Page 36 of When I Come Back
I put the tomato back and keep moving down the table looking at what else is on offer. On the other side of the booth, there sit a few boxes of gorgeous homemade pumpkin pies. It’s when I’m looking at the box of pie that I notice the label: Abel’s Farm and Produce.
Old Man Abel was a grouchy bastard. I wonder if he’s still around or if his family runs the farm now. His farm is located on the edge of town, and he seems to grow everything: strawberries in the summer, pumpkins in the fall, Christmas trees you can cut yourself in the winter.
When we were about eleven or twelve, Thea and I got the brilliant idea to take our bikes out to his farm and help ourselves to some of his strawberry harvest. Everyone knew Old Man Abel grew the best strawberries, and since they were Thea’s favorite, I thought it was a great idea at the time.
We did this a few times with no repercussions, having the time of our lives. With the town being as small as it is, news of the “crime spree” made it to the next town council meeting. Crime wasn’t exactly something we had in Indigo Hill, so despite being no big deal to most, it was the news of the year for our town. Everyone was up in arms and concerned their farm would be next. Abel deemed us the Berry Bandit and put up such an upheaval, Sheriff Colson agreed to look into it.
The next time we went out for our berry shenanigans a few days later, the Sheriff caught us—quite literally—red handed. He had been sitting at the edge of the road leading to the farm and watched us bike all the way to the fields. Thankfully, he let us off with a warning, and we never went back. The mystery of the Berry Bandit was still alive and well when I left for Seattle, you’d think we’d been serial killers who were never caught.
I chuckle to myself as I reminisce, and an idea strikes me. Pulling out my phone, I shoot off a text to my former partner in crime.
Me:What time are you leaving the restaurant tonight?
Surprisingly, it only takes a second for Thea to text back.
Thea:6
Not the warmest response, but I’ll take it.
Me:I’ll be at your house at 6:30. Be hungry.
When she doesn’t respond to fight me on the plans, I count it as a win. Before exiting the messaging app, I see another unread text waiting for me.
That Girl From That Bar.
After staring at the notification for a few moments, I lock the screen without opening the message and slip my phone back into my pocket.
I go back around to the produce and make my selections, picking up a few tomatoes and the fragrant basil. I’m waiting around for my turn to pay when I hear a gruff voice call out, “You plan on paying for that this time?” I look around and see Old Man Abel smirking at me. He’s sitting toward the back of the booth, hidden behind the crates of produce on the table. Rubbing the back of my neck, I feel sheepish meeting his eyes.
“Meg,” he says, speaking to the young woman manning the register who must be his granddaughter. “Throw in a pie for our Berry Bandit.”
“Thank you, you really don’t have to,” I say. “You knew?”
“Figured it out about the time you started avoiding my booth here the week after the Sheriff came and told me the problem had been taken care of,” he says with a laugh.
My face warms. “Sorry about that. We were just kids, you know?”
“Pretty girls will make you do all sorts of stupid shit,” he says, voice much warmer than I remember.
I thank him again, as well as Meg, and go pick up a few other items from other booths. Then I make my way over to Grayce’s Café to kill some time before I head to that same pretty girl’s house to do some more stupid shit.
The door opens a few moments after my knock, and Thea’s uncertain eyes meet mine. Her hair is down around her shoulders in soft waves. She’s wearing black jeans that seem to be painted on, making my mouth water at the sight. She’s paired them with a plain but fitted light green t-shirt.
“Hi,” I say with a small smile, lifting the totes of produce I’m carrying. She moves aside to let me in, her expression still wary. I make my way to the kitchen to put the bags on the counter, and she follows.
“I figured you probably didn’t eat much today,” I say, unloading the produce.
“You figured right. It was busy. I almost stayed to help close up, but Tiffany kicked me out when I mentioned I had plans.”
“We should probably give her a raise,” I say with a chuckle. My joke, however, does not have the desired effect, and her face grows more serious—if that’s even possible. I’m unsure how I’ve put myself in this situation. I’m glimpsing back to all those years ago when I was walking on eggshells around Thea, feeling like I couldn’t say or do anything right. I knew she had been unhappy, but I wasn’t able to pinpoint why or how to fix it.
I shake my head to clear it and face her head-on. Thanks to Dr. Ferris, I’m much better equipped to decipher another person’s emotional state as well as how to regulate my own without shutting down. I worked hard to not be like my father in that regard.
Express, don’t repress.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I push a lock of hair behind her ear.
She grabs my wrist and pulls it away from her face. “We need to talk about RED. I need to know what you’re planning for it. I can’t make any plans for its future if I don’t know what you’re doing. Our expansion plans are already—” I put my finger to her lips to cut off her rambling.
