Page 72 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
Costco a week and a half before Christmas was always going to be a shit show. But there’s snow in the forecast now, too, so along with typical holiday shoppers there are also doomsday nutjobs here buying enough milk and toilet paper to survive a nuclear fallout.
Bella is riding in my shopping cart so I can keep track of her while Ian tests the limits of his freedom by running off every few minutes.
Tim handled most of the Christmas shopping, and he was great at knocking things out early. I, of course, have mostly put it off until now, so here we are. Along with lump sums of money, life insurance policies should include a personal assistant for errand running so the surviving spouse can spend their time grieving and dabbling in alcoholism.
I run through my gift list in my head. I have the kids mostly covered, but I need things for my parents, Tim’s parents, Ruth and Nick, something small for Dr. Butler, Zoe and Hector from work, Miss Nadine, and…Henry? Is that appropriate? I have no idea.
“Can we get some Christmas Nerds?” asks Bella.
“Yeah, we probably should,” I say, dropping a Costco-size box of them into our cart. “Where’s your brother?”
Bella points and I wave Ian back.
“Do you think I’m supposed to get something for my homeroom teacher?” he asks when he returns.
“Oh, man. Probably. You guys think we should get something for Henry?”
“No,” says Bella.
“What?” says Ian. “We totally should. He bought us books and you a raven, remember?”
He has a point. Were those Christmas presents or justpresentpresents, though?
“We could give him Christmas Nerds,” says Bella.
“I’ll go look for some things,” says Ian, dashing off again.
I think as I guide my cart through a sea of people. Eventually a gift idea pops into my head—a good one, too. Then I notice a woman passing in the opposite direction. I’m almost certain I know her. When she sees me, recognition flashes in her eyes.
“Grace?” she says.
Shit. Who is this? She’s holding Oreos and a sweatshirt with a pirate ship on it. She’s pretty. I’ve seen her before, maybe even met her. Then I remember the little stack of photos from Tim’s desk, the ones LeRoy dropped off with Tim’s computer. Lauren…something.
“Hi,” I say. “Lauren?”
“Yeah, hi.” She touches her chest. “Lauren Maxwell. I worked with…with Tim.”
The head fog clears as Lauren Maxwell transforms from two dimensions into three. A history teacher at Tim’s school. She was at the funeral huddled up with the rest of the faculty.
“Right,” I say. “Lauren. How’ve you been?”
I push my cart to the side of the aisle, and she gives me a quick hug.
“I’m okay,” she says. “Happy holidays. How are you?”
“You, too. I’m good. You know, all things considered.”
“Well, you look fantastic.”
I don’t, actually. I just look like me. I hear this from people often, though. When you live through everyone’s biggest fear, people are surprised to see that you’re able to stand upright. I ask her how things are at school.
“Good,” she says. “Fine. It’s not the same, though.”
Then Ian returns holding a box of colored pencils, and Lauren covers her mouth as he sidles up to the cart. “Oh my god,” she says, and I watch her eyes get shiny with tears.
Ian looks startled, like he’s done something wrong.
Lauren squeezes the bridge of her nose, embarrassed as she tries to laugh. “Sorry. But he just…he looks just like him, doesn’t he?”
