The After Wife Page 11

  I then go in search of today’s excuse, which arrives in a FedEx van. Ooh! What if it’s a big birthday gift from someone who loves me?

  I slide my Crocs on and hurry out to greet the deliveryman, who has just opened the back of the truck. He’s shockingly pale and has wild black hair that makes his head look far too big for his painfully thin body. I stare for a second, a little taken aback as it occurs to me he resembles a Q-Tip that’s just been used to wipe off heavy eyeliner.

  He smiles down at me. “Are you Abigail Carson?”

  “Yes,” I say, giving him a friendly smile. What is it? What do you have in there? Something fun for me?

  He snaps his fingers as a look of recognition crosses his face. “You’re that American widow from New York, right?”

  My smile fades, and I consider bursting into tears just to fuck with him. But I don’t. Instead, I nod and say, “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Cool. I have a delivery of greenhouse windows for you.”

  Oh. Windows. Great.

  The top half of his body disappears into the truck, and he pulls out a cardboard box. “Where would you like it?”

  “Here is fine,” I say, pointing to the ground.

  He sets it down, then says, “Nine more to go.”

  “Okay, super.”

  I watch as he stacks the next two boxes on top of the first. “You ever replaced greenhouse windows before?”

  Awesome. Another person who can’t just quietly do his job and leave. “No.”

  Grabbing another box, he starts a new stack on the grass. “It’s not too hard, but it’s better if you have an extra set of hands.”

  “Well, I just have the two, so …”

  He looks confused for a second, then says, “Ha! I heard you were funny. I meant you should ask Colton to help. He and his dad replaced theirs last year.”

  “Okay, thanks for the tip.”

  “My great aunt is a widow, too. Do you like to play bridge?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, too bad, because she has a bridge club with a few other retired ladies,” he says.

  He disappears into the truck again, which is fortunate for him because he can’t see the intense rage on my face right now.

  “There’s also bingo night every Friday at the seniors’ center. That might be fun for you.”

  “I just turned forty.” Like, a few minutes ago.

  He freezes mid-stride. “Seriously? That’s sad.”

  “Is it?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “Well, yeah. You’re kind of young to not have your husband anymore. My great-uncle died when he was eighty-four, so we were all expecting it.”

  “How many more boxes are there?”

  “Four, I think.”

  “I left something on the stove. Do you need me to sign for this?”

  “Nah, I trust you.”

  I storm into the house, bumping into Liam’s chest.

  “Whoa! You okay?” he asks, as I bounce off him.

  “Fine. Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” I let out a long sigh. “How old would you say I am?”

  “Oh, I don’t like this game. There are no winners here,” Liam says.

  “Seriously. I need to know.”

  “Twenty-nine?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and giving me a hopeful smile.

  I glare until he says, “Okay, listen, I’m really bad at guessing ages. Height and weight too. And honestly, I won’t know if you look fat in that new dress, I mean should you buy one and ask me my opinion. I’ll just tell you that you look great, and that’ll be the God’s honest truth.”

  “You do realize the longer you stall, the older I’ll think I look.”

  He swallows hard. “Oh, Christ.” Looking deep into my eyes, he says, “Old enough to know better but too young to care?”

  “Men.” I cut around him to the kitchen to crack open a can of Coke.

  He appears around the corner, scratching his chin. “This feels a little like being married. I know I’ve fucked up, but I honestly don’t know how.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “It’s not you. I’m just having a day.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No. Nothing worth discussing.”

  “You sure? I’m a reasonably good listener, for a man, that is. I know enough to not offer you a solution. I mostly just nod and gasp when I think it’s appropriate.”

  “Wow, I really must look old because you have gone to a lot of trouble to avoid a very simple question.”

  “Forty-two.”

  My ‘what the fuck’ expression must be hard to miss because he looks panicked again. “But only because you lost your husband, so I figure you must be older than you look. In actuality, you only look thirty-six.”

  I turn and walk to the back door, his voice following me.

  “Thirty-two? No, you’re thirty-one.”

