Free Cauchemar by Alexandra Grigorescu Page A

them past snippets of music.

    Hannah moved through the grocery store aisles, keeping her head down. She massaged the pimpled flesh of grapefruits and added stalks of asparagus to her basket. The amount of food available in the small town shop was still incredible to Hannah, who’d grown up purchasing produce from nearby houses.
    â€œTwo of those salmon filets,” a woman told the man behind the seafood counter. “No, those ones there.”
    Hannah risked an upward glance and her breath caught in her throat. She turned quickly on her heel and pretended to be unreasonably fascinated by a head of cabbage.
    â€œHannah?” Sarah Anne asked tentatively.
    Hannah looked over her shoulder and managed a wooden wave.
    In a sweater and tight denim, Sarah Anne’s twenty-year-old body looked almost sickly thin. “Fancy meeting you here. I was wondering when we’d run into each other.”
    Behind the counter, the man packed up Sarah Anne’s filets, studying Hannah from under heavy lids.
    â€œOn the swamp, Mae used to mostly buy from farmers and fishermen in the area. She said it was fresher.”
    Sarah Anne mouthed “thank you” to the man and bounced the filets in her palm. “Maybe I’ll learn how to fish while I’m here.” She peeked through the cellophane and shuddered daintily. “Maybe not.”
    The man took a corner of his apron to the glinting edge of a blade, his eyes still on Hannah. The message was clear. Clearing her throat, Hannah backed away, picking up a bundle of squat carrots.
    â€œSo what brings you here, then?” Sarah Anne asked, oblivious to the man’s knife.
    â€œI’m—” Hannah stopped. The group of people who knew about her and Callum was so small that it felt like a secret. A private cubby into which only the two of them could fit. But she felt a girlish urge to gossip with Sarah Anne, remnants of a childhood cubby of their own. “I’m staying with a man in town. A musician.”
    Sarah Anne’s jaw dropped theatrically and she clapped her hand to her chest. “Why, Hannah. I do declare.” She laughed. “That’s fabulous. Older? Younger? Hot?”
    â€œOlder.” Hannah smiled. “Hot.”
    Sarah Anne sighed loudly. “What I wouldn’t give to trade lives with you. My uncle’s spending more time here than I thought. His idea of a great night is Scrabble and spiked lemonade. I swear, he handles me like china sometimes. I’ve barely had a night to myself since we got here.”
    â€œHe’s probably just worried that …” Hannah paused, swallowed hard, then finished in a small voice. “He just wants to make sure you’re okay, being back here and all.”
    Sarah Anne raised an eyebrow. “You know how you make sure someone’s okay? Quit annoying them to death.”
    They reached the cash registers and Sarah Anne fluttered her fingers over the glossy pages of magazines. “This?” she asked, tapping a photo of a blonde-bobbed celebrity. “For my hair?”
    Hannah shrugged.
    The wall of white teeth encased in crimson lips, black lashes like the multitudinous legs of centipedes, made her uncomfortable. The art of massaging red into her cheeks, perfuming the hollows of her neck, and ironing the kinks out of her hair was another gaping hole in Hannah’s education.
    â€œMaybe,” Sarah Anne mused, squinting at the photo. “I cut it short once, and regretted it. It’d look good on you, though.” Sarah Anne brushed her fingers through the ends of Hannah’s long reddish hair.
    â€œNext,” the cashier urged them, gesturing with her hand.
    Hannah laid out her items one by one, then noticed the cashier’s arms remained crossed. Behind her, Sarah Anne hummed bits of an almost recognizable melody as she studied the back of a can.
    â€œNext,” the cashier repeated and Hannah looked up into her flat,