She took his elbow and led him to the bulk goods section.
“So no one got bitten?”
“Not by my dogs.” He smiled at a passer-by. It was not returned. “There’s a stray dog bothering people apparently, but it’s not one of mine. And Animal Control should be out catching that one, instead of wasting time on me.”
He put his hand to his forehead, rubbed hard. This was why he avoided town. Interactions always led to complications. It was easier to just stay on the sidelines. Safer. For everyone.
He turned to the checkout. “Never mind. Let’s just pay and get out of here.”
“I came for milk. I’m getting milk. You’re the one that promised steak.”
The spots of color on her cheeks reminded him of the photo he couldn’t get out of his mind, the red of her toes and lips matching the rose petals.
An older couple came around the corner.
“Hey there,” said Carrie. “How are you doing?”
The smiles they gave in return were slow and painfully fake.
Carrie watched them go, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Huh,” she said. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
“Nothing you can do is going to change people’s minds about my dogs. Or me, for that matter.”
“You sure it was all directed at you?”
“Come on, Carrie. I doubt anyone’s even noticed those pictures you’re so worried about.”
Carrie followed him to the canned goods aisle and stood close behind him so she could speak quietly.
“I see. It’s all about you. We may have – I’m just spit balling here – hit upon part of your little PR problem.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
He liked the way she said we, though. We. Like they were a team.
Whoop, whoop, went the alarm.
He ignored it.
“Admitting you have a problem is the first step toward finding a solution,” she said, nudging him toward the dairy case.
“I’m not the problem.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you like being a recluse? Do you like that people are scared of you? That they think you’re a dangerous guy? That you’ve got vicious pit bulls patrolling your razor-wire fences?”
“Pit bulls?” A nearby shopper glanced over and he clenched his jaw. “They’re not pit bulls. And FYI, pit bulls get a bad rap.”
“I know, I know, blame the deed, not the breed,” she said. “Preaching to the choir. But that’s beside the point. If you want me to help you, you’ve got to get out of the way and let me.”
She was close enough that he could smell the fresh air clinging to her hair.
The color had faded from her cheeks but her eyes were still bright. It was the friendly face of a well-meaning neighbor. Or something.
“Always sticking up for the underdog, huh?”
“I’m not offering you a kidney, Ethan. I hate it when people are judged unfairly, that’s all.” She took a step back. The tiny angry frown line between her eyes tickled him for some reason. Despite her own problems, this little bit of a thing wanted to go to battle on his behalf.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
He felt off balance, out of his element and didn’t like it one bit. “Didn’t mean to sound like such a…”
“A d-bag?” Carrie suggested. “An a-hole? A son of a b? Stop me when I hit on it. I’ve got a whole alphabet.”
A soft smile, not unlike the one she wore in that blue vase photograph, played on her lips.
“I’m all of that, and more. Can we just go?” Ethan looked around him, helplessly. The store was filling up. Several people had already edged past them, giving them pointed looks for blocking the aisle.
Carrie bit her lip, then glumly agreed.
They made their way to the checkout where he handed the young male cashier – who hadn’t made eye contact with him – his debit card.
“Hey Carrie,” said the boy, looking past Ethan. “Careful on your way out, okay? I hear there’s some loose dogs running around.”
The boy had the sharp eyes and pale complexion of a gamer. His fingers flew over the cash register keys, with only the occasional glance from him. Poor kid hadn’t learned to put his skills to good use yet.