Chapter 8 - Lily
Lily
The drugstore appeared unscathed from the parking lot, but anything could hide inside.
“Stay here, and I’ll check it out,” Dean said and left. The drugstore’s glass entrance stood half open. He shoved, pushing it further back, and disappeared for a few seconds before returning to wave me inside.
I joined him and asked, “Any food? Perhaps fresh vegetables or a nice, hot pizza?”
Dean’s hand wavered. “Some.”
People mobbed grocery stores on the first day, leaving them picked over. Snacks and easy foods disappeared first, leaving the frozen and refrigerated food to rot.
We explored the small tourist section before checking out the rest.
Dean whooped and raised a thick paper in the air. “Map!”
At last. “A local one?”
“The best kind.” He gestured to the rest of the store. “You can explore if you want. We’re not in a hurry.”
I drew my arms back, stretching. “I need to move. Also, we eat in here, not in the car. I can’t be inside a vehicle yet.”
He smirked. “Are you checking on me?”
I didn’t get it. “Checking on you?”
“Never mind. We’ll stay a while. Go have fun.”
I perused the aisles, enjoying the walk more than the shopping. Pills lay scattered across the ransacked pharmacy. The children’s toys were undisturbed, while nothing remained in the battery section except ripped packaging on the floor.
“Hey.” Dean’s voice carried from the other side of the store, growing louder as he came closer. “They have ugly shirts here. Do you want one?”
A fresh change of clothes sounded heavenly. Ugly did not. “What do they look like?”
I picked up a pad of paper and some colored pencils and took them to the checkout counter.
“Which one?” Dean held up two cheap cotton shirts, one fluorescent orange and the other vomit yellow. A gaggle of cartoon fruit covered the front of both.
“You can’t.”
“What?” He waved them both. “I’ve worn worse stuff before.”
“They’re not ugly, Dean. They violate the senses. They harm everyone exposed. No known cure. Hope died in those shirts.”
“Wow, harsh.” He dropped them on the floor.
“No, wait.” Dean attempted to connect, and I rebuffed it without thought. I’d forgotten how well we got along once. “If you want me to pick the one that best suits your complexion…let me see them again.”
Dean removed his shirt before picking up the other two, placing them on either side of his torso.
He tempted me. I had kissed every part of his chest last year.
His taste still lingered on my lips. His tanned skin, with his ripcord muscles, tempted me now.
Dean’s baggy clothes were like a hidden Christmas present.
The one your parents hid inside a box for pots and pans, so you groaned before realizing it was the gift you longed for most of all.
I cleared my throat. “The orange one.”
Dean twisted, putting his back to me, and discarding the yellow one on a shelf. The pose stressed the hard tendons of his back. Twin shoulder blades that promised strength. No wonder he carried me with so much ease.
He pulled on the fresh shirt, staring down at the wretched cartoon fruit. “Kiwi is one of my favorites. Also, I have something for you. Wait here.”
I picked up one of the bananas sitting in a small basket by the cash register. More dark spots than I preferred, but still edible. I missed fresh fruit.
“Are you coordinating with my beautiful outfit?” Dean asked, explaining, “The fruit thing. Never mind.” He set a couple of bottles next to my paper and pencils. “It’s the brand you use.”
I inhaled the shampoo’s scent. Cherries with a hint of almond. “How did you figure that out?”
“Your hair last year. I checked each one to find it.” He gestured towards the back of the store.
“I remembered your scent.” Dean peeled a banana, consuming the entire thing in two bites before peeling another.
“You want to play a game?” He pulled a couple of pencils out and handed one to me before drawing interconnected lines on the paper.
I took the pencil and examined it. “Navy blue?”
“It’s one of your favorite colors.”
How did he know?
“You want to play tic-tac-toe?” An oddly mundane game for Dean. “You strike me as the strategy and battle type.”
“Not my thing.” His lips tightened.
“Let’s play then.”
I won the first game before Dean flipped the paper over.
“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.
“My roommate, Violet, did. She was an art teacher at a junior high school. She painted, too.” I’d spoken about her in the past tense. My throat tightened. “She’s a wonderful friend. I’m sure she’ll find us in Deer Lake. Oh, I won again.”
