Tomato
juice splattered everywhere as the bottle hit the gray tile floor. Maia gasped
at the shattered glass, unable to tear her eyes away; the thick red liquid
pooled at her feet like a stagnant river of blood.
“I’m
sorry, Manny, the jar just slipped out of my hand,” she said, sensing the old
man’s presence at her side and half-wondering how he’d gotten across the aisle
so quickly.
“Don’t
you worry, sweetheart.”
“I’m so
clumsy lately. I can’t seem to hold on to anything these days.”
“Are
you hurt? Did any glass cut you?” He took her by the elbow, leading her away
from the debris.
“No, I’m
fine. Let me help you clean up.” She glanced back at the slimy red liquid mixed
with pieces of sharp, ragged-edged glass, making the aisle resemble a murder
scene from some B-rated detective show on TV.
“No,
no. I’ll get Jeff to clean up. He’ll be here in about five minutes. Now be
careful where you step.” He placed a large orange cone near the edge of the
area to ward off any unsuspecting customers from the slippery mess.
“Thanks,
Manny. I am so sorry—I’ll pay for the juice.”
“Not to
worry. A bottle of juice gets broken in here at least once a week.” He winked
and managed to bring a smile to her fretful face.
Good
old genial Manny, the master of calm, owner of the small seaside grocery
store—the only food store in Whisper Cape—and everybody’s grandfather. He had a
particular soft spot for pretty women. Except right now, Maia didn’t feel
pretty. She felt fat and clumsy. Determined to stay out of maternity clothes
for at least another month, she tugged at the waist of her once loose old gray
sweat pants and rubbed at the indentation the elastic etched on her tummy. Even
the normally beautiful, long, golden-brown curls she’d tucked up in her green
wool hat refused to cooperate this morning as they constantly slipped out and fell
in her eyes. She walked with Manny toward the other end of the store, and as he
veered off to the checkout area, Maia continued on to the deli section.
The
small store was quiet except for a group of teenage girls giggling over the
cover of a DVD. A group of young men hung around outside, looking in at the
girls. School would start soon and they’d all be on their way. Maia MacKenna
glanced at them and smiled, remembering what it was like to be that
age—innocent, not a care in the world. She placed her hand over the small bulge
in her abdomen. Life would never be the same for her.
At this
time of the morning, Manny’s Beachside Market—aptly named as one could hear the
pounding of the surf whenever the front door opened—was often the main attraction
of the kids from the nearby middle school and high school. The small-town
grocer managed to carry all the essentials, from sunscreen to meats and produce,
even a small variety of wines and beer. The refrigerated glass case Maia
perused housed a few selections of prime cut steaks and marinated pot roasts
and the deli department consisted of popular cold cuts and cheeses; nothing
fancy, just the basics. The produce counter offered a variety of heads of
lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, some apples, oranges—enough to get by for residents
and families visiting the area for a few days. Almost too small for the word “market,”
Manny’s place happened to be the closest
grocery store within five miles of the cozy cottage where Maia lived with Gerry
Briden, the love of her life and the father of her unborn child.
Hoping
to finish the shopping before her doctor’s appointment later that morning, she
stood facing a cleverly stacked display of tomatoes contemplating how many
she’d need as something in the corner of the adjacent deli case caught her eye.
A billow of steam escaped from a small crack at the bottom, and she found
herself mesmerized as the dewy cloud rose and dissipated, rose and
dissipated.
A voice,
a soft whisper, came from somewhere behind her. “A precious cargo.”
She
turned at the sound and looked into the face of a sweet old woman examining a
head of lettuce. She didn’t recall ever seeing the patron before, and yet …
there was something familiar about her. Her long black skirt, with a delicate
pattern of purple swirls, hung several inches below her dark gray coat. The old
woman’s hair, like strands of silver silk twisted into a braid, hung down the center
of her back. Her eyes, though old, were brilliant, a rich shade of brown with
little specks of gold.
The woman must be mumbling to herself. Maia shrugged and turned her attention back
to the tomatoes. Her niece, Addie MacKenna, was coming over for dinner tonight
with her boyfriend, the two having just returned from a well-deserved month-long
holiday. Maia smiled, thinking how happy they were, but her lips tightened a
bit as she remembered how they’d been in such danger going up against that sick
psychopath who’d murdered Maia’s older brother a little over a year ago. Maia
sighed, still in awe of Addie’s power, how she and Cael destroyed Eidolon,
torching him down to nothing more than a pile of ashes.
Maia
placed two plump red tomatoes—well as plump and as red as you could get this
time of year in Whisper Cape—in a plastic bag and placed the bag in her cart.
She stepped to the cucumbers and heard the voice again.