By Donna J. Graham

Tammy Henderson ran her cart around Tate’s Food Mart, trying to find the final items for her twins’ seventh birthday party. Three days earlier, they had moved from Kentucky to the small town of Hefesford, Minnesota, where everything was a challenge, including the grocery store’s aisle system that had hidden the maraschino cherries.

Turning down aisle four, Tammy craned her neck, and searched the top shelf, when suddenly she crashed her cart into someone else’s. Soft old hands clung to the cart’s red handle, the disheveled customer, an old woman wore mis-matched clothing with her chipped fingernails ragged and torn. Judgment tapped across Tammy’s mind as she peeked at her own nails, painted with Soft Icelandic Blue.

Feeling watched, Tammy looked into the old woman’s pleading eyes set deep inside a well-worn face, who then whispered, “Help me.” Tammy blinked. Who cries for help in the middle of a grocery store?

Smiling, certain she had misunderstood, Tammy began disengaging the two carts. Behind the woman, a stout man who had been studying the baby food section, stood, looking annoyed. He wore a screen-printed brown tee-shirt with a treacherous skull stretched tight over his distended belly. His thin brown hair stuck to his bald scalp without purpose. Flinty eyes paused on Tammy’s white tee-shirt, eye-balling the small outline of her breasts. His hand twitched. Cocking his head, his eyebrow rose, acknowledging that he had read the Nike marketing slogan emblazoned across her chest, Just Do It. He seemed to be considering it as an invitation, the corner of his mouth shirked up, expressing his dirty little thoughts.

Creeped-out, Tammy’s eyes stung as her face bloomed hot. She backed up, mumbling an apology toward the old woman. Suddenly the woman snatched Tammy’s pushed-up sleeve and begged, “Please, don’t go.”

At the speed of a viper, the man quickly pinched the crepe skin of the old woman’s forearm and cursed, “Dammit, Rose.” Flinching with a small yelp, she released Tammy’s sleeve. Turning away, Rose rubbed the tender spot.

Shocked, Tammy looked at the disgusting man who winked as if they shared confidence regarding the unkempt woman. Turning back, the man poked his fat fingers deep into Rose’s back, nudging her along and talking authoritatively, “Rose, go!” They disappeared around the end cap.

Staring after them, Tammy’s intuitive senses fought for attention. “HELP HER!”

Blurting out from the logical side of her brain came an annoying whine, “Really, does she need my help right now?”

Logic won over, and the intuitive empathy dissolved. Tammy snatched a large jar of cherries off the top shelf, tucked it into the carrier seat, and shoved the cart down the aisle, processing her grocery list.

The move to Northern Minnesota had centered on her husband’s exciting new job as a plant manager at a wood manufacturing plant. It was hard on the boys to leave their friends and extended family, but their mother also felt lonely. The responsibility of making the twins’ seventh birthday party as awesome as possible was Tammy’s number one priority. It would only be a small party, their family of four, plus Tammy’s sister, Reba Baskett, a nurse in the neighboring town. Straightening her shoulders, Tammy moved on down another aisle and found birthday candles.

Concentrating on the path of least resistance, she maneuvered the wobbly cart into the only empty checkout lane. Brenda, a full-figured young cashier, leaned on the conveyor belt with her Rubenesque breasts relaxing on her forearms. Rising slowly, Brenda eyed the natural platinum blonde beauty as she began emptying her groceries onto the unmoving belt.

Gaily, Brenda greeted the new customer, happy to have someone to talk at. Born and bred Up North, Brenda’s thick Minnesota dialect had an underlying twist from her German ancestry.

Brenda began the inquiry, “Ohhh, Jeez, your nails look good. Where’d ‘cha get ’em done?”

“Do it myself,” Tammy answered. The fashionable messy braid swung heavily on Tammy’s back as she emptied her cart, her head turning between the full cart and the silent belt.

Brenda wrinkled her nose and said, “You talk kinda funny, where ya’ from?”

As Tammy piled more items onto the cluster of groceries, she said, “Kentucky.”

Brenda made a critical response. “Hm.” And then continued, “You know, down there people drink a lot because of all those bourbon distiller places. Lots!” Brenda picked up the candles said in a sing-song voice, “Someone’s having a birthday! Did you have a horse in Kentucky?”

