Page 35 of Freak
She was reclaiming something she hadn’t known she’d lost: excitement. When she heard Mel’s bike roll up her long drive, her heart leapt and spun. When he caught her hand and pulled her close for a kiss, she thought she might swoon. When he finished her sentence, or leaned over her to collect something from a cupboard he’d anticipated her needing, when he seemed to know her like nobody but her grandmother ever had known her, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let him go.
Behind her, a horn beeped twice, the little avian chirp that meant,Hi, excuse me!Abigail dashed a glance at her rearview mirror and saw Shannon Ryan in her Cadillac SUV. Shannon must have seen the movement of her head, because she did a rolling wave of her fingers on the steering wheel.
Abigail sent back a wave and aSorry!shrug and got her truck moving again. She pulled into the first free spot and took a moment to put all her worries aside for sorting later.
Shannon parked alongside her, and they met behind their trucks, Shannon wearing her usual bright smile. She was dressed casually, in jeans, tall boots, and a long, slate-blue sweater with a funnel neck. Her cherry-auburn hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. Shannon was one of those women who always looked beautiful and perfectly put together.
“Hi there, Abigail! How are you? You look so cute today!”
Warmed by the compliment, Abigail glanced down at her outfit. She always did herself up a little bit when she came down to town, but for her few trips to the clubhouse in these past weeks, she’d taken an extra step or two. She enjoyed the light in Mel’s eyes when he saw her. He always lit up to see her, even when she was ankle-deep in goat manure, but she caught the extra gleam of pleased surprise in his dark brown eyes when she was done up.
Today, under a crocheted magenta shawl, she wore a long, cobalt-blue dress with a scatter of white rosebuds. Her nicest pair of black boots, lace-up with a little bit of heel, were on her feet, and she’d done her hair differently, leaving most of it in a heavy, wavy drape down her back, only about a quarter of it coiled into a small bun on the back of her head.
Her usual hairstyle was a messy updo, a big bun at the top of her head that she thought made her look a little like a Gibson Girl. But Mel had taken her hair down the other night and sunk his fingers into the vexing mass, extolling its praises like a poet and charming her utterly. So she’d decided to try something new today.
“Thank you. I’m doing real good today. And you look like a little extra sunshine yourself. That’s a lovely sweater.”
Shannon made the same pleased survey of herself. “Thank you! Millie knitted it for me—she’s gotten so good! You’re a fantastic teacher.”
Last year, Shannon had bartered knitting lessons for her daughter in exchange for four large boxes and three rolls of upholstery fabrics, the remnants left over from a remodel of the B&B. The fabrics were gorgeous and of sumptuous quality, and Abigail had made new drapes for the front room and reupholstered her rocking chair, and still had piles of fabrics left for other projects. Teaching Millie to knit had taken about a week of daily lessons, during which she’d made a hot pad and a scarf. It was a good trade, nicely balanced.
“Well, she’s been keeping at it, then, and learning more herself, because I didn’t teach her this herringbone stitch.” Peering closer, Abigail detected one or two small imperfections, but ‘flaws’ like those were the difference between something made with love and care and something a machine spat out. “This is real good work.”
Beaming with maternal pride, Shannon smoothed a hand down her front. “She loves it. She says she thinks better when she’s knitting. If she could make a job of it, I think she would.” Her smile dimmed a bit, and she sighed as she looked toward Main Street.
Abigail knew that Showdown and Shannon’s twins, Millie and Joe, had left a few weeks ago for their first year of college. She didn’t know which colleges, but she knew it was plural—they’d gone to different schools.
“Does Millie know what she wants to study?”
Drawn back to the moment, Shannon’s smile steadied, and she opened the hatch of her fancy truck. “Oh, I don’t know. That changes minute-to-minute, seems like. I don’t think Millie really wants a career. I think she’d be happy sitting in the house making her little miniatures, or knitting, or doing other crafty stuff.”
Abigail dropped the tailgate down on her ancient Ford. “That can be a job, too,” she said, gathering the boxes of baked goods she’d promised the Horde. “I’ve made a pretty good life doing just that—exactly what I love.”
With two good-size boxes balanced in her arms, Shannon somehow managed to push a button that lowered the Cadillac’s hatch. “That’s wonderful. But I want more for Millie.”
Abigail tried to deflect that unexpected arrow before it could draw blood and almost managed it, but it was Shannon who reacted openly. She pulled up short and turned to Abigail, her complexion pale and her mouth round with shock.
“Oh, Abigail. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I don’t think you—I didn’t—”
“I know,” Abigail assured her, though she also knew Shannon had let a little truth slip out. “My life is humble. It’s not unusual for a mother to want bigger things for her child.”
“I suppose. But I don’t know if it’s somethingbiggerI necessarily want for Millie. I guess I worry about her turning a hobby she does to relax and decompress into a job she has to do to live. I mean, I love my job, but I love itas a job. It would never be something I did for fun, you know? Is that not a problem for you?”
“Well,” Abigail began as she struggled to close her extremely manual tailgate. Shannon looked fruitlessly for a way to help her while her own arms were full. Finally, Abigail set the boxes on the trunk of the car beside her and freed up her hands. Slamming the tailgate up, she made a case for herself. “No, it’s not a problem for me. I suppose ... maybe living like I do, I don’t have so many obligations that I have to turn what I love into work. I live simply, and simple doesn’t cost much. As long as I can make or do things people find useful, I’ll have everything I need, and I work when I want.” She put a touch of irony in her grin. “Just so happens I want to work most days.”
Shannon laughed. “Yeah, that helps.” They headed toward the clubhouse. “Millie never wants to work. She’s so high-strung, and she justhatesanybody expecting anything of her—not because she’s a brat, but because the thought of letting people down stresses her out so much. She made herself sick every time finals came around in high school, fretting about not doing her best. I’m pretty worried about her being away at college. Joe’s Joe, you know? We named him for Havoc Mariano, and the name came with Hav’s personality. Joe rolled out of the womb moving to his own beat, and he’s got a self-concept like a suit of armor. His twin sister did not get those traits.”
Though Abigail had never been a gossip, she enjoyed learning about people, and she wanted to know more about Shannon’s kids. She also wanted to point out that maybe a small, simple life would be the happiest path for a girl like Millie.
However, they’d arrived at the clubhouse door—which swung suddenly and forcefully open just as Shannon was trying to shift the balance of her load to grab the handle.
It was Mel and Cox, and they both grabbed the women’s loads before either could say anything. Once Mel had Abigail’s boxes in his own arms, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her mouth. “Hey, beautiful.”
He called her beautiful several times a day, and her cheeks grew warm every time. Like she was a schoolgirl and not a middle-aged woman. “Hi there,” she answered, setting her hand on his cheek. His salt-and-pepper beard was soft beneath her palm.
When they drew apart, Cox, his arms loaded with Shannon’s boxes, was smiling at them. It wasn’t a big smile, but for Cox, it was noteworthy. That man had some real deep pain in his past, and it had made him sour and suspicious, but new love had brought a spoonful of sugar to his soul. He was involved with the woman running the Signal Bend Pavilion project, who’d shown herself, after a rocky beginning in town, to be an excellent human as well.
Abigail smiled back as she held the door for the men. “You’re in a good mood today, Cox.”
