy Chewies,” a generic brand of dog food that specialized in mixed meats in a processed cheese flavor. He struggled to lift the bag from the bottom shelf. The heavy bag wouldn’t slide. Hugo gave it a few more tugs before it broke free. He repositioned his hands around the bag and slid it onto the bottom shelf of the grocery cart.

When he stood up, his eyes caught a box of dog treats. I can’t forget those. He placed the box in his cart. Wine, then deli. Then you have to talk to the Raskins, or else you’ll never hear the end of it.

Rows and rows of wine filled the back corner of the market. Reds, Merlots, Chardonnays, Pinot Noirs, Cabernet Sauvignon, and every other type of wine filled the shelves. Everything from the cheapest wines to very pricy ones. The Raskins kept the expensive ones behind a glass case—not because they feared someone stealing the bottles—but because the Raskins didn’t want them breaking. A small-town grocery never had the widest selection of food choices like larger chains, but the owners of Raskin’s Neighborhood Market prided themselves on having the largest selection of wine in the area. People drove to Newbury Grove from Columbus and the surrounding areas to browse their selections .

Hugo’s pace slowed as he perused the wines. He methodically scanned every label, looking for anything that caught his interest. Each label elicited a unique response to tantalize his senses. Some labels were ornate in their design to convey a sense of high status. Others added a fanciful sense of wonder as they invoked the mystical with images of moons or candles or dark lettering over gray smoke. Hugo grabbed a selection of different wines—some he tried before, and others that were new. Time slowed as he lingered on each label.

“I’ll make a wine connoisseur out of you yet, Hugo Dodds,” Elizabeth said as she placed a bottle of chardonnay into the cart.

“Wine is wine,” he retorted. “Just pick one with a fancy label. It’s all the same.”

“How dare you?” she replied with a sly smile. “There is more to wine than just a label.”

“It’s all grapes. What difference does it make?”

“Difference? It’s all about the soil and texture and the notes and the aging,” Elizabeth answered. “Not to mention the food pairings.”

Hugo grabbed the front of the cart and leaned closer toward her on the other side. A smirk on his face. “You just smash the grapes and then poof, like magic, you have wine. It’s not as extensive as bourbon making. Now there’s a real drink.”

Elizabeth leaned closer to Hugo. “If you want me to be Mrs. Elizabeth Dodds, well then, you better get used to lots and lots of wine.” She raised her left hand and presented her new engagement ring.

Hugo grabbed halfway up the cart and bent over to look closer at the ring. The metal rim of the cart dug into his stomach, but he didn’t care. He leaned closer. His eyes lingered on the diamond ring. “Well, I guess we had a good run,” Hugo responded with a smile. “They’ll ask, ‘Why did you break up?’ Well, because bourbon will always be superior to wine in every way. ”

Elizabeth frowned and pouted her lips. She gave the cart a little push, jabbing Hugo in the stomach.

“Ow!” Hugo responded with a shocked expression.

“Fine.” She smiled. “But I’m keeping the ring, though.”

“Okay, okay. I give.” Hugo went around the cart to hug her. “Wine is better than bourbon. However, I only say this under protest because my life is being threatened by a shopping cart.”

Elizabeth gazed up at Hugo and said, “I knew you’d see it my way.”

Hugo smiled and leaned in to kiss her.

“Excuse me,” someone said behind Hugo, breaking his trance. “I need to grab that.” A woman grabbed a bottle of wine off the shelf behind him.

“Pardon me,” Hugo said as he moved the cart out of the way.

It took him a moment to regain his bearings. The world spun around him. His breath was shallow and hurried. He clutched the cart handle and closed his eyes. His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened. A rush of emotions flooded Hugo. He paused and took deep breaths until his breathing slowed. He opened his eyes. The menagerie of wine bottles slowly came back into focus.

Hugo stood in front of the red wine blends section. One brand caught his attention. The Raskins give the brand prominent placement, taking over an entire section of the shelves. Its label was a diagonal black and gray, checkerboard pattern. Written across the top in elegant, white, cursive lettering was the name Red-Hearted Queen .