“Another game?” We fought the next one to a tie. “How did you meet her? Violet, I mean.”
“We were roommates the second year of college and every year after. It just sort of worked out for the rest.”
“You were close?”
“Best friends, I think. Rose was my first.”
“The sheriff’s daughter? I remember her.”
I won again, expecting Dean to give up or grow bored. Instead, he drew another tic-tac-toe board and dropped an X in the middle spot.
I countered and said, “I applied for a promotion over a week ago. Pretty sure I won’t get the job.
” We shared a smile over my weak attempt at humor.
“She said we’d take a cruise next summer if I got it, so I pointed out that was almost a year away.
Violet said we’d get more promotions and make it worthwhile.
It struck me as hilarious, and now I can’t remember why. What’s so funny about that?”
“Seven to three,” Dean said.
He kept score?
“You’re in the weeds.”
“Tell me what you’ve been up to this past year,” he said.
He’d know if he hadn’t ghosted me. I wouldn’t bring that up as it’d break our easy company. Instead, I regaled him with dumb stories about the drunken nights spent on our balcony and my opinions on some recent movies.
Dean listened as my lead grew.
“Isn’t this boring for you?” I asked.
Did he listen, or did he let me prattle on to fill the silence? He likely preferred it to us snapping at each other.
“Boring me? Listening is an important skill. I remember every word you say.” Dean repeated all my scattered stories almost verbatim.
“Oh, wow. That’s…well done.” My skin flushed. What other offhand statements of mine did he keep stored in his memory? “How about you? Have you been up to anything special?” A roundabout way of asking what cowardice kept me from asking. Who was the woman with him in that Christmas picture?
“Not much.”
“Spend time with friends?”
He paused before answering. “No, not really.”
“Go see a movie?”
“No.”
“Any vacations?”
“None.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ask. “That’s lonely.”
“I’ve been alone before. It’s not horrible.”
“Not horrible isn’t the same as wonderful.
Don’t you want more from life than not horrible?
” He stayed quiet. “That’s like years from now, you’re on your deathbed, surrounded by children and grandchildren, and you look around and think to yourself, I lived an adequate life.
It was decent. Acceptable. Don’t you want more than that? ”
Dean set down his pencil. “We should go soon.”
He deserved better than that grim future, even though he left me all those months ago. “How about another game? If I win, will you answer my question?”
“Maybe.” He picked up his pencil. “If.”
He dropped a circle in the middle spot, and I countered.
Our game halted as a soft whistle announced another visitor.
A middle-aged man with blonde hair and a mustache stared at us. “All I need is diapers,” he said. “I don’t want trouble.” His hands were empty.
“Take whatever you want,” Dean said.
“We came for food,” I added.
The man’s expression relaxed. “My name is Gabe. Are you from here?”
“Dean and Lily.” He gestured to me. “My wife and I are heading north.”
I frowned at his use of that title, rather than correct him in front of a stranger, as it’d embarrass us both. Me more than him.
Gabe’s eyebrows drew in. “Do you have any word on Nebraska? My wife’s family has a farm.”
“No idea,” Dean said with genuine contrition. “Do you need more than diapers? There’s formula and other stuff.”
“Formula?” Gabe wiped his face. “I’d give my wife a break with that.”
Dean’s uncharacteristic friendliness surprised me. He never explained yesterday’s abandoned car, and he’d been downright surly at the school playground. Did he choose this drugstore to embrace his chipper, outgoing side?
He grabbed some plastic bags from the cashier’s stand. “Let’s load you up,” he said, and helped Gabe, with the pair of them taking a substantial portion of the baby supply section. “He seems like a decent father,” Dean said after the man left.
“I expected you to threaten him.”
“Why? Killing without purpose is a waste.” Not the most ethical explanation, but I didn’t argue. He went on. “Also, that ending you described?”
“That was unkind of me, and you don’t have to answer. I didn’t win.”
Dean picked up my left hand, splaying his fingers across it to expose my palm. He kissed the tip of one finger and searched my face for any hint of refusal. “I can’t imagine a more wonderful life. Also, you won, Lily.” Dean kissed another finger and released my hand. “You just don’t know it yet.”
He strode to the exit, assuming I’d follow.