“You like them, don’t you, Blue?” I shift my gaze toward the sound of Rebecca’s voice. She’s pulling the fridge open, looking at me over her shoulder. “Farmers markets? Do you like that kind of thing?”
“Do you really need to ask?” Kimmie scoffs. “Isn’t it obvious just by looking at her?”
I smile faintly at Rebecca, my mind still elsewhere. “I love them.”
Tim meets my gaze, his coffee mug covering the bottom half of his face as he takes a sip. “That’s great,” he says, lowering his cup. “There’s a pretty big one in Dallas every spring, and Rebecca just heard they’ll be branching out into our very own neighborhood this year.”
“Really?” The market by my house is always pretty small, but sometimes Mom drives us to a big one in the city, and we could spend all morning there. “When is it?”
“It starts this Saturday and goes for eight weeks,” Rebecca says. “I bet Kimmie would love to go with you.”
Kimmie and I both laugh at the same time, then we look at each other. Her amusement dies, brown eyes narrowing, which almost makes me chuckle again.
“I actually like going by myself. It’s peaceful.”
“You sure?” Tim asks. “I can see about getting some time off, maybe swing by for half an hour or so.”
My heart rate spikes at the thought, a hopefulyeson the tip of my tongue, but instead, I feel my head shake side to side. “Really, it’s okay. We can do something else when you have more time.” I don’t even know why I said that.
His lips press together, and he stares down into his coffee mug, swirling it gently. “I’ll make time soon, okay?” He finds my gaze again. “Promise.”
I shrug, taking in his green irises. We really do have the same eyes.
“Okay.”
Blue
“Yeah, I wanted to see about getting a booth here?”
While the lady looks down at her clipboard and flips through a couple pages, I hold up the purple instant camera I picked up this morning, scanning the farmers market through its lens. Tim was right; this one’s big. Maybe a little too big. I look down at the smooth pavement below my feet, tracing the tip of my sandal along it, and a pang of homesickness makes me wish it was a rough dirt road instead. But everything else—endless rows of freshly picked produce, handcrafted jewelry glittering on both sides of the street, live music filtering through the background—everything else is perfect. And it makes me miss Mom.
Click.
As advertised, the picture pops out right away, and I grin as I watch it develop. Why didn’t I get one of these things sooner?
“Hmm.” The woman’s voice pulls me back to her booth. I’ve already strolled along the entire strip three times, and I bought something too. “I’m afraid we’re booked solid. You can fill out this form, though, and I’ll contact you if someone cancels.”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
After slipping my camera and photo into my canvas purse, I lay the page flat on her booth and write my name at the top. Just as I move to the next line, a light breeze hits, sending a pink sheet of paper beside my hand flying. I quickly snatch it, barely catching it by the corner.
“Nice save.” The woman at the booth laughs. “Thanks.”
I smile, tilting my head, and skim the pink paper over. At the top, there’s a picture of a group of people, most of them elderly. They’re seated in front of a redbrick building, waving at the camera. At the bottom, it says:Volunteers Wanted for Nursing Home. Do you have time to give? Whether it’s a few hours a month or a few hours a day, give your time to the elderly now and make a lasting difference in someone’s life.
I chew my lip, rereading the sheet over and over. My gaze travels back up to the people in the picture. I’ve never volunteered before. When another breeze hits my skin, cool and inviting, I close my eyes, breathing it in.
I don’t believe in coincidences.
Decision made, I fold the paper and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans, then finish filling out the form for a booth. It’ll be nice, hand-making products again and having some reminder of home. My lips lift as I write. It’s still early, and I’ve got the rest of the weekend ahead of me.
Hunt
It’s packed. More crowded than when he and I used to sleep here, that’s for damn sure. Stepping over a pair of filthy pants drenched in urine and whatever else, I shake my head and work my way through the dark, cavernous room. People are sprawled across the cement, some sleeping on ratty blankets, others injecting themselves with who-the-hell-knows-what.
Henry’s asleep when I spot him all the way in the far corner. He’s got that dark green blanket he always carries around, and he’s facing the wall.
I stop behind him, crouch down, and look him over. There’s a bald spot at the back of his head, but the rest of his peppered hair’s already grown a bit since I took him to get a haircut four months ago. His clothes are covered in grime. I work my jaw, trying to keep calm.
