Myeverythingjammed up.
Even as awkward as it was trying to pretend we didn’t almost kiss, I’m glad we didn’t. I’d suffer dearly for that later when she moved along to get married. Somedays I could barely do life. The last thing I needed was to survive a heartbreak.
And what is up with this small town? I forced my brain into a change of subject. For only a few thousand people, they did an awful lot of gathering in the middle of town, which forced me into finding a parking space more elusive than the Bermuda triangle. I settled on parking in an alley off Main Street. Apparently, some sort of a flea market plugged up all the paved roads.
People meandered from one end of the street down to the other. Farmers with produce stands, women selling knitted shower cap looking thingys in every size, people with used books and pottery. I was pretty sure it was town clean-out-your-junk day. I dodged a woman pulling a wagon piled full of kids. She had so many children, and not one of them had a decent haircut. It looked as if she had a wagon load of mops.
Not having planned on this today, I swiped my forehead, anxiety inflating in my chest. People everywhere being way too people-y. This was different from the festival the other night. It seemed so much more disorganized, and without the music to focus on, my unease grew.
I could come back . . .
I don’t reallyneedwater to live anyway.
I’ll be fine for a few days.
Ineedto get out of here.
I tried whistling to calm my nerves. The only thing that I succeeded in doing, was making me look like a crazy person. I turned on my heel, but I immediately had to dodge hordes of people. I got mixed up and started walking in the wrong direction. Panic filled my chest. The ground appeared to wobble, threatening to open up and suck me in. I was sinking!
Battlefield memories of being trapped circled my head, and I got dizzy. I dodged the crowd left, and veered right, only to be met with kids laughing in my ear, and chatter swirling all around. I found it rather odd that people were still going aboutin merriment with the war looming not far away. Then again, the war had gone on for so long, they more than likely had gone numb to it.
Marching band music wafted in the air, reminding me of a high school spirit song. It was an unrecognizable tune that did everything it could to throw me off balance.
I was losing my mind.
Stumbling backward, trying to right my direction, I plowed into a lady carrying a large, flat basket. Her basket flipped, and dozens of long-stem roses tumbled to her feet.
“Sorry,” I muttered, immediately taking a knee and collecting them.
“Reeves,” a voice I didn’t know floated above my head. “That’s you, right? I recognized the hand.”
Of course, she did. It was impossible to hide it. Once people heard my story, they acted like I was public property. I lifted my heavy eyelids. A woman met my gaze, but I couldn’t place her. “Uh, do I know you?” I tipped my hat up and let my eyes rake over her auburn curls.
“Francine.” She paused, smiling back at me as if that should have rung a bell. It didn’t, and my head was swelling with a headache each second longer I had to stand there.
“Elliot,” she added. Smiling even wider.
“E-Elliot?” I stammered, feeling the sweat immediately slap on my back. “You’re Frank’s widow.” My vision suddenly split into dual screens. I was still staring at her, but a figment of my closest comrade flashed in front of my eyes. Startled, I took a step back. I clenched my eyelids and rubbed my palm over my eyes, but still I saw his face. Turning my head, I tried to remove the image, but it followed me like a mirage in the desert. It would only be a moment, and I guessed I’d hear his voice. My feet tingled, ready to flee.I need to get out of here.
Thankfully her soft voice centered me back to the present day. “I am.”
I panted out, breathing as if it was the first real breath I’d taken in the last five minutes. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I fumbled, as I stacked the last of the roses back into her basket, patting my hand on top, steadying them.
“Thank you.” Her lashes lowered thoughtfully before she said, “And, how are you?”
Clearing my throat, I managed, “I’m here.” I motioned to the flowers, desperate to get the conversation off me. “Are you vending here?”
“Yes.” She shifted the weight of the basket into her other arm. “It’s a side job I added to help with Little Frank’s schooling.”
“Wait a second.” My brows knitted together, already hating the way this conversation was going. “You’re selling these to pay for your boy’s education?”
“For now.” She pulled her lips tight. “I didn’t have the heart to switch his schools on top of everything else he’s been through. It’s only once a month and that extra money helps so much.”
How much could she possibly make selling roses once a month? Seems implausible that she’d make enough for anything but a tank of gas. She must have been desperate to bother. My gaze scanned the sidewalk, seeing many kids but no mini-Frank. “And where is he now?”
She hiked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing north. “He’s with a neighbor while I work.”
My back molars ground together. I couldn’t comprehend how weird this was, running into my fallen friend’s widow on the street, nearly begging for money. I yanked my money clip out of my pocket and peeled off a few bills. “What do they sell for? I’ll take the whole bundle so you can go home and spend time with your boy.”
