head until we shimmied to a stop in front of Walmart.
“Land ho,” Shawn said cheerfully, pulling his clipboard from the dash.
I stayed put, but the bus turned into a beehive around me. Alice hung her head over the aisle to ask Valencia what they should shop for first. Behind her, Sherri Linley raised her arms, saying her usual blessings over us before we set off, a petition for strong hearts, sharp minds, and good deals, amen.
“Don’t forget that we have less time than usual because some moron made us late,” Reginald hollered, while Luann wrestled in the back with Clarence Riley’s wheelchair.
During all this hubbub, Josie popped out of the passenger seat and skittered to the Walmart entrance like it was a damn fire drill. I tracked her progress from the window, and it drew me to my feet, moved me to the stairs.
Surprised, Shawn set his pen down and unbuckled. “Whoa, there, captain. Do you have your sea legs?”
“I sure do,” I lied, every word a pained wince on my way down.
I stepped onto the asphalt, feeling nauseous. Greasy. Panicked. My flashback had caused phantom bottle-aches with no quick fix. For a sick second, I wanted my symptoms to be real, because then at least, like on that fine-looking September day, I could cure myself one of two ways: by either getting drunk or getting clean.
Same way Josie could now.
There seemed no other explanation. She had the shakes, the breath, the attitude. In my experience, that added up to a bout of barrel fever. And it looked like she’d already picked her remedy too.
But I had to know for sure. I commandeered an empty shopping cart in the parking lot and pointed it toward the building. We weren’t allowed to be on our own. We had a buddy system, a check-in/ check-out system. I walked on anyway, toward the hope of guiltlessly telling Josie to take her drunk ass back to wherever it came from. I could not and would not keep that kind of company, even for Carl’s sake—because aside from Simmons, the only other thing I truly feared was sliding back down the interior of a glass bottle and slowly drowning.
The wheels of my cart squeaked as I entered the building, where twenty beeping check-out stations echoed. I scanned the crowds, and there, past check-out number seven: a flash of Josie’s pint-size body, her sleek black hair reflecting the fluorescent lights. With purpose, she disappeared between the racks of women’s clothing.
So the chase is on, I thought, just as the automatic doors behind me whistled open for the rest of Centennial’s crew. They made their way with the help of our two chaperones, who tucked shirts back in, pointed walkers right, and guided clumsy feet over curbs. After watching them for a moment, I decided a shortcut might be good.
I readjusted my grip and squinted at the signs hanging from the rafters. Automotive. Socks and Hosiery. Toys. Boys. Vision Center. Girls. Restrooms. Save money. Live better. Like hell. Which way to Beer, Wine & Spirits?
“Duffy,” Luann called. “Wait for us.”
I started moving. Truth was, ever since Walmart began carrying alcohol a few years back, I walked a wide berth around the store to make certain I never went near that section. And this meant I didn’t actually need a sign. I knew exactly where it was, because I’d spent so much energy making sure I never went there.
I cut through the baby section, going by rattles, pink rompers, bitty socks, and one runny-nosed young’un in a cart who would’ve loved for me to pull a penny from behind his ear like I do. But I blew by without so much as a funny face and popped out at the junk food. From there, I took a hard right, passing the canned goods, the toilet paper, the sodas. I slowed enough to glance down the pharmacy aisle, since it had cough syrup, mouthwash, hand sanitizer. Underage hooch. No Josie, though, so I kept going, toward the back of the store, faster now, and my heart raced with me, leaving behind a tender spot at the edge of my rib cage.
An endcap stocked with boxed wines and spritzers