Monster in Miniature by Grace Margaret

Author:Grace, Margaret
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: PENGUIN group

Skip’s first choice for dinner had been pot roast.

“Pot roast takes hours,” I’d told him. “You’d have to give me more notice.”

“Okay, then meatloaf, meatballs, cheeseburger. Anything like that.”

“I think I get it. June is still in Chicago,” I’d said, making a grocery list with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. Tenderloin strips. Mushrooms. Sour cream. Egg noodles. The makings of beef stroganoff.

“Yeah, you know what Lincoln’s favorite dinner was?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Are we inviting him?”

“Rare steak. And he loved sweets. Bottom line: I’m in good company, and what my vegetarian girlfriend doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

Thus, at about four o’clock I found myself carrying a red plastic basket down the aisle of the supermarket, Henry at my side, swinging a basket for his own items. The girls were at the front of the store where there was Wi-Fi and a large bowl of free Halloween candy. I was beginning to worry that by the time Halloween night came around, Lincoln Point would be completely out of sweets.

“What a coincidence,” Henry had said when I told him of my errand. “I need to pick up a few things, too.”

Henry’s car was parked closer to Sadie’s, so the four of us rode in it to the supermarket.

The whole scene was a little too domestic for me: a gray-haired couple and their grandchildren climbing down from an SUV, shopping together, commenting on the price of cherry tomatoes and asparagus and the advantages of paper over plastic.

Ken and I went on this kind of outing often, except we’d have divided up our list. We’d go our separate ways through the aisles and then meet at the checkout stand, as if we’d been on a scavenger hunt. He’d have been responsible for the heavy goods, like five-pound bags of flour or rice, and items that came in large cans and glass bottles. I’d have picked up the fruit and vegetables, dairy, and condiments.

“You don’t trust me to choose bananas,” he might say. “That’s why you always get the produce.” He was right. He ate bananas when they were greener than the felt carpeting in my dollhouse attic; I liked them soft, just this side of banana bread.

The supermarket was no place for tearing up, but I seemed to be worse than ever at dealing with my memories. I knew the great unknown that had reared itself through the cartons in the garage was partly responsible for this resurgence of melancholy and self-pity.

I hadn’t told anyone about the photographs or the little girl’s clothing I’d found in Ken’s Bronx box. I’d all but promised Beverly I’d tell her what was “wrong.” I knew Henry and Skip were standing by, ready to listen and to help. Henry had done me a great service, lending his back to the task of getting the boxes down from the shelves, with no expectations of satisfying his curiosity. I couldn’t ask for better family and friends. Even the one begging me to solve her brother’s murder.

No matter what,

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