Love Me If You Must (4 page)

 
6

I couldn’t bring myself to do anything the rest of the morning except lie on my cot and stare at the ceiling. I traced the lines in the plaster with my eyes. One section had cracked in the shape of my old cat Peanut Butter, who’d shown up at my house when I was a kid. A shadow gave the image a scrawny tail. A jagged ridge made two pointy ears.

Maybe I had received a few too many knocks on the noggin in my life. When you start seeing bodies in the cistern and family pets frolicking overhead, you have to question if you’re really all there.

Was I all there? Not likely. I was scattered far and wide. Pieces of me littered the state. I’d left a big part of myself up north, a decent-sized chunk in Walled Lake, and a generous portion in Pontiac. Everywhere I’d gone, I’d carelessly left a bit of my essence, a fragment of the human named Tish Amble.

With any luck, I’d exit Rawlings with what was left of me still intact.

I shifted my gaze to a sagging section near the windows. A spiderweb of lines radiated from a missing chunk of plaster. It wouldn’t be long before the vibrations from the train spread the stress. Soon the weight would be unbearable and the whole ceiling would come crashing down. And to think, a hundred years ago the thing had been an unblemished surface.

I had been whole once too. It was before Peanut Butter had shown up on the back porch. Before my mother had driven the pickup headlong into Mead Quarry. Before Grandma had gotten sick. Long before I had done the unthinkable.

That would make me about seven years old the last time I had my life together.

Seven. I’d been in second grade. My best friend Anne had fought by my side when Mikey Palmer pelted us with snowballs on the way to school. At least Anne had decent aim.

I smiled at the memory. I turned on my side and stared out the picture window at the maple speckled with a few persistent leaves. Anne’s cable TV had been a big plus too. Where else could I have enjoyed hours of Star Trek reruns and Movie of the Week television premiers? Even so, cable had been my first introduction to fear. Seven was too young to be watching Injun Joe pursuing Tom Sawyer in the caves. Anne had walked me home across the alley that night. I’d been terrified that Crazy Joe was lurking in the garage waiting to leap out at me with that long, curving knife.

A sunbeam bounced off a passing car and caught me in the eye. I blinked back a tear. Seven short years of bliss. Then, it was as if God had let loose a whirlwind in my life.

My stomach sent out a resounding gurgle. Grateful for an excuse to avoid the tour of days past, I jumped up and pulled on my jacket. Grocery shopping couldn’t be put off another minute, or I’d never live to see another day.

I brushed my hair and a few minutes later turned out the drive onto Main Street and slowed at the tracks. Deucey took the rails like a ship on rolling seas. The car behind me tooted with impatience. I looked in the rearview mirror. Sun glinted off the windshield of a red midsize. I’d have to remember the vehicle for future reference. Its owner was completely rude.

At the next block, I stopped at the traffic signal. The clock tower on the adjacent corner read 1:15. It was surrounded with corn stalks to mark the season. I marveled at the quaint details that drew tourists to Rawlings by the droves.

Beside me, a store window caught my attention. Home sweet home, the sign above the door said. Antiques and accessories were arranged behind the plate glass with irresistible charm. A brightly colored quilt draped the chair beside a spinning wheel. A drop-leaf table was set for tea.

I hummed a sigh. Too bad I always rented furniture. This was one home I’d love to decorate with Victorian era knickknacks and uncomfortable straight-back upholstery. But it would never fly at the open house. I had to portray a feeling of casual, carefree living. Victorian was definitely too stuffy.

The bad-mannered driver beeped again, and I realized I’d daydreamed well into the green light. I pushed on the gas and cruised toward my destination. A few lights later, I turned into the parking lot of Goodman’s Grocery.

I put Deucey in park and stepped onto the asphalt. To my annoyance, the red car pulled into a spot in the opposite row. Just my luck. I’d have to face my tormenter.

David, my oh-so-handsome neighbor, got out.

I was torn between the beauty of his face and the ugly of his attitude. Still, I waved when he looked my way.

“Tish!” He seemed overly pleased to see me. No doubt embarrassed to realize I’d been the slowster in the car ahead.

He walked toward Deucey. I clutched the open door like a shield between us.

“Did you see me waving?” he asked. “I tried getting your attention, but you were too wrapped up in the scenery.”

I remembered the sun’s glare on the windshield of his car. If he had been waving at me, I wouldn’t have seen it.

“When that didn’t work, I blew the horn.” He skirted the door and went to the trunk. “You’ve got a cord hanging out the boot, and I wasn’t sure it was rainproof.”

I closed my door and followed him. A black strip of fabric dangled out Deucey’s back end.

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t going to Flint today,” I said. “Would you have followed me all the way?”

“Whatever it took.”

I looked to see if there was a tease somewhere in those depths. But it seemed he was serious. I let down my guard. I couldn’t hold a grudge against a guy who’d go to such lengths to watch out for me.

I stuck in the key and opened the trunk. Inside were the remains of my nomadic life. I’d brought the necessities into the house the night before—personal care items, essential clothes, and sleep gear. But the rest would hole up in the car until needed.

A tapestry suitcase, containing the testimony of my existence, took up the back half of the cavernous trunk. Bills, old checkbooks, tax returns, and the clown I’d sewn for a junior high project were wedged in so tight, I’d broken the zipper trying to close it.

In front of me, tucked close to the bumper, was a backpack that just missed getting crushed the last time I’d slammed the trunk closed. Its adjustable strap hadn’t been so lucky.

I looked at the sky. Good thing nylon was waterproof. The cloudless morning was about to give birth to an overcast afternoon. A bank of storms piled high on the horizon. The sun had only a few short hours before it would be swallowed by the cranky newborn.

“You’re right.” I locked eyes with David. “We’re in for some rain.”

