Page 22 of Levi

“Six subs won’t last a week. They might last two days in a refrigerator, and even then the bread goes soggy.”

“Then I’ll eat them all in two days,” I say. “Every one of them.”

“What happens on day three?”

“Day three is not today’s problem. Or your problem.”

He sighs. “You say that now.”

“You keep making my problems yours. Strange hobby for a man who wants me gone.”

“It’s not a hobby. It’s damage control.”

We get into the SUV and he pulls out onto the highway.

“Liquor store’s up ahead on the right,” I say, and he pulls in without a fight.

The lot is empty and the door doesn’t move when I pull it. I tug it again. There’s a hand-lettered sign taped inside the glass.

CLOSED SUNDAY MORNING. GONE TO CHURCH. BACK AT 1.

I read it twice. Just my luck the one thing standing between me and a resupply this morning is church. Somewhere down the road there’s a congregation about two hymns from letting out, and the clerk I need to open this damn store is in there singing his guilty heart out.

I’m sure I could still sing every word they’re singing too, all songs, all verses. That is not a memory I want to reminisce about today.

I hurry back to the car. “What time is it?”

“Ten-forty.”

“They open at one. I need you to bring me back here at one.”

“Why are they closed?” he asks.

“Clerk’s gone to church. Back at one.” I drop into the seat. “God’s timing.”

He glares at me through the sunglasses, and takes a moment to consider it.

“I’ll come back at one to get you,” he says.

“Swear on it.”

“I don’t need to swear on it, Levi. I keep my word. Be out front at one. Now get in the car so I can take you home.”

“One o’clock. I’m holding you to the word you wouldn’t swear on.”

He pulls up to the house and leaves the engine running, which is already its own answer, but I ask the question anyway. “You could wait it out here in the house,” I offer. “If you want. The two hours. The house has cold air, and I’m willing to split the key lime pie. And the sandwiches since they’re going bad in two days. According to you. Want to come in and wait inside?”

“I have calls to make.” He’s already glancing at his phone. “I’ll be back at one.”

“Who are you calling on a Sunday?”

“Like I told you, I work every day. Especially on weekends.”

“Sure you do. Same way you were ‘checking on the house’ this morning.”

“Go inside, Levi, before you get more sunburned than you already are.”

The SUV backs out, and I carry my groceries in alone.