Chapter 5

5

While I'm at the grocery store that afternoon, I discover there are almost as many varieties of prenatal vitamins as there are of shampoo. For example, do I buy the one that has eighteen different vitamins and minerals, including folic acid and DHA? Or do I buy the one that specifically mentions choline? Not that I know what choline is, but if they mention it, it's important, right? Or should I just buy the one that is raspberry lemonade flavored, because I'm always a sucker for raspberry lemonade?

Finally, I grab the vitamins that advertise advanced brain support . Because whatever else, I would like my baby's brain to have adequate support.

As I toss the bottle of prenatal vitamins into my shopping cart, I press my palm against my abdomen, which is still flat as a board. It's hard to imagine that there is an actual baby growing inside there. I wouldn't believe it, but pregnancy tests don't lie. It wasn't meant to be this way, but the wild part is now that it happened, I love her more than anything.

I have made mistakes in my life, but I swear, I will make it up to you, baby.

I decided to shop at the grocery store this time, because the drugstore apparently triggers hallucinations of my dead husband. Thankfully, I have been at the supermarket for ten minutes, and there have been zero dead husbands during that time.

Of course, I can't just buy prenatal vitamins. That would be like holding up a huge flag for everyone to see that says "I am pregnant." I need to buffer my purchase with other items so as not to call attention to the entire reason I came to the grocery store. I toss several other things into the cart, including a loaf of bread, some cheese, another bottle of shampoo, and—just to really throw off the cashier—a package of maxi pads.

I push my shopping cart to the checkout line. Unfortunately, I arrived at the supermarket at the worst possible time, because all the lines have at least four or five people in them. The ten-items-or-less register seems the most promising, so I get in line behind a man who has not followed my buffer rule and is simply clutching a box of ribbed condoms in his right hand with a very singular purpose in mind. He keeps checking his watch.

"Alice! Alice Lockwood! Is that you?"

I curse under my breath at the familiar voice. It's Eliza Bradley, who used to work as Grant's secretary. She's pushing a cart containing nothing but cans of gourmet cat food, and she's wearing a puffy coat that is far too warm for the weather we're having.

"Hello," I mumble, hoping that if I don't look at her, she might get the message that I'm not in the mood for chitchat.

But Eliza is not to be deterred. She pushes her cart so close to mine that they are practically kissing and peers up at me. Her face is wrinkled, and her lips nearly vanish into her mouth. "My dear, I didn't get a chance to talk to you at the funeral. I am so terribly sorry."

Of all the people I could have run into today at the supermarket, she is the last one I wanted to see. "Uh-huh" is all I can manage.

"Grant was such a wonderful man," she continues. "He was a great boss. He was so thoughtful. And charming. And young . What a terrible shame."

"Mm-hmm."

"I told Grant that Mercedes of his wasn't safe," she says. "American cars are the safest ones on the market. The only ones that I trust, you know? That's why I've driven a Ford for the last forty years."

"Mm-hmm."

"By the way, Alice," Eliza says. "I hate to be that person, but you do realize this is the ten items or less line, don't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well…" She points accusingly at the contents of my cart. "You actually have eleven items in your cart. I know it's only one over, but ten is the cutoff for a reason. I mean, if we're going to allow eleven, do we say twelve is fine? How about thirteen? Where do we draw the line, Alice?"

"Okay, I get it," I say through my teeth. "I… I'll get rid of one of the items."

"I'd be happy to help you sort through while we're waiting?" Eliza offers.

"No, that's really… That's not…"

But Eliza is already reaching into my cart, rifling through my potential purchases. "I'm sure we can get rid of one of these. Do you really need…" She picks up a box from the cart. "Lice shampoo?"

Oh my God. I did not realize that was lice shampoo! Although now that she mentions it, there is a drawing of a dead insect on the bottle. I thought the insect just meant the shampoo was all natural.

"Oops," I say. "You're absolutely right. I don't need lice shampoo. So I'll just put that back…"

But Eliza isn't listening to me. She is looking through the other items in my cart, and now her fingers are resting on the bottle of prenatal vitamins. She lifts her eyes, which are wide with slightly clouded lenses. "Alice, are you…?"

"Oh my gosh!" I clutch my chest in a show of fake surprise. " Prenatal vitamins? I thought those were just regular women's multivitamins! What a stupid mistake! They should really label them better!"

"It says prenatal vitamins right on the label in big pink letters," she points out.

I try to laugh. "I just saw vitamins ."

"And it says for baby brain support."

"I should really read the labels more carefully, shouldn't I?"

"And there's a picture of a pregnant woman on it!"

I yank the bottle of prenatal vitamins out of Eliza‘s hand, hoping to finally shut her up. "You know what? I'll go put these back. And the lice shampoo. Can you watch my cart please?"

"Yes, I can," Eliza says, "but I can't hold your place in line if your turn comes up."

Of course she can't. "I promise, I'll just be a minute."

I don't know what to do at this point. The prenatal vitamins were the only reason I came to the supermarket in the first place. I don't want to leave without them, but if I get back in line to buy them, Eliza will figure out my secret. And that woman is a huge gossip.

So I do what I have to do. I put back the two items, knowing that I'll have to make a second trip later to purchase the vitamins. It's worth it to keep my private business from being spread all over town. And anyway, I can only purchase ten items.

I hurry back to the cashiers to make sure not to lose my place. But as I am approaching the checkout line, my eyes are drawn to the large windows by the exit. When I was standing in line, all I saw through that window was the parking lot outside the store. But now I see something else.

Or should I say, somebody else. There's a familiar-looking man standing by the window, his blue eyes staring into the supermarket. He is wearing an expensive business suit, and his blond hair is immaculately styled. His gaze is unmistakably pointed in my direction. And this time, when our eyes meet, he doesn't look away.

It feels like an icy cold hand has gripped my heart inside my chest. I look over at Eliza, who is flipping through an overpriced magazine she found at the checkout aisle.

"Eliza," I hiss.

She lifts her eyes from a photograph of the royal family. "What's wrong?"

"Do you see that man over there by the windows?"

Eliza squints in the direction that I'm pointing. "Yes…"

"Doesn't he look just like Grant?"

She blinks at me. "Like Grant? What on earth do you mean, Alice? He doesn't look anything like Grant."

I swivel my head back in the direction of the window, ready to plead my case, but then I stop short. There is a man standing in front of the window with a sack of groceries, but he has gray hair and a potbelly. Eliza is right—he doesn't look anything like Grant. But there was another man standing there a minute ago. I'm sure of it.

"I have to go," I gulp.

"But, Alice!" Eliza exclaims. "You can't just leave your cart with all the items! You have to put them all back in the proper locations!"

But I'm not listening to Eliza. I squeeze through the checkout line sans groceries, and I sprint through the automatic doors so quickly they almost don't open in time for me. I finally burst into the parking lot, gasping for air. I search the lot, scanning every row for the man with the expensive business suit and blond hair.

He is nowhere to be seen. But he was here. I am more certain of that than I have been of anything in my entire life. There was a man standing by that window who looked exactly like Grant. And he was staring straight at me.