Hell's Belles. Kristen Robinette

her way, and Erica was forced to detour down the candy aisle. She instantly slowed, like Dorothy in the field of poppies, smiling at the bags of candy. Only in the States, she thought. She’d missed a lot. There were new varieties she’d never before seen. What on earth were Nerds-On-A-Rope, anyway? But there were plenty of familiar faces, too. Jolly Ranchers, Lik-a-Stiks… Those had been staples at Mattie’s sleepovers when they were teenagers. She threw a triple-pack of Lik-a-Stiks in her cart for old times’ sake and picked up speed again. But just when she was about to make a clean exit, a buxom blonde came from out of nowhere and their carts rammed with knuckle-rattling force.

      “Erica?”

      “Della?” She felt as if every pore on her body perspired at once. “Jeez…” Her hand went to her chest, which felt like it was on fire. She wanted to look down at the contents of her buggy, make certain that the maxi pads and vitamins were still shielding the pregnancy test, but she didn’t dare call attention to the buggy.

      “Wow. I—I never imagined running into you here.” Della looked every bit as flushed as Erica.

      In fact, she looked not only flushed, but terrible. Erica forgot her own troubles as she took a closer look. Della’s eyes were swollen and red-rimmed and she seemed at least ten pounds heavier than she had yesterday. She was dressed in a curious combination of a cleavage-baring aqua tank, sweatpants sheared just below the knee and a worn flannel shirt. A little eyeliner was smeared beneath the corner of her left eye and she wore no foundation.

      Good God. Something was seriously wrong if Della wasn’t wearing makeup.

      Erica resisted the urge to grill her friend for answers. “I, uh, never imagined running into you, either.” She hoped her voice sounded less alarmed than she felt. “You’re a long way from home.”

      “Yeah. I just needed some stuff.” Della’s gaze darted to her buggy and Erica’s followed.

      Lying in the bottom of Della’s buggy was a family-size bag of Caramellos, a pair of night-vision binoculars, a voice-activated cassette recorder, a camouflage blanket and a jar of ground white pepper. Erica frowned. “I see. Della, is everything okay?”

      Della ran her hand over her hair and straightened with a challenging sniff. But rather than seeming imposing, as it had countless other times, the sniff seemed as though it belonged at the end of a long cry. “I’m fine. Everything’s just fine.” Della’s gaze darted to Erica’s buggy and her eyes went round.

      Erica’s heart stopped.

      “Lik-a-Stiks!” Della exclaimed.

      Her heart began beating again.

      “Uh-huh. Isn’t that something?” Erica pointed a trembling finger toward the shelf, which was liberally stocked with the candy. “They still make them. Right there,” she directed.

      Della whirled in the direction of the candy and Erica nearly collapsed with relief.

      “I picked some up out of nostalgia,” Erica continued, all the while maneuvering her buggy to one side, out of sight. She sent up a prayer of thanks that the pregnancy test had, apparently, gone unnoticed.

      “Oh,” Della crooned as she squatted down to retrieve four packs. “I think I’ll get some, too.” She straightened with effort, then forced the flannel shirt down over her hips. “The kids always expect a treat.”

      Erica didn’t dare point out that each pack was a three-pack. Nor did she ask why Della was shopping like she was going on a covert military assignment while looking like a department store makeup artist on a drinking binge. She couldn’t risk more conversation. She had to get herself and her pregnancy test out of the store and back home—a task that was beginning to loom like a matter of national security.

      “I want us to get together again soon,” Erica lied. It wasn’t entirely a lie. She did want to see her old friends. Sort of. If things were different. Say, for instance, if it were 1984 again. And if Mattie hadn’t turned into a drunken lunatic. Oh, and if she wasn’t pregnant.

      Della dragged her gaze up to meet Erica’s, looking like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “Yeah, me, too.” She hesitated, then slumped in a defeated gesture. “You know where to reach me.”

      Erica nodded, her concern growing. “Listen, I’m staying out at Mom and Dad’s place if you need me.”

      “You are?” Della sounded genuinely surprised. “It’ll be nice to see some life back in your parents’ place. It’s been standing empty for too long.”

      “Yeah.” Erica felt a familiar tightening in her chest at the mention of her parents. “You’re right.”

      Della began to push her buggy slowly, hinting that she was anxious to make an exit. “So give me a ring at the shop or at home.” Her voice drifted as she waved over her shoulder. “We’ll get together….”

      Erica watched her leave, reminding herself that whatever had caused Della to dress like a castaway was actually none of her business. She had her own set of problems.

      The bubble-gum popping salesclerk didn’t make eye contact and certainly didn’t acknowledge the pregnancy test. Thank God. Erica felt like a bomb had been defused when she watched it finally drop into the plastic bag. She paid in cash, readied her keys and walked quickly through the parking lot to her waiting Jeep Cherokee. The black leather interior was like a sauna. She sighed and stale heat filled her lungs. Ugh. Georgia in June. She cranked the engine and turned on the air full blast, leaning her face toward the ineffective stream of air.

      There was a certain empowerment about driving, Erica realized as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the county highway that led back to Haddes. It was almost comical how little she’d driven her own vehicle. Though the Jeep was nearly five years old, the mileage registered less than twenty thousand. She was on assignment so much that she rarely used the vehicle or her efficiency condo in New York. Neither possession was really worth the effort, but the IRS refused to believe you were a real person unless you had an address, and her southern roots dictated that she own a set of wheels.