Page 13 of Grounds for Love

She glares back at me as if I’m the one in the wrong. She’s the one invading my privacy. “Stop changing the subject. Now, I’m assuming you’re talking about Jen. Oh, don’t look so grumpy about it. Everyone knows you two have been passing googly eyes at each other, both of you afraid to make a move. I’m glad you finally wised up and took that first step. I’m proud of you.”

I huff and cross my arms. “Damn small-town mentality. Those old biddies should mind their own business.”

She looks me straight in the eye and lays down a challenge. “So what are you going to do about it?”

I sigh and shrug. “Nothing. She’s not interested. End of story.”

“Really? That’s the last time you’ll think of her. You’ll just conveniently wipe her from your mind and move on?”

If only I could. Why the hell can’t I stop fixating on her? What is it about Jennifer that I can’t let go?

“Rod,” Barbara says gently and I look up to find her expression softening. “I don’t know Jen’s whole story, but it’s possible that she’s just as afraid as you are. You, more than anyone, can understand that, right?”

I stare at my sister. Why hadn’t I thought of that? “She lost someone too?”

Barbara nods. “Yes, her husband. Don’t give up on her. She needs to get to know the real Rod so she realizes you’re a safe first step.”

Barbara gives my arm a squeeze and leaves. I turn in my chair and look at the view of Main Street from the window. I can see Uncommon Grounds from here. How can I be upset with Jennifer for doing the exact same thing that I’ve done in the past? It’s the curiosity in her gaze and her gorgeous blushes every time I see her that make me take my sister’s advice to heart.

Maybe I will visit Uncommon Grounds again. I’ll just get a coffee and get to know her in a nonthreatening way. Another invitation will not be forthcoming. Not yet. The male ego is a fragile thing and I don’t know if I can take another rejection.

Later in the week on a return ferry trip, I happen to be out on deck and find Jennifer’s sister sitting on a bench with tears in her eyes. I’m not good with tears and start to walk away, but it doesn’t feel right. I can’t leave her without making sure she’s okay.

I take a seat beside her and hold out a clean handkerchief. “It looks like you need this.”

She looks up and sniffles, and I can tell by her red eyes she’s been crying for a while. She gives me a watery smile, takes the handkerchief, and dabs her eyes. “Thank you,” she says. “I didn’t know anybody still carried these.”

Great. Another jab to my declining age. I know from my nephews that asking why she’s crying is the wrong thing to say, so instead I ask, “Taking a ferry whenever you want to go somewhere is rough, isn’t it?”

She sniffles again. “No. Not really. I like riding the ferry. I can read or play on my phone, but I really just like watching for dolphins.”

She wipes away the dark smudges under her eyes and I know the cloth is history. “We saw a pod earlier in the day. You just missed them.”

“Maybe next time,” she says with another sniffle.

“Did you have fun in Southport?” I ask.

A few new tears appear. “Not really. I thought I would. A few of my friends from before we moved here are vacationing in the area and wanted to meet up for lunch.”

I’m not sure why meeting friends would upset her. I wish her sister were here. I am not equipped to handle woman problems. “That sounds like fun. I bet you miss them.”

She looks up at me with such sad blue eyes and I notice the difference between the sisters. Jennifer has long dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. Her sister is blonde with the bluest eyes. They’re light and dark. Night and day.

She wrings the handkerchief in her hands and says, “It was nice to see them, but after a while they started talking about things that happened after I left. Guys they’re dating, places they’ve been, and things they’ve done. I’ve known them since kindergarten. We even went to the same college. I guess it really hit home that I’m no longer part of their lives. I felt like an outsider.”

Much the way I felt when I moved to New York. “I bet that really hurt. Do you wish you’d never moved here? Would you ever consider moving back? I’m sure your sister would miss you if you did.”

She sits up straighter as if she just realized who she’s talking to. “I like living on Faire Island and I love the coffee shop. I would never move back. Please don’t mention my waterworks to Jen. She’s been through so much and she doesn’t need to worry about me.”

I like how protective she is of her sister. It reminds me of my family. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about there. Your sister won’t really talk to me.”

It’s good to see a grin slowly appear on her face. “Well, you did tell her to fuck off. I should be angry with you, but you seem like a nice man.”

Again, with the inaccuracy. I’m getting miffed at being found guilty of something I didn’t do. Then again, what I did do was bad enough. “I don’t think anyone else on the island would describe me as a nice man. I believe I’ve earned the nickname of Moody Rod Murphy. And I did not actually say those exact words to your sister. She elaborated in the retelling.”

She twists around until she’s facing me and asks, “So why are you grumpy?”

She cuts right to the chase. I never talk about Grace, but I find myself opening up to a youngster. “I suppose because I don’t feel like being happy. My wife passed away years ago and I haven’t had anything to be happy about since. It’s like Groundhog Day. I’m stuck in a perpetual cycle of grumpiness.”

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