  I let the door slam behind me, and stalk over to the wheelbarrow, then huff and puff my way to the front to load up the boxes, muttering under my breath the whole way. “Forty-two. Pffft. My great aunt has a bridge club you could join.”

  By the time I bring all the boxes to the backyard and slice them open, I’ve added uncomfortably hot to my cranky mood. Walt, who is sitting on the small deck at the back of the house, meows at me like he does when I get too far outside his reach. He hasn’t adjusted the way I’d hoped, shattering my image of him returning to his wild roots when given the chance. Instead, he refuses to step foot on the grass to explore. Something about the sight of him there irritates me, but I suppose everything is going to have that affect on me today. If I was smart, I’d just hop in my car and go for a long drive. But I won’t. I’ll just stay here and get this shitty job done. Happy fucking birthday to me.

  Colton arrives just as I’m trying to figure out how to remove the first broken windowpane. “The windows finally came, eh?” he asks.

  “Mm-hmm, and I hear you’re a pro at putting these up.”

  He screws up his face in confusion, then says, “Tall, skinny FedEx guy?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s Spooner. I went to school with him.”

  “Want to hear something creepy? He somehow knew I was single, from New York, and am replacing my greenhouse windows.”

  Shrugging, Colton says, “Don’t worry about Spooner. He’s a good guy. He just gets all the gossip because of his job.”

  “How does one avoid being the subject of said gossip around here?” I ask.

  “Move somewhere else,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Unfortunately, all my money is tied up in this place, so I’m afraid I’m stuck here for a while.” I point to the windowpanes. “So, do you seriously know how to replace these?”

  He nods. “It’s really easy. They’re clip-ons.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “Gladly. I’m so sick of pulling weeds, I could throw up.”

  “Well, let’s avoid that, shall we?”

  Colton smiles back and we get to work. We remove the broken windows without talking. I can’t think of anything to say to a guy who’s just barely out of his teens, and I’m sure he feels the same way about the weird old lady next to him. The more progress we make, the less irked I am at the clueless delivery guy, and the more grateful I am to be working with someone who keeps his opinions to himself.

  Out of the blue, Colton says, “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “Oh, do you have something important going on? Because if you do, don’t feel like you have to stay.”

  “No, I meant out of South Haven. It’s so boring I could die.”

  “I remember that feeling when I was your age,” I say. “That horrible restlessness.”

  “Exactly,” he says, looking me straight in the eye. “Can I tell you something?”

  “I guess so,” I answer, feeling more than a little concerned about what he’s about to say.

  “I’m saving up to move to California.”

  “Really?”
I wonder if his parents know that’s what he’s going to do with their money. “What do you want to do there?”

  His eyes light up. “I’m going to live in a mansion with a bunch of other gamers. I just need a thousand dollars to buy-in, plus I need a few more followers on Twitch. Then they’ll let me move in.”

  My expression must not convey the level of excitement he was hoping for because his face falls. “You probably think that sounds stupid.”

  “No, no,” I lie. “That sounds … awesome. I just don’t really know what a Twitch is.”

  Colton bursts out laughing, then covers his mouth and tries to stop himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s not a twitch. It’s just Twitch. It’s a streaming platform gamers use.”

  I am an old lady. “To do what?” I ask.

  “To stream your games.”

  Ah, that explains it. I raise one eyebrow and just stare.

  “I play online games, mostly Fortnite but sometimes Apex Legends, and people watch me.”

  Wrinkling up my nose, I say, “Why?”

  “Because it’s fun,” he answers, looking every bit as flabbergasted as I am. “Also, I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’m pretty good. I have four-thousand followers.”

  “And you can make a living at this?”

  “Yeah, the top gamers make a few mill a year.”

  “Seriously? I may be in the wrong business.”

  Colton gives me a blank stare.

  “I’m just kidding. I know I’m not going to make it as a gamer.”

  Relaxing his shoulders, he says, “Good, because you’d probably suck balls at it.” His eyes grow wide, and he says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. I just meant … it’s a skill you need to learn when you’re young.” He gasps. “Not that you’re old or something. Shit.”

