Page 36 of The Woman I’ve Become

At the supermarket I wave to Olivia as Acacia drives the short distance to Sunny Daes, then I go inside. The store is forever busy even with just the year-round residents. I walk straight toward the manager’s office, ignoring at least one shopper who stops and stares at me as if I’m the devil himself. I stare back at her, tempted to stick out my tongue. Instead, I continue on, hoping the manager on duty is Mr. Smith. He’s older, the fatherly type who always chats with Olivia.

I see him near the produce section, so I change course and join him just as the misters turn on to irrigate the lettuce.

“Julia!” His smile slips into a frown. “Where’s Olivia?” He glances around. “She didn’t come with you today?”

“She’s having ice cream at Sunny Daes. I have some questions for you, if you have a moment.”

“Of course.” Worry tracks across his face. “Is everything all right? Should we go to my office?”

I glance around. There’s no one else in the immediate area. “This is fine.” I opt not to answer the other question. “There was a delivery to my house this week. A dark-haired young man was the delivery person.”

“Gil,” he offers with a smile. “He just finished his second year at NYU. This is his first summer with us.” His smile wanes. “Was there a problem with your delivery? Helen didn’t mention any issue.”

So Rick told the truth about the guy’s identity. “No, no problem. I just wanted to ask him if he might be interested in a couple of small jobs I have.” I make this up on the fly. I hope he doesn’t ask for additional details.

“Well, sure. Follow me.”

While we stroll toward the “employees only” door I say, “Rick Howard may have already spoken to him. He mentioned he might drop by.” Rick and the manager know each other. Most of the year-round residents are acquainted.

Mr. Smith shakes his head. “I haven’t seen Rick this week at all. I thought he might be in the city. He goes frequently. I think he’s doing some consulting work with the bureau.”

“He hasn’t gotten back to me, so I assume he hasn’t had the time.”

So Rick lied. Unless he spoke directly to this Gil, the former agent lied to me.

Why am I not surprised?

Men will lie when the truth would serve them better.

I learned that the hard way.

Everyone lies. Sometimes we even lie to ourselves—never a good thing.

“Gil!” Mr. Smith holds the door for me and simultaneously shouts over my head.

“Sir?”

Gil stops moving boxes to a stocking cart and turns to his boss. He’s young. Twenty, maybe. Dark hair and a deep tan. He wears a Balducci apron over his tee and jeans. Helen was right, he is handsome.

“This is Mrs. . . . Excuse me,” Mr. Smith apologizes, “Dr. Belmont. She would like to speak with you about some help she needs.” The manager turns to me. “Take your time. I’ll get back out to the produce department. I’m shorthanded today.”

When the door swings closed behind him, I turn to Gil and offer my hand. Obviously surprised by the gesture, he awkwardly gives mine a shake.

“Actually,” I say as he moves the next box, “what I really need is a plumber and a reasonably capable carpenter.” He definitely doesn’t strike me as a young man with either of those skills considering his clean, manicured nails and soft, smooth skin.

His expression falls. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know the first thing about plumbing or carpentry.”

I nod. “I hope Mr. Howard didn’t already ask you about my needs.”

Confusion clouds his face now. “I’m not sure who you mean.”

“Rick Howard, retired FBI agent? He was going to speak with you for me. But since I had to come by, I thought I would go ahead and check in with you myself.”

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t know him.”

“Is there another dark-haired delivery guy who works for Balducci’s?”

“Not to my knowledge. There are two other guys and one woman. No one with dark hair like mine.”