Page 49 of The Tattered Gloves
“You’re buying more food?” I asked, clearly surprised.
She laughed as we entered, grabbing a small handbasket. “Just a few things. I thought I’d take the rest of the leftovers and make a soup or maybe a potpie. I haven’t decided.”
Despite the vow I’d made to never eat again after consuming copious amounts of food yesterday, my stomach instantly growled at the thought of homemade potpies.
Traitor.
“Why don’t you go look at the movies, and I’ll meet you back at the register in a few?” she suggested, already focused on several items in front of her.
I agreed, liking the idea of venturing out on my own much better than standing around, waiting for Addy to decide between three different brands of chicken stock.
The town’s one and only Redbox was just outside the door, so I immediately headed there. It didn’t take me long to look through what was available and pick out something Addy might like. I’d learned rather early on, she preferred comedies to most everything else.
And that was totally fine with me.
Using the credit card she’d given me, I grabbed two selections and headed back into the grocery store toward the checkout counter, but she wasn’t there.
Knowing how long she could sometimes take with making decisions, I set out to find her. The odds were in my favor, seeing as it wasn’t a large store, and it thankfully took only moments to locate her.
Of course, the sound of her laughter could probably be heard miles away.
Approaching tentatively until I knew whom she was speaking with, I stayed back, waiting until she noticed me.
“Oh, Willow! I’m so sorry! I was supposed to meet you up front. I got caught up, speaking with Mrs. Landers about your wonderful History project.”
The familiar face turned to greet me, and I smiled.
It was always weird to see teachers outside of school. Mrs. Landers, an older woman, probably in her late sixties, was dressed down in knit pants and a matching top. Her hair was styled much more casually than I’d ever seen, and the dark lipstick she usually wore to class was gone.
It was like seeing a lion in the zoo. You just knew it didn’t naturally belong there, yet you couldn’t stop staring.
“Hi, Mrs. Landers,” I finally said, fidgeting with the DVDs in my hands.
“Hello, Willow. So good to see you. Did you two have a pleasant Thanksgiving?” she asked politely.
“Yes, we did, thank you,” Addy replied. “And you?”
“Oh, it was nice. Quiet, but nice all the same.”
There was a sadness to her words, as if the wordnicereally didn’t mean nice at all.
Addy must have noticed it, too, because there was a slight pause before she replied, “Good, that’s good. Say, do you have any plans tonight?” she asked, causing both of us to look up at her in shock.
“Um, well… no, I guess not,” Mrs. Landers replied.
“Great! Well, Willow and I were just picking up a few things to make a big homemade pot pie, and we’d love to have you over, if you’d like to join us? Maybe you could stay for a movie as well?”
Mrs. Landers looked over at me, clearly asking for permission.
Is it strange to have your teacher over for dinner?
Did I care?
Seeing the loneliness in her gaze, I realized… no, I really didn’t care. I gave her an encouraging smile, basically green-lighting her to accept.
“That sounds delightful,” she replied, her mood already lifting, as the tone in her voice improved.
Addy and she discussed time and other details. Mrs. Landers insisted on bringing something, and they settled on rolls or an appetizer. I couldn’t remember. My mind was still focused on the fact that my teacher was coming to our house to hang out.
