The roads were beginning to mist as we came upon a small grocery store. The sign read Mary’s Groceries. I couldn’t recall ever having seen this place, but the building certainly wasn’t new. The clapboarding was weather-worn and faded, and the lettering on the sign was severely chipped.

Jack pulled into the parking lot, turning off the engine and leaning in to give me a quick kiss. “You’re so beautiful.” My hand still on the back of his neck, I squeezed gently. For a moment, I felt intact and untouchable.

When we entered, the cashier stopped talking to an older man who was propped against the counter, wearing rubber boots and a plaid shirt. They both turned to look at us.

“Hello,” she said, nodding her head in greeting.

“Good day,” I replied, making my way down one of the aisles.

I collected bags of chips, frozen mini pizzas, and instant coffee while Jack headed to the coolers at the back. Nothing was fresh. No fruits, no vegetables, and definitely no steak. Everything was pickled and frozen, which I should have expected. Preserved foods were essential to communities like these, since the populations were small and it took time for supplies to reach them.

Jack and I met at the cash register. He was carrying two cases of beer, one in each hand, and a package of vacuum-sealed meat. The man in plaid was gone.

“Not from around here?” the cashier asked. She was in her fifties, with frizzy yellow hair that had clearly been box dyed, her grey roots forming a shadow across the middle of her head.

“Nope, from the city,” Jack replied, laying the items on the counter and pulling a few bills from his wallet.

“From the city, eh?” She smirked, the gap between her front teeth brown from cigarette smoke. “What brings you folks out here?”

“Just looking to get out of town. This one here is a writer.” He laid his hand on my back. “We’re always on the move, trying to find inspiration.”

I examined the woman as she and Jack conversed. There was something beautiful about the way she hit the buttons on the cash register, removing change from the slots without even glancing down. The fluidity of her motions like that of a classically trained ballerina.

“Well, how about that? ” She bagged our items, nodding her head repeatedly. “Always nice to be in the country. Where you staying?”

“A little farmhouse. Not far from here,” I replied, reaching for the bags.

She scratched her cheek with her acrylic fingernails, leaving behind a red imprint. “Old Man Caleb’s?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Be careful.” Leaning across the counter, the cashier held herself up on her elbows. She smelled like stale cigarettes and jasmine. “I hear that place is filled with ghosts.”

Jack snickered, but I maintained eye contact, searching for a sign she was joking. Then she winked.

“Yeah, we’ll be sure to watch out for ghosts,” he scoffed, heading for the door.