“Nope,” April answered. “My car barely made it to Blossom. I need a job that’s close enough to home that I can walk if I have to.”

“Girl, I told you that you can use Nanny Lucy’s car anytime you want. I wouldn’t trust the tires on your car to take you from the house to the highway. First time you hit a pothole, one of those tires is going to blow,” Nessa told her. “It’s not brand new by any means, but she kept it in good repair.”

“I don’t need or want handouts or charity,” April said. “I’m going to make my own way from now on, but I might use Nanny Lucy’s car since it’s part of the estate and not a pity gift from you or Flynn.”

“All right, then,” Nessa said.

“For a redhead with a temper, you sure don’t have a hard heart.” April grabbed a cart and handed Nessa the list. “Since you’re buying, you can decide on the good products or the generic. I’ll push the cart for you.”

“I’m a shrewd shopper,” Nessa said as she headed toward the dairy aisle.

“I’m a professional cart pusher,” April said. “Next week, you can shop for me since that’s my week to pay for the food. I’ll give you the money if you’re all that good at this job, and I’ll push the cart for you. When it’s Flynn’s turn, we’ll just hope that we get food for a week and not just ice cream and chocolate cupcakes.”

“You remembered.” Nessa grinned.

“If he didn’t outgrow it, he’s got a sweet tooth worse than anyone I’ve ever known.” April pushed the cart down the dairy aisle. “This week, please get two gallons of milk. I could drink half a gallon all by myself.”

“Then we’d better get three, because if he still drinks as much as he did when we were kids, Flynn will go through a gallon by himself,” Nessa said. “I remember Nanny Lucy saying that she needed a cow during the week or weeks we were in Blossom.”

“What do you think his problem is?” April asked.

Nessa put three gallons of milk, two pounds of butter, and four dozen eggs into the cart. “I think he might be sick, as in really sick and dying. After all the women he’s been with, he might have caught something from one of them.”

“God, I hope not,” April gasped. “He’s too damn pretty to die, and too young to die at thirty-one years old.”