“Right, yeah,” he says, giving me a little grin.
He thinks I’m joking. How cute.
“Umm, you’re from New York, right?”
“Not originally, but I lived there for most of my adult life,” I say, using the back of my forearm to wipe off my damp forehead.
“Okay, so why would anyone who lived somewhere like New York movehere?”
“Fair question,” I say, even though I’m growing more emphatically against answering personal questions by the day. “It’s cheap, safe, quiet, and I was under the misguided notion that I’d be left alone to write.”
He steps out of the greenhouse, then comes back with two windowpanes, one for each of us. “You’re a writer?”
“Yup.”
“Like books and stuff?”
“Yes, books,” I say as I accidentally catch the pad of my thumb in between the windowpane and the clip. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter, shaking my hand.
Colton doesn’t seem to know how to read the room, so he continues with his interrogation. “Are you like, rich or something?”
“What?” I ask, examining the blood blister that’s already popped up on my thumb.
“I mean, I’ve been here a lot over the last few weeks and you’re always out here working in your yard. Are you rich enough that you don’t have to write anymore?”
“No, I’m definitely not rich,” I say, an angry fever taking over now. “In fact, I should probably be working, but I…”I what? I’m worried I can’t remember how to write? I’m terrified I was never any good at it in the first place, and without Isaac, I’ll never be able to do it again?“You know what? I’d rather not talk about it,” I snap.
“Okay, sorry. I was just wondering,” he says, sounding hurt. “I didn’t mean to pry...I hate it when people do that.”
“That’s okay, you come by it honestly,” I answer, my irritation from everything that happened since I woke up bubbling to the surface again.
“What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
“There’s no way a person could be raised here and not grow up to be nosy.”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, but I don’t have time to smooth things over because Nettie has sneaked up on us and is now standing in the open doorway to the greenhouse. “Hello, you two! Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?”
Oh, God.
In her hands is a tray of some sort of baking. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re fixing up the greenhouse, so I figured I’d pop over with some of my freshly baked scones and an offer of free dirt to fill your troughs.”
“Hi, Nettie,” Colton says, eying the scones.
“Hello, young lad. How’s your family?” she waltzes into the greenhouse as though she’s been invited, then holds the tray out to him.
“Good,” he says, taking a scone. “Thanks.”
Nettie turns to me. “And you, Abby? You must be hungry after taking down all these windows. Eat up!”
Defiance stirs up the dust in my soul and I set my jaw. I am done being talked into things by these people. “No, thanks. I’m still full from breakfast.”
“Oh, come on now,” she says with a smile. “They’re fresh from the oven.”
“Really, I’m fine,” I say, sharpening my tone.
She points at one of the scones. “Just take that wee one then.”
“No, thank you,” I say, raising my voice to a pitch that shocks us all.
