Page 16 of Molly
She picked up after the second ring. “What’s up, girl?”
I turned in my chair to scan the pantry shelves, looking for inspiration. “When Sierra was four, what kind of meals did you prepare that you both ate and enjoyed?”
“What?” she asked on a breathy laugh. “That has got to be the most random question I’ve been asked lately.”
Oops. Should have started with context. “Sorry. It’s for the new job I told you guys about. I’m going to cook dinner, but I’m not sure what would be something both Chloe and her dad would like, and it’s a surprise, so I can’t ask him.”
“Okay, well, I doubt you’re calling to ask me for my tofu curry recipe—which is to die for, by the way. But with kids, you need to keep it simple. Spaghetti, but with sauce on the side. A taco bar so they can pick what goes in the shells. Hot dogs. Hamburgers. Chicken nuggets. You know, all the processed garbage that isn’t fit for human consumption.”
Time to nip the soapbox in the bud before she started ranting about the FDA and the horrible things the government approved as safe to eat. “I can do spaghetti. Thanks, Nicole.”
“Anytime.”
I tossed my phone back into my purse, then cleaned Chloe’s sticky hands and face. By the time we made it to the grocery store, I felt energized. I had a plan and I was going to make a difference. Father-of-the-year Ben would temporarily have someone take care of him for a change.
I could almost imagine him now, coming home from a hard day at the hospital like he normally did every day. He’d loosen the tie I saw around his neck earlier and sink into the leather chair in his living room. Instead of scrounging up energy to rise back to his feet so he could put some fish sticks in the oven or call to order take-out, he’d sniff the air and be overcome with relief at the prospect of not having to cook dinner.
A small thing, really, but to Ben the gesture would be a big deal. At least, I hoped it would.
“Can I push the cart?” Chloe gave me a puppy dog look.
I’d thought to put her in the cart, but if she wanted to push, I didn’t see the harm. I smiled at her. “Sure.”
She grinned then stretched up high to reach the handle. I put my hands on the other side of hers to help her steer, but she pushed them away. “I can do it by myself.”
“Okay, Little Miss Independent.”
We’d entered through the doors closest to the produce, so we started by selecting lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes. Chloe pushed the cart right behind me (and I do meanrightbehind me—my heels would be sore for a few days) to the bread aisle, where I chose a loaf of crusty French bread.
I scampered the few feet to the meat aisle to save my heels from further abuse, shooting looks over my shoulder to make sure Chloe followed. With her behind me, I leaned over the refrigerated display, inspecting the ground beef. Adding meatballs sounded good. What guy didn’t like meat?
A revving sound tickled my ear, but I ignored it.Should I use the lean meat with only seven percent fat or go for more flavor with the 80/20 fat ratio?
“Beeeeeep!” Pounding footstep thundered behind me. I turned. My eyes widened and I watched in horror as Chloe raced the cart from the refrigerated shelves of beef, past the pork, and into the chicken section where another woman—unsuspecting, I might add—examined a package of boneless chicken breasts.
My pulse hiked in acceleration. “Chloe!” I screeched. But there was no stopping her full throttle NASCAR shopping cart, the driver too short to see over the handle.
Everything downshifted to slow motion.
Swift moving object A. Stationary object B. The distance between the two shrinking.
And me powerless to stop the inevitable.
I sucked in a breath through my teeth and braced as the end of the cart smacked the chicken breast lady in the hip.
She let out a disgruntledoomph.
Meanwhile, Chloe’s body continued to be in motion after the cart had halted. She hit the front of the cart with her head then fell onto her bottom to the floor.
I raced over. Who should I go to first? Did I make sure the victim hadn’t been hurt or check the preschooler on the floor?
“Ohmygoodness. Ohmygoodness.” Incoherent words spewed from my mouth as my feet pounded the industrial linoleum. Chicken lady scowled at me but otherwise appeared uninjured. She’d probably sport a purple bruise on her hip, but she’d be fine.
I lowered myself to kneel beside Chloe, collecting her in my arms. “Are you all right?”
She blinked, but then grinned up at me.
Relief sagged through my bones. I pulled Chloe away from my chest and looked into her eyes. “That was very naughty, Chloe. You need to apologize to the poor woman you ran over.” I helped Chloe up and pushed her around the cart to face the chicken lady. Chloe wrapped her arms around my leg and buried her face in my thigh.