Brenda continued the interrogation as she silently started the conveyor belt. It jerked forward, toppling the stacked towers of food, tipping a large bottle of hot sauce into the gum rack, dislodging several cellophane packets. Tammy shimmied past her cart, picking up the frozen packages that had landed on the floor and placed them back onto the counter. Squeezing behind the other side, she re-hung the gum shelf and sorted the twenty-plus packs back into the display while Brenda continued her chatter.

“Where do ya’ live?” Tammy had not heard all of her questions, but his one she did. Tammy gave her a look that said, none of your business, which did not register with Brenda.

Trying to dismiss her irritation, Tammy thought good thoughts: her new house with a view over the lake, the giggles she got from her husband’s teasing while she made coffee, and the funny sight of the twins in their Ninja Camo boxers dancing to “Pontoon, by Little Big Town.

Hoping to avoid eye contact, Tammy quickly glanced at Brenda and noticed that the cashier evaluated each item before scanning it. It would be a long checkout.

Setting down a packet of cheese, Brenda looked over to Tammy and said, “I bet you’re over at that new addition outside of town, Cloris Park? Betty, my sister, lives in that giant trailer park right next door. She has this big dog for protection from all those new people moving into that neighborhood. I don’t have a dog. I have a cat,Doris.” Tammy startled when Brenda’s voice pitched high and said, “Oh, gosh, she’s so cute.”

Brenda abruptly stopped scanning, crossed her arms, looked at Tammy, and said, “Just so ya’know, since you’re new and all, it’s only May and waaay too early in the season to be wearing white.” Brenda cocked her eye at Tammy’s white shirt and jeans. “I should get me some when summer comes. I bet yours would fit me. What size are you?”

Tammy’s eyes widened, but without looking up, she shook her head. The slow-moving Brenda suddenly surprised Tammy and switched the scanning into high gear. Brenda matched the speed with her words, “Oh, hey, if you’re lookin’ for a kitten, my girlfriend’s cat just had a huge litter and wants to give them away. She has to give them away, before, well, before her boyfriend decides what he would like to do with ’em. If you know what I mean, right? Ah, huh. Okay, then you could try that new cat food, Furry Cat Food, ’cause Doris doesn’t throw up anymore.” Brenda had lost Tammy’s attention.

Tammy rolled the empty cart to the end and quickly started bagging. Intentionally not looking up, afraid Miss Talky might suggest getting together Friday night at the VF&W for the meat raffle or possibly a sleepover. Brenda continued her steady stream of gibberish but had the food flying down the conveyor belt at quite a clip.

As Tammy bagged the last item, Brenda announced, “Okie Dokie! $152.14. We don’t take checks anymore because of Lyle Anderson…”

“No problem, I have cash.” Tammy smiled, paid, and graciously thanked Brenda, who handed Tammy the receipt. Grabbing the handle of her cart, Tammy directed it towards the opening glass doors when Brenda shouted after her, “Watch out for deer!”

Gratefully released from capture, Tammy took a deep breath of spring air with its tang of fresh-cut grass; its sweetness made her smile. Energized, she ran behind the cart, hoping to achieve her daily goal of ten thousand steps and get home in plenty of time to finish the baking. The parking lot was enormous, and she finally arrived at the far back corner.

Clicking the key fob, the white rear tailgate of her SUV yawned open. Tucked in very close to the right side of her car was a rusted black truck. Clucking her tongue, Tammy looked back over the near-empty lot, wondering why the driver hadn’t chosen one of the other three hundred parking spots? She shook her head and turned her attention back to loading the backend.

She settled the dozens of plastic bags onto the rubber mat and lifted together two cases of bottled water, dropping them in with a grunt. Her biceps stung, but she knew it was a good burn. In the last few months, having taken up strength training, she was feeling the results.

As the tailgate closed, Tammy read her simple bumper sticker, “If not now, when?” The motto was her mantra, having been to Hell and back as a kid. It was all behind her now, and she was doing her best to make her Mama proud. God rest her soul.

Tammy returned the cart to the corral. Guilt tapped at her for attention, knowing she should have helped Rose. Opening up the driver’s door, she hopped up into the seat. Hearing something, Tammy turned toward the dark truck next to her and recognized the man from aisle four. He was kneeling on the driver’s seat, pummeling someone next to him.