A gold, multi-pointed crown sat in the center of the label, surrounded by the four playing card suits. There was a heart on top. The club pointed away on its side to the right. An upside-down spade was on the bottom, and a diamond turned sideways to the left. A white, curved edge rectangle, which invoked the image of a playing card, framed the four suits. Positioned in offsetting corners to further play into this aesthetic, were two red, capitalized Qs , with the bottom one flipped upside down.

“It’s new,” a familiar voice said from behind him. “I haven’t tried it myself, but I’ve heard it’s highly recommended. They gave us a great deal if we featured it.”

Hugo turned around to see Carol Raskin standing behind him, waiting for their customary greeting hug.

“I’ll give it a try.” Hugo placed it in the cart beside the other bottles, then hugged Carol.

“How are you doing?” Carol asked. There were only two people in the world allowed to ask Hugo that question, and both of them had the last name of Raskin.

“Today’s a not so good day,” Hugo replied.

“You need to stop torturing yourself,” she said.

“I know.”

“Let me guess, the same walking path?”

“Yeah.” Hugo averted his eyes as if he’d done something wrong.

Carol lightly guided his chin back to face her and pleaded, “Take a different route tomorrow. For me. Please.”

“Sure. For you.” Hugo forced a smile.

“Thank you,” she said as tears welled in her eyes. “Come on, go say hello to Oliver.”

Carol led Hugo to the deli counter where Oliver was holding court. He struck up conversations with people as they waited for their deli orders. A few workers hurried to prepare the orders as fast as possible.

“I have something for you,” Oliver said as soon as he noticed Hugo. He bent down behind the counter to grab two neatly wrapped steaks.

“You don’t need to give me anything,” Hugo responded.

“They’re not for you. They’re for Max.” Oliver pulled out a brown package. “Ask her if you can have one. ”

“I doubt she’d even let me have a taste,” Hugo replied as he took them. “Thank you.”

“Any time, sweetie,” Carol said.

“Oh, the new neighbor moved in,” Hugo said. “Pretty fast too. I didn’t see a moving van or anything. And Johanna isn’t happy. They painted the house purple.”

“We know,” Carol replied.

“We met her,” Oliver chimed in.

“She placed a large order for grapes,” Carol said. “Bought all the ones we had in stock and then some. My distributor flipped when I told her the size of the order.”

“She has some pretty wild hair, and she’s quite the looker too,” Oliver added.

Hugo raised an eyebrow. “No one uses the term ‘looker’ anymore.”

“Well, she is,” Oliver replied. “You’re quite the looker too if you put yourself out there.”

“We talked about this,” Hugo was quick to respond. “I’m not looking or wanting to date anyone. Not right now.”

“We’re not asking you to marry the poor girl,” Oliver said.

“We think it will do you some good to get out of the house and mingle with people,” Carol said. “You can’t stay cooped up in your house forever. You need to actually talk to someone.”

“I have plenty of people to talk to. I have the two of you and Max—”

“Max can’t talk back,” Carol interrupted.

“That’s what I like about her. Besides, I have Johanna complaining about something all the time. It’s perfect for me.”

“You can’t shut yourself away forever,” Carol pleaded.

“I’m trying to,” Hugo responded. Carol scrunched her face into a frown. Her eyes glistened as if she were about to cry. He knew he had overstepped this time. “Okay, I can’t just go up to her and say, ‘Welcome to the neighborhood. Hey, want to go on a date?’ when I finally meet her.”

“What? No, not her,” Carol replied. “We know someone else.”

“She’s really great and sweet,” Oliver said. “Divorced. No kids. She used to work in our store. You might have met her once.”

Hugo sighed. “One dinner. That’s it. Nothing fancy.”

Carol smiled, then pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Hugo. “Her name is Sarah.”

“Wrapped steaks. Name and phone number in your pocket. Am I that predictable?” Hugo asked.

“You’re in here every other day,” Oliver said. “You can buy more than a few groceries at one time.”

“But then what excuse will I have to stop in?” Hugo asked. “Besides, Max would eat everything, anyway.”

“The next time you come in, you can tell us how things went,” Carol replied before giving Hugo a hug.

“Have fun, Hugo,” Oliver said. “You might enjoy yourself.”