Her Last Scream

Treeka Flood counted the Beef-a-Roni cans in her shopping buggy for the third time,
one, two, three
. She rounded an aisle without noticing, busy counting jars of tamales,
one, two, three
. Boxes of macaroni,
one, two
–

Treeka froze. Counted again,
one, two
…

Treeka saw the final macaroni box under the packs of tortillas –
three!
– and sighed with relief. The macaroni was Mueller’s Large Elbows, the only kind Tommy would eat, saying smaller sizes felt “wormy” in his mouth. Count the tortillas again to be safe:
One, two, three.
There had to be three of everything: One for the meal, one for the back-up in the pantry, at least one more for the food cache in the basement. If Tommy saw something missing, she’d have to wear the big sunglasses.

Checking her list, Treeka absent-mindedly wheeled to the next aisle. Sardines in mustard sauce.
One, two, three.
Bumble Bee Tuna in oil …

Last month Treeka had forgotten to buy more canned hams after Tommy used two on a fishing trip. He’d noticed the open shelf space – he looked for infractions – and Treeka had to wear the big sunglasses for a week to hide her blackened eyes.

At the end of the aisle Treeka saw chubby, red-haired Brenda Mallory chattering with a supermarket employee. Treeka froze and angled her face away, becoming an anonymous shopper checking a label. Mallory was Treeka’s apartment-building neighbor from two years back, before Treeka’d gotten married and moved from Denver to the ranch near Estes Park, Colorado.

Mallory pushed her buggy toward the checkout lanes and Treeka relaxed. Talking to Brenda would only cause trouble. And what could Treeka possibly say when Brenda asked about Treeka’s new life?

Treeka counted every item again, then backpedaled one aisle, expecting to see Tommy. The only inhabitants of the corridor were a college kid with a six-pack of Red Bull and a tall and white-haired elderly lady pushing a buggy.

No Tommy.

Panic slammed Treeka’s heart and she yanked the buggy back another aisle. Tommy wasn’t there, either. How had she gotten so far ahead?

Oh Jesus, please no … where is he?

There! Tommy jogged past the far end of the aisle, eyes knifing down the lane, his hands bunched into fists. He glowered up at the aisle number: Six. Tommy must have been back in five when Treeka somehow wandered ahead to aisle eight.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit …

Tommy strode to Treeka, the metal plates on his cowboy boots ticking like a bomb. They were alone in the aisle and he grabbed Treeka’s arm. “Where were you?” he hissed, pushing back his gray Stetson, cold green eyes daring Treeka to lie. “Where did you go?”

Treeka let her mouth droop open, trying to appear puzzled. Dumb was the best place to hide.

“I’ve been right here, hon,” she said, lifting a box of crackers like she’d been in aisle six all the time. “Didn’t you see me? I got my shoppin’ dress on.” Tommy made Treeka shop in a bright yellow dress because it made her easier to see in a crowd.

Tommy slapped the crackers to the floor. “I goddamn asked where you were,” he repeated. “You too stupid to understand English, or what?”

Treeka laughed like Tommy was making a joke. “I been here all the time, babe,” she said, stooping to retrieve the crackers. “You must have been going around an end same time I was and we crossed past each other.”

Tommy studied the items in Treeka’s buggy, then did something to run blades of ice down Treeka’s spine: He smiled. It was the same smile Treeka had fallen in love with twenty-six months ago, wide and thin-lipped and brimming with teeth. But now Tommy’s smile terrified her; it meant the snakes in his head were heated up and moving.

“What’s this?” he asked, reaching into the buggy and tapping a can of tuna. Treeka instinctively started counting tuna cans.
One, two …
Then she saw what was wrong.

Oh Jesus no. Oh shit.

“Tommy …” Treeka whispered. “I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s tuna, Treek. From aisle eight, right? How many numbers is five from eight?”

“I got ahead of myself, Tommy,” Treeka explained as her breath ran out. “I thought you w-was right behind me.”

“I asked how many numbers from five to eight, Treek?”

“Th-three.” Treeka felt her heart pounding in her chest.

“How close do I tell you to stay to me?”

“One aisle, Tommy. But I thought you were right behind me. An’ I got on my shopping dress.”

Tommy’s eyes tightened into slits. “You thinking about running off, Treek? Finding some lesbian to live with? I saw one over by the produce.”

Treeka shook her bright, artificial curls. Keeping her hair looking like Taylor Swift’s bouncy ’do took an hour a day, but it was the style Tommy demanded. “Jeez, Tommy. I dunno where you get this stuff. I just got ahead of myself. Gimme kiss, babe.”

Treeka puckered. Tommy stared. “You lied to me, Treek. But the tuna told the truth.”

Treeka tried another smile. “You’re so smart, sweets. Like a detective. But I wasn’t lying, I forgot where I was.”

Tommy grunted as an elderly woman entered the aisle, pushing her buggy toward them. Up close the woman didn’t look so old, mid-sixties maybe, dressed in a blue sweat suit and pink running shoes, smooth in her motions, like she really did run. The pair fell silent as the woman walked by, shooting a look their way. When she was past, Tommy’s hand lashed out to the soft skin beneath Treeka’s breast, pinching it between thumb and forefinger.

“N-no, Tommy. Please …”

He squeezed hard, a hot burst of instant agony. Treeka clenched her teeth. If she made a sound he’d pinch again. If she stayed quiet, one would be all she’d have to endure. After several seconds Tommy’s hand fell away and Treeka let out a gasp.

A surprise voice from the side. “Excuse me, miss. Are you all right?”

The older woman had seen or heard something.

“I’m fine as I can be, ma’am.” Treeka forced a smile, thinking
Please go away, lady. You’ll only make things worse
. “My dear hubby and me is jus’ talking.”

The woman gave Tommy a flinty appraisal. “You don’t sound fine, miss,” she said. “You sound like you’re about to cry.”

“Oh no, ma’am,” Treeka said. “That’s how my voice always is.”

Tommy got tired of the woman. “Get the fuck out of here, you old dyke,” he snarled. “This here’s private bidness between a man and his woman.”

The woman nodded to herself like a judgment had been confirmed. “I’m going to find the manager,” she said, looking at Tommy like something a dog had left on the floor. “I know what you are, mister. I know exactly what you are.”

The woman left her buggy in the aisle and strode toward the store’s office. Tommy grabbed Treeka’s forearm and yanked her toward the exit. “Look what you’ve done to me this time,” he whispered as they crossed the parking lot. “Now I gotta teach you a real lesson.”