"Cassidy is nothing to me," I say. "I mean it. We never went to school together, and she’s a lot younger than me. We never–"
"Regardless," Abby says, cutting me off, "you and me, I don't know, Bart. It seems like a fantasy."
"Are you always like this?" he asks me. "Pushing away the good things before you've truly gotten a chance to experience them?"
She takes another bite of her sandwich, ignoring my question or maybe thinking it through. "Bartlett, I'm just scared. Scared of a place as perfect as Home."
After lunch, I head back to the hardware store and Abby goes over to Lemon's to pick up Hijinx. While I'm in the shop, Rye comes in.
"Abby around?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No, she's over at Lemon's. Why? You have something to say to her?"
He shrugs, his knuckles rapping on the counter. "Actually, I have something to say to you first. Look, you're not going to like this."
"What is it?" I ask, my patience already thin.
"Well, you know my buddy, Walker? He works over at the train station."
"Course I know Walker. We went to school with him, right?"
"Yeah. Well, he owed me a favor and he looked at the manifestos from yesterday's trains. There was no one with the name Abby on any of the trains."
"Well, maybe she didn't have a ticket."
"She's just catching trains up from California or wherever she comes from without a ticket? That's not how trains work anymore. This isn't 1943," Rye says with a snort. "Come on, think. You know who she is?"
"What? You think she's a liar? Fuck you, Rye. You think you know everything?"
"No. I just know Walker, who happens to run the train station, and I’m telling you, something’s up."
"Look, I'm not interested in your fucking interference, okay?"
Just then, the bells on the front door ring and Abby comes in with Hijinx, who begins to bark at my older brother. I can't help but smile at that. Even the dog knows Rye is bad news.
"This is ridiculous," Rye says. "You're going to get yourself in some real trouble, you know that?" Rye walks away, pushing open the hardware store door without a word.
Abby watches him go before coming over to me. "So what's that about?"
But right then, several customers enter the store asking for help. "Look, I can't talk right now," I say, turning to her. "I'm sorry, but I've got to help my customers. But I'll come find you when my employee, Luke, comes in. He'll be here in a half an hour."
"That's fine," Abby says. "We can meet up later. I'm going to take Hijinx to the park."
"Will you be warm enough?" I ask. “I have some hand warmers on aisle four.”
She smiles at that, kissing my cheek. "I'll be fine," Abby says, reaching for the gloves in her coat pocket. "Look, just take care of yourself and whatever's going on with your brother. We can meet up later, all right?"
I nod, watching her go before returning to my customers, who are looking for salt for their icy driveway, shovels for their yards. I need to do my job, but still I can't shake my annoyance at my brother.
Rye sends me a text with screenshots of various train manifestos, but I don't want to even look at them, I'm so pissed at him. I've been doing what everybody wants for me for years. Rye thinks he knows everything because he's my big brother.
Well, fuck that. I know myself and I care about Abby. When I'm with her, I feel something real. So why not take a chance on that?
Why not take a chance on her?
8
Abby
Leaving the hardware store, it's hard to not let my insecurities flare up. I know Rye doesn't like me. I heard as much last night when I was at his parents' house. I'm not sure what he was telling Bartlett just now, but it wasn't good. The moment I walked into the hardware store, he walked out.
Right next door to Hammer Home is the Mystic Shop and I pause, looking in the store windows. The display is beautiful. It's full of crystals and tarot card decks. There are luscious ferns and beautiful velvet curtains.
"What do you think, Hijinx?" I ask, tugging on my dog's leash. Though he can't see anything, I wonder if he can sense the aura changing here, the energy. It's sure a lot better than the energy Rye left behind when he saw me and stormed out.
I twist my lips, wondering if I should go into the crystal shop and see if there's a palm reader in there. When I was with my parents in the circus, there were a few fortune tellers over the years. One of them in particular, Lucinda, would always take my palm in hers and trace the lines down the center of it, telling me I would live a long and happy life. I think she told most people that, because no one wanted to hear a tragic story when they were out for a little bit of fun.
I always wondered what she would tell me if she were really going to give it to me straight. If she'd tell me my life was always going to be hard. Because it's felt like that. It's felt like it's always been a struggle. My parents have always looked at me like I am their golden ticket. The final act in their show. Never like I am their daughter, someone they care about.
I keep walking down the street. I cross Warm Way and I see the edge of the Rough River. Sitting on a park bench, I cross my legs and take in the view. I can see my breath. It’s so cold out, but I have gloves on and I pull Hijinx up on the bench next to me. He rests his head in my lap and I pet him, taking a deep breath in, letting it out slow.
He has always been my center. For years. Last night at Red and Annie's house, it was hard to imagine what it would be like to really be in a family like that. Growing up around a table where there was always another seat pulled out, welcoming a stranger in.
My parents were always so secretive. So on edge. It was always about keeping people away. Shielding the dark corners of our circus tent. My dad's drinking. My mom's affairs. Me, cast aside.
I'm lost in these thoughts when Bartlett sits down next to me, two paper cups in hand.
"I thought you might like some coffee to warm you up."
I smile, taking the paper cup from his hand. "Thanks," I say.
"I wasn't sure what you liked. I know it's not Christmas anymore, but I was hoping you might like a peppermint mocha."
I smile. "Who doesn't like a peppermint mocha?"
He grins and takes a drink of his.
"Thank you," I say.
"Of course," he says. He leans back on the bench, his arm wrapping around my shoulders like we've done this dozens, hundreds of times, not like this is the first. The first time we've sat on a bench looking out at the river together.
"So you were thinking something pretty heavy. I could tell," he says, and his voice is deep and clear. Just like that river. And I wonder how a man like him, whom I've just met, can see straight through me so damn well.
"How could you tell?" I ask.
He gives me a half smile that rends my heart in two. "You looked sad out here. I was wondering if maybe you heard more of what Rye was saying than I thought."
"I know your brother doesn't like me," I say, twisting my lips.