Temptation

Clementine stepped out of her 1997 Ford Expedition and onto the tarmac. “This time, I won’t do it,” she told herself. “I’ll resist, the Lord willing.”

The journey across the Walmart parking lot went as smoothly as could be expected. The cart was old and squeaky, and one of its wheels didn’t work, but she didn’t mind. She’d had a stressful morning and it felt good to work out the aggression wrestling the darn thing.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the store was swarming with people—mostly students from the University of Oklahoma. Many looked as if they’d only just got out of bed. Clementine shoved her cart around a gaggle of fake blonde, lip glossed rich-kid white girls and into the pet aisle. They were out of Kit & Kaboodle, so Max would have to put up with Meow Mix instead.

“Serves him right for being so picky,” she snorted. “I swear, the twins are angles of appetite compared to that animal.”

She moved on to the paper goods aisle. The new minister had put her in charge of getting the plates and things for the weekend potluck, though he hadn’t listened about the signup sheet.

“Look,” she had said in exasperation. “If you don’t make a sheet, then we’ll have five pots o’ chili, twenty bags of chips, and more desert than we know what to do with, each and every one of ‘um just like grandma used to make. People are like water, Brother Osborne. When left to themselves, they always flow to the easiest, lowest place.”

He’d hummed and hawed, saying something about how the Lord asked his sheep not to judge anybody, but he still hadn’t made a sign-up sheet. Personally, Clementine couldn’t see what being judgmental had to do with plain facts and proper resource management. Maybe she had something new to learn. Or maybe Brother Osborne was just being wishy-washy. She was inclined toward the latter point of view.

Humming, she gathered her other groceries like sheaves from the field. Bread, milk, eggs, cereal, apples, bananas, creamed corn, and a six-pack of Dr. Pepper. She was ready to check out.

But somehow, she was standing in the frozen food section. In front of the ice cream. She wasn’t going to buy any. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to buy any this time. She’d made up her mind to resist. She still had half a tub of buttered pecan in the chest freezer, after all.

She calculated how long she could make it last. Probably until Monday. But next Saturday was the end of September. Wouldn’t it be simpler and neater to kick the habit when a new month began? She always made a list of goals at the beginning of the month. Quitting ice cream could be an October goal. And she wouldn’t be quitting ice cream entirely. She would still buy it every once in a while. If she bought a tub this time, then she could just not buy any for a long, long while.

The three-fifty price tag seemed to shimmer. Clementine’s hand was in the freezer. She was putting a full tub of buttered pecan in the cart. Then she was hustling the reluctant cart toward checkout.

The line was long. She eyed the sweating tub. If ice cream could laugh silently, this ice cream was doing it. It knew her resolutions, it knew she was breaking them for its sake, and it knew that she knew that it knew.

It galled Clementine. Who was she, to be bossed around by a bundle of paper, fat, and calories? Is this was God had made her for?

No. But she was almost at the head of the line and didn’t want to lose her place.

The Meow Mix went onto the conveyor belt, followed by ice cream and everything else. The skinny teenage cashier wrangled the cat food, then reached out for the buttered pecan.

For a second, time stood still.

“Wait!” Clementine had spoken louder than she intended. The cashier blinked owlishly, and the customers behind her stared. “Set that aside. I’m not buying it. I—I changed my mind.”

“Are you sure? There’s a ten percent discount.”

A new temptation. Was the whole corporation conspiring against her?

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said as steadily as she could.

The kid shrugged, shoving the buttered pecan under the register. “Suit yourself. Paper, or plastic?”

“Paper.”

Clementine paid in a daze. She had faltered, but in the eleventh hour, she had prevailed. She rattled and squeaked across the parking lot with growing elation. She filled the trunk of the Ford Expedition, procuring a can of Dr. Pepper before slamming the door.

The front seat was hot and sticky, but she didn’t mind. She popped the can and raised it toward the sky. “Praise the Lord.”

Besides, there was still the half tub at home.