Her scalp prickled, but not able to drag her eyes off of the horrifying scene. Reaching behind her, she pulled out the rhinestone-encased iPhone from her back pocket. A 911 dispatcher answered immediately as Tammy sputtered, “Someone is being attacked inside a black truck northeast corner of Tate’s Food Mart parking lot. I’m Tammy Henderson.”

Assured the police were coming, she opened her door, ended the call, and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Running around the SUV’s bodacious backend, Tammy slid between the two enormous trucks and stood next to the driver’s door of the rusted black truck. The man was still whaling away, and Tammy gasped as she recognized the person was in the passenger seat. It was Rose.

Taking a breath, Tammy whipped the door open, stepped up on the running board, and with both hands, grabbed the little bits of the man’s hair, dragging the fat twerp out of the truck and dropped him to the ground. That’s that.

Just as her foot touched down onto the pavement, the screaming dirtbag charged at her. Backpedaling, Tammy tried to get out of his way and heard a scream that came out of nowhere. It was hers!

Enraged, the man grabbed Tammy’s head with his hands and started slamming it against the top rails of his truck! Sharp stabs of pain knocked about her head and face. Feeling the immediate warmth of blood flowing down her scalp, she released a quick prayer.

Time slowed, and a nanosecond of an opportunity appeared. While her head was midair, Tammy lifted her cellphone from behind her, squeezed it tight, and swung a full arm rotation slamming the screen side down onto her attacker’s nose using every bit of her surging raw adrenalin. Blood and screams blew everywhere. Undaunted, Tammy increased the intensity smashing his face over and over again. An agonizing squeal erupted from her attacker, stumbling backward, holding his nose. Tammy matched each of his steps until he was pushed against the open driver’s door and crumbled onto the pavement.

Tammy was imprisoned by the close proximity of both trucks and the attacker. Still clutching her phone, Tammy was panting hard and momentarily tangled between his legs. She freed herself.

The man looked up at her; his face swollen washed in blood. Tammy felt the slightest pang of guilt until seeing that same glint in his eye that he had given her when they were in aisle four. A low guttural sound escaped her, and she lunged forward, hammering the top of his head while he made a weak attempt of swatting at her legs. He finally went limp.

She stood up, felt weak, and out of breath. It was then she turned and saw Rose, who was severely beaten. Rose was screaming, turned away, and scrambled to get out of the truck.

Tammy heard two men behind her as they called out, “Are you okay? Stumbling over the unconscious man’s legs and feeling woozy, Tammy was able to guide herself backward, holding on to the vehicles’ sides. Drawing for a deep breath, her knees buckled, but strong arms gently caught her. A big man carefully dragged Tammy backward out into the open. His calm voice spoke melodically to her, which she could not understand but did understand his kindness.

The man released her, asking if she could stand on her own, and Tammy whispered an acknowledgment. He kept his hand on the small of her back, which she gratefully accepted the intimate gesture, considering her need for support.

Hearing sirens, Tammy turned her head and winched from the jabbing pain in her neck. Touching it gently, she watched as a Hispanic woman, dressed in green nursing scrubs cautiously approached the wailing Rose. Whispering, the nurse wrapped her arms around the battered woman.

Melting into the nurse’s embrace, Rose had stopped screaming, succumbing to a whimper. Her nose was obviously broken. The darkened discoloration from around her eyes drained down to her cheekbones.

Rose was having a hard time breathing, but her eyes darted and searched. Spotting Tammy, Rose limped towards her with the nurse’s help and stopped alongside. Rose reached for her rescuer’s right hand and clasped it. Tammy intended to smile, but instead, a shriek exploded from Tammy as she cried with abandon! Rose quickly released Tammy’s hand, and she too began to wail.

Holding her right wrist, Tammy shuddered, gnashing her teeth as her face contorted. She forced herself not to get hysterical as she watched her phone, the weapon, falling. The big iPhone Plus hit the asphalt, eclipsing into a fiery display of broken crystals.

Shrapnel’s of pain distracted her focus back onto her throbbing hand, which she was sure, did not belong to her. It looked like a purplish-blue inflated balloon, with bent digits pointing in all the wrong directions. Turning her palm up, Tammy whispered, “Ewww, “seeing the ragged hole punched into her palm, bleeding profusely, spotting her white jeans and shirt. Sweat beads popped out on her forehead as she re-positioned her hand, trying to relieve the pain, but nothing worked. Eyes closed, Tammy concentrated on accessing that “other” place she used as a kid. No good, too many distractions.

