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About nine-thirty on a Friday night, Mary Fowler pushed her grocery cart through the double sliding glass doors. It was three weeks before Christmas. The sun had set, and the temperature had begun to cool rapidly in Magic Valley, Texas. Mary had noticed the store was still crowded, even at this time of night. Inside, she had talked nearly half an hour to her next-door neighbor, Alice. They had visited in an aisle, standing between boxes of sugar and spices on one side and paper bags of flour on the other. Mostly they talked about Mary’s pregnancy, and how crowded the area was with Winter Texans, who had made their yearly migration to the warmer climate of South Texas. Both women agreed that they would be glad when March came and all the snowbirds returned home.
Outside, Mary was preoccupied as she crossed the well-lit parking lot toward her blue Toyota. She thought, Alice is nice. It’s a shame I never really get to see her. But, with both of us working and her husband and two children at home to take care of, there’s not enough hours in the day. What am I going to do for time after my baby comes?
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“Not to worry my child, it’s Sangria.” Randy’s smile turned into a grin as he assured her. “Taste it, you’ll like it. Don’t worry, no one will ever find out I filled the windshield washer with wine. Take a taste.”
Sierra hesitated, but then put the glass to her lips. “Just a taste,” she said. How sweet and warm this is, she thought as the wine rolled down her throat and, at first, took her breath.
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