Page 6 of Lone Star Longing
“You don't have any food worth eating, Mrs. Conover, not with your blood sugar levels. You can’t eat any of this.”
“I don't have the money to give to you.” The older woman crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a jar of peanut butter. “I can eat this.”
Except she didn't have bread, or even crackers. “That’s fine, you can owe me. You don't have enough food to last. When was the last time they delivered your food?”
“They don't come out here anymore.”
Lacey mentally added “pick up groceries for Mrs. Conover” to her mental to-do list. “If you don't give me a list, I’m going to go get you what I think you should have, and you won’t like that.”
Mrs. Conover glared for a long moment before she crossed to a drawer, pulled out a pad and pencil, and began writing.
*****
LORD, LACEY HATED DRIVINGback to town on these dark roads, but she was glad to be useful. Today more useful than usual.
She obsessively made sure her phone was plugged into the charger, and hoped the grocery store was still open.
Mrs. Lopez was just walking toward the door when Lacey burst through.
“Lacey! You’re never here this late. I’m just about to lock up.”
“I know, Mrs. Lopez, but I need to pick up some things for Mrs. Conover. Just a few things to tide her over until my next visit. Do you mind? I’ll be really quick.”
Mrs. Lopez’s usually friendly expression closed at the mention of Mrs. Conover’s name. Lacey just happened to notice that between scanning the aisles for what she’d need.
“That lady.”
“How long since she’s ordered? She barely had anything in her pantry, and I know she doesn't have internet, so she’s not ordering online.”
“She came in a few weeks back with one of her friends, and she was so hateful and rude, it was upsetting. She said she wouldn't be doing business with us anymore.”
“Well, I don't know where she thought she was going to go.” Lacey picked up a hand basket and started toward the produce at the front of the store. “I just need to get her a few things so I can make her some meals for a couple of days, then I’ll come back before I go out the next time and pick up the rest. I’m really sorry to delay you.”
“I’ve already closed out the register.”
Lacey knew that wasn't true, because she’d never do that before locking the door. She set the basket on the counter by the register with a sigh. “What would you have me do, Mrs. Lopez? Leave her out there hungry?”
Mrs. Lopez met her gaze for a long moment before her shoulders slumped. “No, of course not. Get what you need, but I’m not giving you more than ten minutes.” She returned to her place behind the register.
Lacey wouldn't need that much time. She already had bread and eggs in her basket. She headed to the produce and added apples as well as tomatoes and avocados. She grabbed two whole cooked chickens from the warmer and scanned the store for what else she could use in a quick meal.
When she set the basket on the counter and pulled her own debit card from her wallet, Mrs. Lopez frowned.
“She didn't even give you money?”
Lacey didn't want to engage in this conversation. “She’ll pay me back.”
Mrs. Lopez snorted, and rang up the order, but made no move to bag the items. With a suppressed sigh, Lacey moved to the end of the conveyor belt, helped herself to a paper bag, and started packing.
She drove back to Mrs. Conover’s much slower, not wanting a bump in the road that she couldn't see to throw her little car out of commission. She kept her phone plugged in and charging, but service was iffy out here.
When she reached Mrs. Conover’s, she had to knock a couple of times before she pulled the key again, and saw the older woman snoozing in front of her television game show. Lacey decided not to wake her until dinner was ready. The woman would just argue with her over what she wanted to eat, but she would eat whatever Lacey made.
But Lacey wasn't going to have time to clean, not today. She hated that, because it was going to put her behind for next time, but she didn't want to get home so late, when she had her first patient at seven in the morning.
This time she wasn't startled when she heard the shuffle of Mrs. Conover’s house shoes as she entered the kitchen.
“I didn't hear you come back,” the woman said, peering into the pot. “What are you making?”
