Free Mother by Tamara Thorne, Alistair Cross Page B

tranquilized garden snail, Jason began to understand his wife’s point of view. Tick … Tock … Tick … Tock … Is it possible to doze off in a market? Yes, it is. Tick … Tock … But Prissy’s helping us, he reminded himself as they approached the two-hour mark and The Carpenters began singing about being close to you again. She was eccentric, but she was kind. He could see how she could annoy some people, but he still couldn’t help feeling that Claire had painted her mother in a worse light than she deserved. People do change , he told himself.
    Forty-five minutes later, as they made their way to the self-checkout, Jason had surpassed his limit and was becoming angry. But he held it in.
    “I don’t trust checkout girls,” announced Prissy. “I prefer doing it myself so there’s no risk of being overcharged.” She was nothing if not frugal, Jason told himself. And just a little eccentric.
    Claire leaned against a magazine rack and gave him a satisfied smile. He knew what she was thinking: I told you so ...
    One excruciatingly precise item at a time, Priscilla Martin began scanning and bagging, stopping on occasion to recheck labels to be certain she’d made the wisest possible choice. She stared particularly long and hard at the Niblets label before letting out an exasperated sigh and sweeping the can across the scanner.
    Jason suppressed a groan, promising himself they’d never shop with Prissy again. This foible was just too much. Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…  
    Against the magazine rack, Claire was swallowing laughter. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Why didn’t you warn me?”
    Claire just smiled.

Terrible Creatures
    Babs Vandercooth nibbled an Oreo between sips of coffee. “It’s like being a kid again, Pris. Have a cookie.”
    “Really, Barbara - Oreos?”
    “Why not?”
    Prissy eyed a cookie like it was a big black bug, then snatched it up. She carefully unscrewed the top of the Oreo and examined the white filling, a dubious look in her eye. Peeling the filling from the cookie, she dropped it on her saucer, a lardy white lump that Babs eyed. “Take it, if you want it,” Prissy said. She never missed a thing.
    “Don’t mind if I do.” Babs picked up the disk of filling and popped it in her mouth, feeling ten years old again. It felt good. Aida had told her this morning that Claire and Jason had arrived last night, but Babs hadn’t asked about her yet. Pris had no idea she’d kept in contact with Claire all these years, and they’d decided to play it cool to keep her from catching on - but, oh, how she wanted to see her.
    “You know that stuff will kill you,” Pris said.
    “Why’d you offer it to me, then?”
    “It’s your choice,” Prissy used her most arched tone. “It’s your body.” She dipped a chocolate disk in her coffee, nibbled it, then set it aside. “Now, we need to make up a list of who is baking what for next weekend’s sale.”
    “What would Morning Glory Circle do without you, Prissy? We’d all be headless chickens!” Babs trusted her friend wouldn’t hear the bite in her voice; she never did.
    Pris smiled. “Do you have your notebook?”
    “Sure.” Babs pulled a pen and a legal pad out of her tote.  
    “You’d be much better at this if you brought your laptop, Barbara. Then we could just print out a list for everyone to follow instead of passing out handwritten notes.”
    “You know me, I’m kind of a Luddite when it comes to computers.”
    Prissy sighed. “Only because you choose to be. There’s a new computer class starting at the adult school next Monday night. You should go.”
    “Oh, you know enough about computers for both of us, Pris. And Monday night, Carl and I always play bridge with Stan and Aida.”
    Prissy looked heavenward. “If that’s more important to you ...”
    “It is,” Babs said firmly. “Much more important.” She’d learned to head off her friend whenever a lecture was looming - a frequent occurrence.