Chapter 5 - The Grocery Store Discovery
At 3:30 p.m., Richard stood outside St. Jude Academy, waiting by the gate. When Ethan walked out, his backpack slumped over his shoulders, he looked surprised to see his father standing there instead of the usual black town car.
"Hey, buddy," Richard said, taking the heavy backpack from Ethan’s shoulders. "We’re going to do something different today. We need to restock the house."
They drove to a regular, chaotic grocery store in a middle-class neighborhood outside Lincoln Park, far away from the boutique organic shops Cassandra preferred. Richard took a large metal cart and pushed it down the first aisle.
"Alright, Ethan," Richard said, kneeling beside the cart. "Here is the new rule for today: anything you want, you put it in the cart. Cookies, cereal, whatever looks good. We are filling this cart to the top."
Ethan stared at the long aisle of brightly colored boxes, his hands clamped tightly around the metal edge of the cart. He didn't move. He looked at a box of chocolate-chip cookies, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the cart tighter.
"Go ahead, Ethan," Richard encouraged gently. "Grab it."
"Cassandra said those make people look sloppy," Ethan whispered, his voice trembling as he looked around the busy aisle as if she might appear from behind the cereal display. "She said if I eat those, you won't take me to the office with you next summer."
Richard took the box of cookies himself and dropped it into the cart. Then he took another. And another. He filled the bottom of the cart with five different kinds of cereal, three packages of cookies, and two loaves of regular, soft white bread.
"Ethan, look at me," Richard said, taking his son’s small shoulders in his hands right there in the middle of the grocery aisle, ignoring the cart boys passing by. "The office doesn't matter. What you look like doesn't matter. I want you to eat what makes you happy. I was wrong about Cassandra, and I was wrong about the rules. There are no more limits."
The boy looked at the mountain of junk food in the cart, and for the first time in four years, a tiny, fragile crack appeared in his wall of terror. He reached out with a shaking hand and picked up a simple jar of strawberry jam, placing it carefully in the center of the cart as if it were a piece of fine crystal.
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"Can we get this?" Ethan asked, his voice barely audible.
"We can get ten of them," Richard said, his throat tightening as he pulled his son into a brief, fierce hug.
