Page 43 of The Rebound
“Au revoir, Abby Reynolds. Try not to fall into a bog.”
She disappears as the call disconnects and I roll onto my back, half squishing my carefully wrapped parcel. Two more packages sit on the desk, ready to be mailed. Yesterday morning I finally did what I knew I had to and put my last few designer pieces up for sale. I’d been keeping them for interviews, indulging in fantasies of looking the part during my first few days in a new job, but with neither a job nor an interview on the horizon, it was time to bite the bullet. I don’t know why I waited so long. They were sold in a few hours for more or less what I was hoping for and this morning I raided Mam’s old craft box for envelopes and tape to mail them out.
The world outside is nothing but gray drizzly mist, so I spend a few more minutes stalking old co-workers’ Instagrams before finally bringing myself to pull on my sneakers and leave my room. The house is quiet. Tomasz is fast asleep after a night shift but as I tiptoe past Louise’s home office I can hear her talking on the phone.
We haven’t spoken much since the whole tampon debacle last week. We’ll have to eventually. We’ll be adults and hug it out or make up or whatever the nearest thing to that we can do, which knowing Louise and I might not be that much. But for now, I embrace the coward’s way out as I hurry down the stairs and out the front door.
The post office is located on the edge of town, housed in an old cottage that makes the inside cramped and cold. The owner is the same one as when I was younger and seems starved for a chat, so I spend fifteen minutes longer than I need to talking about her hip surgery and her new neighbors and how you just never know what the weather’s going to do these days. Global warming, we agree. Finally another customer comes in and she presses three cubes of butterscotch into my hands, sending me on my way.
I pop one into my mouth as I step outside, almost bumping into a man walking past. It takes me only a second before I realize who he is.
“Rory?”
Rory O’Meara, my first ex-boyfriend and teenage partner in crime, glances over his shoulder, polite expectation turning to confusion and then to shock.
“Abby?”
“Yeah.” I hesitate, suddenly a little unsure. We’d been close before, but we haven’t spoken in years. “I heard you might come—”
He hugs me, a quick squeeze that cuts off my words and for one bizarre moment, I’m transported back to being fifteen again. Rory always gave the best hugs. And it’s no different now as he envelops me, his beard tickling the side of my face, his tan jacket cold and slightly damp from the wind.
He pulls back to look at me, still smiling, and I find I’m smiling too, his enthusiasm infectious.
“You smell like my nan’s place.”
“That’s the butterscotch,” I say, nodding to the post office.
“Sure it is.”
“Shut up. What’s this?” I grab his hand, spotting the gold band. “You’re married?”
“I am. The poor girl.”
“Someone local?”
“No.” He smirks. “Her name’s Sinead. She’s from Cork and she’s a civil servant. Mam loves her.Greatpension.”
“Well, that’s all that matters.”
He cocks his head, taking me in. “So did I miss something?” he asks. “Are you back now? Your folks okay?”
“They’re grand. Everyone’s fine. I’m just visiting.”
“Liar. You think I don’t know when you’re lying? You do this.” He smiles pleasantly at me, blinking once. “Didn’t you work for the devil? Lost a lot of people a lot of money?”
“I personally didn’t, no.”
“And now you’ve come crawling back to us.” He pauses to nod hello at an older man passing us by. “Where are you staying?” he asks. “With your sister? I bet that’s fun.”
“Let’s just say we’re both trying very hard.”
He grins but it vanishes as quickly it came. “Seriously though. Are you okay? It was on the news.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.” I sigh, seeing no point in lying any more than I need to. “I’m not great,” I say. “Though you’ve probably guessed that by me wandering around here.”
“The Abby Reynolds I knew never wandered. She strode. A little bit heavy on her instep but—”
“I get it. Thank you.”
