Chapter 2

“Get a move on it, pokey,” Stone said to himself, admiring his salt-and-peppered hair in the mudroom’s mirror positioned above a Crate & Barrel bench where guests could sit and slip their shoes on and off or take a slight breather. How he had obtained a sprinkle of gray hair at such the young age of thirty-two was beyond his comprehension. His twin, Samuel, still had a full head of black hair, without the tiniest streak, dapple, or blade of gray. Samuel had always tried to up him on everything, though, ever since Stone could remember: career, bank accounts, property values, BMWs, and vacations. No wonder the brothers didn’t talk anymore, living on two different sides of the country, ignoring each other to the best of their abilities.

Stone still looked rather young for a man who had just exited his twenties, even if he had some gray. His friends, who inevitably included the book club members, thought he acted older, not that he could help it, of course. He was clean-shaven, with sparkling blue eyes, a slender, sharp Greek nose, and straight teeth thanks to braces at the age of fifteen. Stone looked almost like a cartoon character: somewhat clumsy, thin-lipped, pink-cheeked, and not at all his age. If he could only lose some fat around his neck, he might be involved with a man. But his discreet and private love life was another topic for another time since he had to leave and carry out his chores.

Truth told, he didn’t want to think about the extra meat around his middle. Samuel had always called it blubber and bullied Stone through grade school, middle school, and high school. Some things were best not to think about, right? This is what he processed while leaving his Tudor unlocked for Sadie Harrison to enter and start cleaning. He headed outside and into the cold driveway where his snow-covered BMW was parked.

* * * *

Fresh snow fell down from the heavens: bulky snowflakes mixed with a tempestuous wind, which added a ferocious cold layer to the day. The chill felt almost unbearable, in the low twenties, biting. Five inches of snow had already covered Plimpton. By the end of the day, at least three more inches could be expected, according to the early morning news. Later, a torrential snowstorm could hit his little town, coming down from Canada, if it veered ever so slightly to the west, catching Pennsylvania’s northwestern lakeside coast.

The Basket Grocery Store sat at the far end of Elberstein Way in downtown Plimpton, next to Dixie’s Cardshop Land. A parking lot that snugly fit seven cars could be located behind the brick building. The square footage of the place was ten thousand feet, consisting of a bakery area, dairy, meats, vegetables, and a miscellaneous aisle jam-packed with foreign foods. Hours of operation were from six in the morning until ten at night, every day of the week. Plimpton was a small town next to Lake Erie, bumped up against Templeton and the city of Erie. All three cities were closed on holidays throughout the year, which included Martin Luther King’s birthday, Columbus Day, Presidents’ Day, and Flag Day.

Today wasn’t a holiday, though, and Basket Grocery flashed a bright orange sign saying Open. Stone thought the Chinese-American owners of the grocery store a delight. Xi Cho, (pronounced Zee Chew), was funny, with his unibrow, wide smile, and bright brown eyes. Pai, (pronounced Pie), his wife of ten years, was just as amazing, kind-hearted, polite, and quite the little buzzing bee around their grocery store. The imported couple from Nanjing, China had been only a few years younger than him. Xi’s family became known for making shoes (xie), and Pai’s family made straw hats (caomao). They didn’t feel embarrassed about their past lives in China and called the eighteen-year-old period something in Chinese Stone couldn’t understand. He recently translated it as: our struggle for a better life.

There were two particular stock boys, Dave and John, who worked for Xi and Pai. They were nephews to the owners. Xi and Pai made a goal to have American and Chinese cultures blend, hence the water-downed names. Dave, Stone guessed, probably had the name Ding, and John translated from Ji, not that Stone knew for sure. Frankly, he didn’t care what the teenagers’ names were. He glanced at the cousins for a brief amount of time, stopped, and then headed to the restroom area at the back of the store to drain his bladder, which felt as if it were going to burst.

The bathroom sat on the second floor of the grocery store. It looked simple, unisex. Two American Standard toilets were divided in stalls. Green tile covered the floor. Two mirrors hung on the wall above two sinks. One of the sinks kept dripping with water. The small room smelled like Pine-Sol, freshly cleaned by maybe John or Dave.