Trembling and hiccupping, Rose stepped closer to Tammy, staring at the broken hand, not comprehending but thinking it looked more like a hen-of-the-woods mushroom. Noticing the chipped and broken blue nails, reality rose to the top. Rose continued to whimper and stared at Tammy’s full-blown hand.

Pulling Rose close to her left side, Tammy patted Rose’s clenched fist. They looked at each other and blinked, silently messaging. They waited, side by side, bodies touching. The nurse stood with them, feeling helpless without her usual medical supplies, but calmed both women with her assurances.

Someone provided two camp chairs for the women. Tammy’s big rescuer helped them to settle into the deep chairs. Sitting rigid with her eyes closed, Tammy tried simmering down the pain. With full lights and sirens, the cops arrived, causing her eyes to flutter open again. Closing them but re-opened them when Rose began wailing as she became more agitated with the noise. All Tammy could manage was a bare voice, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Their attacker was waking up, lying spread eagle between the cars. The other man of the two men that had run to Tammy’s aide held a gun pointed at the man’s face.

A cop took over and held his own gun on the man, while another officer roughly checked the man for weapons. The stout man didn’t try to hide them; his swollen bloodied fists were in plain sight.

An ambulance rolled up, and a female and a male paramedic approached the two women. The female tended to Rose first, who clearly was in distress.

Mick, a broad-shouldered paramedic, knelt in front of Tammy and began asking questions while gently examining her. Standing, he placed a brace around Tammy’s neck, which immediately added claustrophobia to her already damaged state.

Mick then started searching through the thick bloody blonde hair, trying to find the still bleeding head wound.

“Tammy, I’m removing the rubber band holding your braid.” Holding still, Tammy felt the release of her hair. Mick peeled the thick plaits apart, continuing to search her scalp. He made a quiet triumphant sound explaining that she would need staples to close the cut on her head, referring to it as a “doozy.” He wrapped her head tight, and when he released his hands from her head, she felt it tilt as if it were now too heavy for her neck.

The paramedic tenderly picked up her broken hand from her lap and placed it on a pillow, wrapping it loosely to keep it secure until she could be seen at the hospital. His movements caused Tammy to blow out a cacophony of expletives as her tear ducts opened wide, flooding her face while her knee jacked up and down.

Someone snapped a picture of the weary women, sitting side by side in the red camp chairs, being tended to by the paramedics, and each sporting a painfully swollen face. Their picture inevitably would end up in the newspaper, each unrecognizable.Being new in town, Tammy knew of no one who would recognize her anyway.

Her new gentleman friend walked over and introduced himself as Clark Wold. Pulling out a notebook with a pen, Clark asked what he could do for her before taken to the hospital. Tammy quietly gave him her name and asked to call her husband, David, and tell him that she needed him. Giving Clark David’s cell phone number, her voice hitched, knowing how scared her sweet husband would be getting that emergency phone call. She stopped talking as she tried to rein in her emotions.

Diverting her, Clark asked, “Are you new in town?”

Clearing her throat, Tammy said, “Yes, just three days ago, from Bardstown, Kentucky.”

Clark smiled wide and said, “No way! I’ve been down there checking out their bourbon distilleries. Welcome to my world, New Person.” Tammy chortled, but that hurt.

He said, “What else may I do for you?” Her organizational mind made a maternal list of things to do and lined them up in order of importance, but periodically, a stab of pain would drop one off of her list.

Tammy asked Clark to call her sister, Reba, to pick up her car; the keys were in the ignition. Then have Reba bring the groceries to Tammy’s house and wait for the boys, Davey, the oldest, and Clayton to get off the bus at 3:20. Her sister was to tell them that their Mom wasn’t available because she had a stomachache. Then her sister was to bring the boys to Chuck E. Cheese for their birthday party instead of having their party at home.

