Chapter 72
He adjusted the backpack over his shoulders and looked up at me. “A comb, shampoo, conditioner, powder.” He blushed a little, cleared his throat, and shrugged. “Deodorant.”
“No big deal. I needed it at your age too. Okay, I guess we’d better get a shopping cart.”
* * * *
Half an hour later we walked back through the sliding door into the parking lot. I was holding the plastic bags with the gallon jug of milk, the package of bacon I’d added to our purchases—hey, growing boy, right?—the box of Frosted Flakes, a bag of Snickers, a package of Chips Ahoy, and potato chips. The kid carried the stuff he needed, as well as a jar of chunky honey-roasted peanut butter and a loaf of bread.