Chapter 29
Abby
Wanda — how can one woman be so happy all the time, and so welcoming? She’s amazing. Refreshing. Glad I got out of the house — needed to talk to somebody again. She made me smile, and noticed I’m wine-free these last shopping trips.
“Well, my sister bought some wine, but that was for a weird occasion.”
I run the credit card as Wanda asks, “Your sister is here?”
I smile with meaning, “Was.”
“You don’t get along.”
“No, we do. Sometimes we fight. It’s complicated.”
Wanda chuckles, “That’s family,” ripping the paper receipt and handing it to me.
“Did you see her come in? Same coloring as me, only she has a rounder face — something I’ve always envied about her.”
“What’s wrong with your face?”
“Too long.”
Wanda tilts her head. “Honey, life is too short to say such dumb things about yourself.”
I laugh, “Fair enough,” and pick up the brown paper sack. “Have a good day.”
“You too!”
As I walk outside the store, I pause upon seeing the man from Inquiring Minds Bookstore, the one I’d left hanging, introduction deserted.
Oh boy.
Hope he doesn’t see me.
Without provocation Jack looks over his shoulder right at me. “Hey!” like I’m his best friend in the world, and starts running.
Literally running.
And he’s a big guy.
With a bigger grin.
“Morning!” he greets me as I back up to give him room on the sidewalk. He’s got no clue that there’s a huge smear of dirt on his face. “Sorry I startled you that other morning at the bookstore.”
I’m trying not to laugh.
Because I know he likes me.
That smudge…
After I left him hanging.
It’s so wrong it’s hilarious.
Jack leans in at my covered laughter, “What?”
“Um…You uh…”
“I uh what?”
I motion to his cheek. “You have a little something on your face.”
As if sharing a secret, he asks, “Oh no, is it bad?”
“You should be mortified.”
“Like when the bird pooped on my head Freshman year mortified?”
“Was that high school or college?”
He smiles, “That was high school.”
“Then yes, definitely.”
“Oh dear. There? There?” I’m grinning at him as he rubs at it, making a fuss before offhandedly shrugging, “Yeah. Eh. Well. Hey, check this out.” His arm shoots out to point at the patch of weeds he was crouched in when I walked out here. I look over, curious what he was doing there. “So I set down some potted plants over there. I came back,” he looks at me, dramatically revealing, “and they're gone! So I'm thinking people liked 'em enough to steal 'em or…” He leans against the beige brick exterior of My Market with a I-figured-out-the-mystery gleam in his eyes, “…birds absconded with them to Belize.”
“Absconded. To Belize.”
“Yep!”
I dryly shoot back, “Really.”
He smirks, “That's my best guess.”
Glancing to the weeds, curiosity gets the better of me. “Are you a gardener?”
“Landscaper. So yeah, you could say that.”
I’ve had so many questions, this is my chance to ask a professional. Shifting the grocery bag to one arm, I describe as best I can what’s foreign to my experience. Normally I’d be self-conscious — feeling the questions ‘dumb’ — but I’m so interested in this subject I dive right in, “There's this moss I saw growing on the cedars up here that's like tiny feathers,” I slowly wave my fingers in hopes he understands, “or something you'd see in the ocean swaying in the water.” Jack nods. Encouraged I continue, “And then I was walking along this rock that's light grey almost to the point of being white.”
And fell over the side of it, a fact he doesn’t need to know. Still, I’ve been curious because the stone was unique.
Without hesitation Jack says, “That's conglomerate quartz. It's beautiful.”
My gaze drops as I whisper, “Conglomerate quartz,” memorizing it.
“Have you been to the waterfall?”
My mind is on memorizing the new term and, even though I’ve been many times, I shake my head, hum a negative to that question.
“Perhaps I could take you sometime,” he offers, hurries to add, “Because you're a Moss Enthusiast!” I smile, knowing he’s trying to ask me out and that it can’t happen. “There's a moss that grows on the rocks down at the bottom, it's so green it's almost blue. You'd think you're in Scotland.”
Surprised he’s said now both Belize and Scotland, the places Max and I were discussing, I ask, “Is that where you're from?”
Jack’s leaning against the wall, completely comfortable. “It's where my family is from, yeah.”
“Abby?” I hear from behind me, the familiar voice sending knives across my skin. “Abby!” I spin around to see Max’s parents stepping out of their car, Alice smiling, “Well, what a surprise!”
Oh no.
This can’t be happening.
I’m talking to a man.
Alone.
And smiling.
Did they see me smiling?
“Alice! Henry!” I hug my groceries like a life raft. “What are you doing all the way up here?” Might as well be in a bikini the way this looks!
Max's parents, both in black, walk up, eyeing Jack. Thank God I’m wearing black, too.
Alice is polite, trying to be pleasant, “Well, I didn't want to show up at your place empty-handed and Henry wanted to use the bathroom.”
Stewing in anger, my father-in-law mutters, “You don't have to tell everyone that.”
I hurry to correct the question, heart beating fast, “I meant out here, not here at the grocery store.”
Alice is still talking about the bathroom, airing out her nerves by arguing, “Abby knows you're a human being, Henry. Everyone has to go. I don't see what all the mystery is about.”
He loudly announces, “How I wish you did!”
She swats at him, “Oh you!”
They turn to the local — the moment of reckoning — and having no clue, he amiably greets them, “Hi, I'm Jack McCaffrey!”
In this moment I realize two things.
One — he’s now learned my name since Alice repeated it.
Two — his ancestry is about to be a problem.
“McCaffrey?” Henry eyeballs him. “Scottish?”
Jack smiles, “Yeah, it's funny — we were just talking about that. My family's from there.”
“I’m an O'Connell, Henry, Irish through and through.” I close my eyes. “My mom was first generation American, but her accent didn't wash off on me.”
Alice attempts to divert the brewing storm, “Pity, that,” implying she’d love an Irish accent on her husband. She thrusts out her hand, “I’m Alice O'Connell.”