Spotting her broken phone on the ground, she asked Clark to retrieve it. For such a tall man, he gracefully swooped the pieces off the ground, dropping them into a patch pocket of his Carhartt pants. He promised to remain with Tammy’s car until Reba arrived, and together they would deliver it to Tammy’s house with Clark’s friend trailing them to pick up Clark. Patting Tammy on the shoulder, assuring her all would be well, he then walked over to his gun-toting buddy, whispered to him as he dialed his phone to call David. Inhaling sharply, she felt the emotion of how lucky to have such nice men that had come to her aid.

Two officers helped the battered scumbag as he climbed into the ambulance, apparently unable to see through his swollen eyes. Tammy had seen his facial wounds gaping open, causing her to look away.

Two uniformed policemen stepped forward and asked Tammy what had happened. She explained the encounter with Rose inside Tate’s and then found the man beating her inside his truck. Her initial plan was to stop him, but she had not anticipated that he would turn her into his next victim.

The cops were clearly pissed that she had not waited for them. They accused her of being careless, and instead of a concussion, she might have ended up with no pulse. Unable to nod, she apologized, but that didn’t help to calm them down either.

She knew her husband, David, would also browbeat Tammy over her zealous good intentions. Tears escaped saturating the top of her neck brace as she unconsciously lifted her right hand to wipe away the tears and cried out in agony, starting her knee to jack again. Both policemen softened and began talking over each other, praising her bravery. They were good guys.

Earlier, Rose had been whisked away in the ambulance with full sirens and lights. The second ambulance with the dirtbag had left without sirens or lights, either not needing them or not caring if their patient lived or died.

The small town had only two ambulances, so Tammy would be escorted to the hospital in a police cruiser. It pulled up in front of Tammy, and her two cops gently helped her into the back seat, securing her seat belt.

Clark leaned through the open back door and handed Tammy her purse containing the broken phone with the glittering rhinestone pieces. Her eyes, brimming with tears, spoke to him. Clark swiped at his own eyes, embarrassed, and softly tapped her shoulder again. Tammy raised her left pointer finger and gave Clark a puppet wave. He winked and bowed his large frame out of the car, softly closing the door.

A cop climbed into the backseat wrapping his arms around Tammy, protecting her from being jarred during the ride. Feeling vulnerable but cared for, Tammy took a breath of gratitude. The policemen were considerate enough not to use their sirens or lights but provided a quick trip to the hospital, and if she hadn’t been feeling so shitty, it might have been exciting.

That evening the very terrified David finally went silent after running out of all of his “what if” spiels. He snuggled into the hospital bed with his Tammy, face red with emotion, and his eyes reflecting the relief that his wife would be all right.

Her right hand was a mess, needing several stitches, and an elaborate splint on her hand binding four broken fingers. The cut on her head was especially painful from the newly inserted staples, twelve in all. The doctors assured her she had all the signs of a concussion.

The doctor had the audacity of complaining about the exhaustive length of time it had taken him to dig out the many broken stones embedded into her palm. Tammy explained that was the only weapon available and that her bat was at home in the closet. He snickered at that and immediately lowered his voice, leaned in, and the doctor explained the condition of her attacker. He, too, needed stitches in his head and face and was nursing a worse concussion than she had.

Smiling, the doctor suggested to Tammy that she and her attacker may have been more equally matched as fighters despite how their polar opposite physiques.

The following morning the two cops had come for another round of questioning, but they came bearing a gift, greenhouse gladiolus, symbolizing strength and integrity. Tammy gave them a big white toothy smile, happy that her hair had been washed, and feeling better after a full breakfast followed up with a chaser of pain pills.

They updated her on Rose, whose last name was Cermak. She was in serious condition, but her prognosis was good. More than likely, Rose would be moved to a nursing home for a while. Unfortunately, the beating wasn’t her first.

Her step-grandson, Gayle Sterns, had moved in after volunteering to be her caregiver, and the abuse began from the moment he unpacked his suitcase. Gayle was a heavy drug user, and needing his step-grandmother’s financial support, he had quickly found a way into one of her bank accounts unbeknownst to her.

Drugs were an expensive habit for the unemployed Gayle and added in the additional burden of feeding Rose. To save money, he decided to switch Rose’s meals to strictly baby food. Her lack of proper nutrition left Rose malnourished as well as dehydrated. The eighty-three-year-old woman was safe and had become very emotional upon hearing her daughter was flying in from Pennsylvania to take care of her.

