“Oh, he was.” She looked over at the man behind the counter. “Sorry, I disturbed you. You were busy buying a box of . . . ?” She looked at us, and Mike quickly jumped in.
“Cigarettes!” he said, still sounding somewhat panicked. He looked over at me, as if he wanted me to confirm this. I nodded.
“Michael Charles Wooldridge!” Mrs. Devereux suddenly grabbed a magazine from her basket, rolled it up and hit him on the arm.
“Does your mother know you smoke now?” she scolded him, and his demeanor changed a little, as if he was a small boy again. I put my hand over my mouth to stop the chuckle from escaping. “Your grandmother would be rolling in her grave if she knew you were sucking on those cancer sticks! Rolling in her grave!”
“They’re for me,” I interrupted.
She turned around and looked at me with that scolding teacher look. “Young lady!” she exclaimed loudly. “And doesyourmother know you’re smoking?”
I hung my head in shame, playing along. “No, she doesn’t.”
“You know those things will kill you,” she said, eyeing me. “Just last week, Laura Jacobs was diagnosed with lung cancer, and she smoked for forty years! She smoked through all five of her pregnancies, too, you know.” She leaned over to me. “Of course, no one knew it was bad for you then, like drinking Scotch. Everyone did it!” She paused now, and it looked like she was thinking about something. “Mind you . . . her one son did come out very short. Very short indeed.”
“I see,” I said, trying not to smile at this strange oversharing.
“He’s also quite unfortunate looking, but I’m not sure that’s from the cigarettes. But you can’t really tell, can you?” she added.
“Can’t tell,” I echoed.
“And his father was such a tall, strapping man. But, still, one never knows what causes these things. It might be the cigarettes, so best not to smoke them, right?” She glared at me.
I nodded. “Sure. Best not to smoke them,” I agreed.
“You’re absolutely right,” Mike said. “And that’s why she’s going to quit.” He took my hand. “Isn’t that right, Becca?” he said, turning to ask me.
“So right!” I said. “I am definitely quitting! I wouldn’t want short or unfortunate-looking children.”
“Good for you!” Mrs. Devereux exclaimed happily.
Mike tugged on my arm. “So, we’d better get you out of here, away from all this temptation.”
I nodded as he dragged me out of the shop.
“It was really nice seeing you again,” Mike said to his old teacher as we made our way towards the door.
“You too. You must come over for biscuits soon, and please bring your lady friend. You are most welcome.” She gave me a toothy grin.
“Thank you,” I said, as Mike pulled me out of the store and into the parking lot. “What are you doing?” I asked him.
“Well, I can’t buy a box of condoms in front of my primary-school teacher, now, can I!” he said.
I burst out laughing. “Who used to change your diapers,” I added, teasingly.
“You see my dilemma.” He looked over at the shop. “We’ll have to wait for her to leave, and then you’d better go in by yourself.”
“Why by myself? In case someone else who used to change your diapers is shopping there?”
“Exactly!” he said.
“Just how many people changed your diapers?” I asked, feeling so amused by all this.
He rolled his eyes at me. “It takes a village to raise a child.”
“Clearly,” I said, and started laughing again.
“Please, just go in by yourself. I know everyone in this town and I’d like to try to maintain some iota of privacy—for example, by not having the whole town knowing when I’m getting laid.”
