She sat holding the white steering wheel of the Buick Super with her gloved hands, gripping and releasing, gripping, releasing. She stared at the Schaeffers’ car, parked across from her in the spot she had just pulled into, and groaned, wondering if she should duck down in the seat until she heard Madeline Schaeffer ease her bony backside into the car and then drive away. Vivian glanced around the parking lot to see if there were any other cars she recognized, but then realized she couldn’t just sit there and wait them all out. If she weren’t committed to hosting the intimate dinner party that evening, the trip to Buehler’s could’ve been postponed. They had plenty of leftover ham noodle casserole, lentil soup, and cold cuts for sandwiches. But tonight was important, and she needed to pick up a few things for the special dishes she had planned.

As she began to walk down the parking row she saw Madeline Schaeffer exiting the store with one of the bag boys in tow. Roger or Michael, she couldn’t see his face behind Madeline’s giant fur hat. Christ, that woman was such a show-off. Vivian sidestepped between a green Ford and a white Chevy and bent into an awkward crouch, pretending to have dropped her keys. She stared at the dirty, packed snow around her boots, waiting until she heard the Schaeffers’ trunk open and then slam shut. She watched her breath poof into tiny clouds and then disappear until she heard Madeline say, “Thank you, Roger,” before probably giving him what Vivian guessed would be an embarrassingly small tip. And at Christmastime, too. Stingy when feeding herself, and stingy when tipping. Eat something and give that boy a proper tip, for chrissakes.

Vivian remained in her crouched position until she heard the engine start, and then waited fifteen more seconds until she was certain Madeline had pulled out of the parking spot and out of the lot altogether. She hooked her glove into the silver door handle of the Ford and pulled herself to a standing position, before brushing off her coat and narrowing her eyes at the store’s entrance. She reached into her pocketbook as she walked past the other cars, and pulled out a handful of coins. She paused briefly next to the cheerful Salvation Army bell-ringer and dropped the coins loudly into the red bucket before stepping into the bustle of Buehler’s.

With a death grip on the shopping cart, she kept her head high and pushed down each aisle with determined purpose, doing her best to keep her eyes on the shelf contents and not on the passing or approaching figures. She didn’t know everyone in Wooster, but she knew enough that someone familiar was bound to pop up on this visit. She especially didn’t want to run into her sister Violet or her mother today, because even if they didn’t know what was wrong, they’d know something was wrong.

The cart’s left rear wheel wobbled and rattled, setting her false-but-perfect teeth on edge. She paused in front of the Quaker Oats and thought she might want to exchange the cart for a different one before she rammed it into an unsuspecting shopper out of frustrated irritation. She glanced up to see Betty Miller’s colored maid standing at the seafood counter at the end of the aisle. I knew it. Expensive fish. Expensive, fancy fish for Betty’s expensive, fancy Christmas party tonight. Vivian started to swing the cart around to head back in the other direction.