David returned home that night and excused the babysitter. It was time to tell the boys the truth about their mother. Sitting on the couch, he gathered his boys around him, explaining that their mother had been attacked, beaten, and was in the hospital, but was a heroine in the end. It took a long time to calm them down. Once he assured them, they would be able to visit before school the next day, their exhaustion overtook them, and David tucked them for the night.

David and the boys stood outside of Tammy’s hospital room, but the boys were hesitant to enter, fearing what they might see. David walked in without them and returned just as quickly. Holding his phone, he knelt down to their level and showed them a picture of their mother with her beaten face, a big white bandage around her head, and her arms outstretched, waiting for their hugs.

They blew through the door and threw themselves at her. They cried into her lap, and almost simultaneously, the identical twins gently touched her face asking if it hurt.

Their concern for their mother switched off as they talked over each other about their “awesome” birthday party, and who said what and how much fun they had with Auntie Reba. Quick as a light switch, they started a line of questioning about the attack and the man that beat her. They were worse than the cops.

David took a picture of the two tow-headed boys cuddling with their freshly washed platinum blonde purple-faced mother. The boys’ goofy grins were wide and partially filled with loose baby teeth and crooked new ones. The picture a keepsake.

Tammy listened intently about their birthday party, which apparently turned out better than anyone could have planned. They were surprised to find several of the twins’ classmates having pizza at the restaurant, and we’re more than happy to join the twins in their celebration. Tammy’s heart did a thump delump with joy.

Upon arriving in their new town, Tammy knew it would take time to make good friends, but surprisingly, she had the beginnings of several high-quality friendships because of the parking lot incident. Clark and his friend, Tom, had already stopped by at the hospital with an audiobook gift card, a Viking stocking hat, and chocolates. She had invited them to her house for dinner sometime during the next few months, which would include her exceptional marinated steaks using the best Kentucky Bourbon.

Esmeralda Anderson, the Hispanic nurse, had visited Tammy while on night duty at the hospital. They had a similar sense of humor and kept each other chuckling. Tammy’s sister and Esmeralda had also reconnected as friends, having met in their mutual nursing school in Florida years prior.

At the birthday party, the classmates’ mothers had heard all about Reba’s attack and brought loads of freezer meals for the Henderson family. Reba double spoiled Tammy and bought her an espresso machine, something Tammy had only hoped to purchase one day. The attack made the headlines in the small-town newspaper as the mayor welcomed the new family, declaring them as one of their own.

On the day Tammy was discharged, she and David had stopped by Rose’s hospital room. Unable to sit up, Rose held onto Tammy’s left hand while Tammy apologized to her for not helping her sooner while in the store. Emotions filled Rose as she tapped her heart and smiled. Rose gratefully accepted their friendship, including the role of a pseudo-great-grandma to Davey and Clay.

One day, Esmeralda stopped by Tammy’s house and presented her with a colorful quilted throw that she had made. Placed in the center was a swatch from Tammy’s washed but still stained tee-shirt, including the slogan, “Just Do It!”

Esmeralda had embroidered the bloodstains with red and shiny gold embroidery thread, explaining, “You must not forget the horror. It makes you stronger and God proud.” That did it, Tammy sobbed outright.

Alone at home, Tammy was twitchy, suffering from her low tolerance to boredom. The concussion caused her eyes to blur when reading or watching TV, so she did a little housework, listened to audiobooks, baked some, and let her mind wander.

Tammy thought maybe making some sort of memento out of the broken rhinestones from her phone, but crafting wasn’t her thing. She moved onto another idea of contacting Apple Inc. to advise them of the variety of uses for their iPhone X Plus, including the bashing in the head of a bad guy … Nah! That’s probably not the kind of marketing that sells phones.

Tammy settled her mind and sat down with a glass of sweet tea, and thanked God for giving her the courage to save Rose from her horrible step-grandson.

The realization of her capabilities in strength and character heightened her self-awareness. Her Mama would have been proud. If anything like that ever happened again, Tammy would definitely draw on her previous experience, including a quick shout-out to God for help.

She pulled the door to her closet open and dug around with her left hand until she pulled a heavy object out from behind the hanging clothes. Carrying it into the garage, she opened the SUV’s driver’s door and slid in next to the driver’s seat. Fitting perfectly was the weighted Louisville Slugger baseball bat. Just in case.