Tearing away from his gaze seemed impossible. I’d always appreciated blue eyes on a guy with a square chin and full lips. And standing tall in his knee-length woolen coat, he looked so important, so exceptional. I wished I could figure out how to dress to impress. But in my line of work, it was too much trouble to change out of my grungies every time I left the house.

I bent over the trunk, fumbling around trying to arrange things. With the strap tucked away, I went to close it.

“Allow me,” he said. He raised his arm to slam the lid. His fingers brushed mine, sending a jolt of electricity tingling up my arm. I couldn’t be sure if it was magnetic attraction or static cling.

“Would you like to share a buggy?” David asked. “I just have a few things to buy and I’d love the company. I won’t take much space, I promise.”

Share a shopping cart? I hardly knew the guy. But he was a neighbor, and I hated to be rude.

“I’d love to,” I said.

We wheeled down the produce aisle.

“So, where do you get your accent?” I slung a bag of Macintosh apples into the cart.

“I come by it naturally. I grew up a bit south of London.”

I smiled. “I love the way it sounds.”

“Most Americans do. It’s only fellow Brits that detect a hint of commoner.”

“Commoner?” My gaze swept across his face. “We don’t have any of those in America. We’re all royalty as far as we’re concerned.”

“That’s why I love it here.”

An enormous golden grapefruit caught my eye. I put it in a plastic baggie and set it in the cart. Next to it I dropped some grapes and my favorites—plums. I crossed over to the veggie aisle and loaded up on salad supplies.

“How long have you been in the U.S.?” I asked.

“Five years or so,” he said.

I reached for a bunch of celery to supplement my peanut butter craving. The red rubber band holding it together clung to the stalk beneath, and it stuck in place. I leaned forward to free it and got an eyeful of my hairdo in the mirror over the vegetable display. My brush-n-go styling had decided to hover like a halo around my face. I looked like I’d spent the morning plugged into a light socket.

Behind me, David scooped peanuts from a barrel into a paper bag. I leaned close to the mirror and tried to flatten my flyaways. Just then, the vegetable sprinkler system kicked on. I leaped back, but not before my face got sprayed. I wiped the drops off with my fingers and ran them through my hair. At least it would behave for the moment.

When I turned around, David was talking with a woman who looked like she’d spent the morning under her hair dryer. I’d never seen such a perfect flip-do. Even her lashes curled in the right direction, held in place by just the right amount of mascara. And while I couldn’t detect lipstick or blush on her cheeks, that was only because it was so cleverly applied. No woman could look that good without help.

I could feel those primordial female hackles rising. To the casual observer, it would seem I had no reason to stake a claim on David. But anyone with eyeballs could see we were sharing a shopping cart. Couldn’t she take a hint?

She smiled at David and gave a tacky giggle. David smiled back and said something that got an even bigger guffaw out of the petite blonde.

Come on. Couldn’t he see that blatant flirtation for what it was? Maybe I’d given him too much credit.

I was just about to splat him with an avocado when the beguiling creature turned to me. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline.

“Oh!” Her hand froze in place over her mouth.

I guess my frizz rendered her speechless.

I was sure that somewhere behind her enlarged pupils, a brain churned. I decided to keep quiet to see if any thoughts rose to the surface. Finally, she lowered her fingers.

“I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that you look so much like someone who used to live around here.”

I was impressed. She spoke in complete sentences.

I gave a big, overzealous smile to match her own fakey attitude. “You are the second person that’s told me that today. Guess I’ve got that all-American look.”

She scrunched up her face. “No. It’s not that. You just remind me of someone who left town at least a year ago. I should have known you weren’t her. She’d have to have guts to show her face around here again.”

Great. I was the unsuspecting twin of some small-town pariah. I hadn’t thought anyone else’s face could be as featureless as mine.

“David said you’re new in town.” She extended a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Tammy Johnson. I own the Beauty Boutique on Maple Street. Stop in some day. I’d love to get to know you.”

Right. I squeezed politely and dropped my arm. What she really meant was that she’d love to get her hands on the overgrown haystack on my head. My stubborn streak vowed that her clippers and callus-free palms would never touch a strand.

“I’ll be sure to stop in. I’m Tish Amble. Nice to meet you.”

She’d done a great job keeping eye contact during our conversation, but now she gave me a fast once-over before turning back to David.

My insides tightened. Not everyone could be as put together as her little prima donna self. She could cut those of us with a fashion handicap a little slack.

“I meant to ask you, David,” she said in a silky-smooth voice, “any word from your wife?”

Air drained out of my lungs in a surprised gush. My eyes poked out and my cheeks sucked in. I felt like an astronaut who’d just lost atmosphere.

Wife? I was sharing a shopping cart with a married man? Gee, when had he planned on telling me that tidbit?

At least he had the good sense to look embarrassed.

He shifted his weight to the opposite leg as his fingers did a quick tattoo on the handle of the cart. “No. I haven’t heard from Rebecca lately.”

My eyebrow twitched. Another case of wayward wife. Must be an epidemic in Rawlings.

Tammy ducked her head in a show of repentance. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject. Got to run.”

She flashed me a parting glance as she walked up the aisle and out of view.

I leeched onto David’s eyeballs with a glare of accusation. But my anger fled when I saw the look on his face. His brow was furrowed in sadness and a cloud of emotion gathered in his gaze.

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He obviously hadn’t gotten over the woman who’d left him. I was searching my Miss Manners data bank for an appropriate comment, when he saved me from uttering the inane words.

“Tammy means well. We all miss Rebecca.” His voice sounded thick. “It’s hard. Every time I open the mail, I expect to see divorce papers.”

He wheeled the cart into the next aisle and I followed mutely behind.