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“Not married?”

“No,” she said briskly. “Audrina, we don’t want to keep you on your feet longer than necessary . . .”

“Mrs. Matthews is a maternity nurse,” I explained.

“Yes, I know, but I thought you were retired,” Mrs. Haider said to her. She was not a woman who was easily intimidated, probably hardened by her many years as a school administrator.

“I am, but I’ve come out of retirement to assist Mrs. Lowe. Her husband persuaded me,” Mrs. Matthews said. “She’s having a difficult pregnancy. In fact, I’d rather she didn’t come out of the house to do shopping, but I gave in this once.” She smiled with icy lips.

Mrs. Haider nodded. “I’m sorry you’re having difficulties, Audrina. I do hope it all works out well for you. How is Sylvia?” she asked, still ignoring Mrs. Matthews, who was exhibiting her impatience by pushing and pulling on the cart.

“She’s well, thank you.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Price took sick and couldn’t continue with her art lessons,” she said.

“Took sick?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? I would have thought you would.”

Mrs. Matthews raised her eyebrows, her face reflecting annoyance now.

This was the hardest part for me, pretending that I cared and not revealing the terrible things Mr. Price had done. I practically choked on the words. “I knew it was getting harder for him. He seemed very tired, but I thought in time . . .”

“Yes, well, I’m surprised you don’t know. He had a stroke. It’s left him paralyzed on his right side, and for an artist who draws with his right hand, that’s devastating. Perhaps you can give the Prices a call. They’d appreciate it.”

“She has to be concerned about herself right now,” Mrs. Matthews said sharply. “Perhaps after the baby is born.”

“Yes, when are you due?”

“A little more than six weeks,” Mrs. Matthews answered for me.

“Do you know if it will be a boy or a girl?”

I shook my head. I really was having trouble breathing now.

Mrs. Haider laughed. Why was she laughing? “Well,” she said, glancing at Mrs. Matthews, “my grandmother used to swear that if a pregnant woman’s face turns red while you’re speaking to her, she is definitely having a girl. I can’t wait to see if she was right. Good luck.” She continued on her way.

I looked at Mrs. Matthews.

She was smiling, and not coldly. “You really do look sick to your stomach, Audrina. I think we do have to cut the shopping short.” Gleefully, she hurried along.

Ancient Voices,

Forbidden Dreams

“Do exactly what I tell you,” Mrs. Matthews said when we reached the front of the store after having done all our shopping twenty minutes later. “Now, lean on the cart as if to catch your breath.”

As soon as I did, she hollered, “Can I get some help here?”

She was loud enough for nearly everyone in the ­supermarket to hear. Customers stopped and turned our way. The busy cashiers paused, and the store manager came running.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking like he might burst into tears or throw up his breakfast. He was a short, stocky man, with thinning dark brown hair and round eyes that seemed sunken in his pudgy face like dark cherries in soft vanilla ice cream.

“Mrs. Lowe isn’t feeling well. She has a very delicate pregnancy. Open a register for us.” When he hesitated, she added, raising her voice, “Do you want a terrible scene played out on the floor here?”

He leaped to open the register himself and signaled for a packer, who rushed over.

The manager’s assistant came over, too. He was taller and younger, with the slim physique of a tennis player. “Can I help?” he asked Mrs. Matthews.