“What a strange man,” I whispered as we turned down the canned goods aisle.

“That’s old Wilmer Jenkins,” said Grandma. “Not a bad fellow, if a bit obsequious. You know what obsequious means?”

“It means he’s a kiss-ass,” said Murphy. “A right regular brownnoser.”

“You are correct, Murphy,” said Grandma. “If vulgar as always.”

Murphy shrugged. “Mom always said to say it like you mean it and call bullshit wherever you see it.”

“Yes,” said Grandma, “that certainly does sound like your mother.”

“What the hell is going on here?” said Murphy. “I mean, who dresses up to buy groceries?”

“Benign is a quaint town,” said Grandma. “Very particular in its ways.”

“This is fucking weird.”

“Language,” said Grandma. “Also, Murphy, can we try to be a little more congenial? These are your neighbors.”

A man with a red mustache bustled down the aisle and shook my hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, son, it truly is,” he said. “And Mena, how’s my boy doing out on the lot?”

“Quite well,” said Grandma. “Murphy, Lee, have you all met Stephens yet? Boy who lives out in the tenant house? This is his father, Mr. Brownderville.”

“We haven’t met any of the tenants except for Cass,” I said.

Murphy shot me a look, but I pretended not to notice.

“Well, I’d be honored if you dropped by and introduced yourself,” said Mr. Brownderville. “He’s a good boy, and faithful. A chip off the old block, I do hope.”

“You can be certain of that,” said Grandma with a smile.

I had no idea what that meant. It was like Grandma and all the other people in town shared this secret that none of them were going to let Murphy and me in on. But I knew that somehow we were at the center of it.

Another man came walking up to Grandma, all stoop-backed and stammery. His clothes were more raggedy than everybody else’s, his tie loose and his suit wrinkled. He had bloodshot eyes, and his hands trembled as he stood there.

“Mena,” he said.

Grandma ignored him.

“Are these the children?” he said. “Please, Mena.”

Grandma ushered us down the aisle, away from him. I turned to look back, and he stood there miserably, hunched and lonesome and defeated.

“Who was that?” said Murphy.

“You are not to speak to that man,” said Grandma. “No matter what.”

“Why not?” I said.

“Some people simply cannot be helped,” she said. “And one mustn’t waste one’s time on lost causes.”

And she wouldn’t say another word about him.

After an hour of shopping and handshakes, we finally had all our groceries, and it was a shit-ton of food, way more than I thought we could eat in a week. The cashier, an old man in a black smock and a bowler hat, just waved us through.

“On the house, Mrs. Sanford,” said the man.

“Why, thank you, George,” she said.

George reached over the counter and took my hand and clasped it in both of his.