  I stare at him with the same look I gave Isaac the time he left the toilet seat up and I soaked my ass in the middle of the night.

  Shrinking a little, he says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean … you’re actually pretty for someone your age.”

  “Oh, am I?” I ask, oozing sarcasm.

  “I’ll stop talking now.”

  “That would be good.”

  The sun is at its strongest now, so the more windows we put up, the hotter and more humid it gets in the small building. Sweat trickles down my back and my mouth throbs at the thought of a tall glass of water, but I keep going, wanting to get this done before the temperature goes up any more than it already has.

  We’re almost finished when he gives me a thoughtful look. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, but you’d be wise to use caution.”

  “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 move here?”

  “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.

  Nettie pulls the tray back, looking offended. “All right, then. I’ll just leave them here and you can have them when you get hungry.”

  “I won’t, but if Colton wants them, he can have ‘em.”

  They exchange a questioning look, then Nettie looks back at me. “Are you okay, love? You don’t seem quite like yourself today.”

  “You actually don’t know me, Nettie. We’re pretty much strangers and I think it’s best if we keep it that way.” I soften my tone some. “I’m not a people person.”

  She gives me a long, hard look, then says, “Okay, then. I’ll go. We’ve got a big pile of dirt at the back of our property. You’re welcome to it if you like. You can just come get it. You don’t need to talk to us or anything awful like that.”

  “I’m probably going to leave the planters empty this year. I’m really busy, so I shouldn’t be wasting my time trying to grow my own vegetables.” She understands the meaning of my words—the vegetables aren’t the only things I consider a waste of time.

  Hurt fills her eyes, but she smiles anyway, making me feel like a complete bitch. “All right, Abby. If you change your mind, you know where to find the dirt.” Turning to Colton, she reaches out and gives his arm a little squeeze. “Please say hello to your folks for me.”

  “I will.” He nods and smiles at her, demonstrating how grown-ups are supposed to act. “Thanks for the scone. It was delicious.”

  I say nothing as Nettie leaves, totally unsure of what to say after having been so awful to her. All she’s done is be completely welcoming since I met her, and yet, I might as well have just told her to fuck off. I quickly get back to the windows even though I know every time I look at this damn greenhouse, I’ll be filled with shame.

  An awkward silence hangs in the thick air as we finish the job, neither of us saying a word. When we’re done, I walk around the yard, loading the empty boxes in
to the wheelbarrow to take to the bin in the front yard. Colton slides on his headphones, picks up his weeding tool, and goes to the far side of the lawn. I go in the house to take a shower, but hear Liam upstairs in my bedroom, whistling away without a care in the world. Must be nice.

  My stomach growls and I realize its long past lunchtime. Grabbing my purse off the kitchen counter, I stalk out the front door. Then, I get in my car, start up the engine, and take off, blasting the air conditioning. This forty-year-old needs a big greasy cheeseburger, fries, and a huge-ass chocolate milkshake.

  * * *

  I return two hours later, cooled off but sick from all the grease I’ve just ingested. I crouch down a little in my seat when I pass by Nettie and Peter’s, which is sort of the adult equivalent of a preschooler closing her eyes so she won’t be seen. My gut churns when I park and look around the yard for Colton’s bike. I’m torn between wanting to see him so I can apologize and hoping I never see him again. His bike is gone, leaving me both relieved and disappointed. It also means my peace-offering of a milkshake and fries won’t be made today. Liam’s truck is gone as well, and I remember he had to leave early for a doctor’s appointment.

  I toss the not-so-fast food into the bin, saving myself from making a mistake later on, then go inside. Walt, who is clawing at a felt mouse, looks up at me, then turns back to his job of leaping on top of it with every bit of gusto he’s got. “Go get him, Walt.”

  For once, my house is quiet. No pounding, smashing, sawing, sanding, or whistling. I’m finally alone, as I make my way to the fridge for a swig of Pepto Bismol. I should be delighted, but now that I’m standing in my empty kitchen, it feels … empty. I could have used a distraction because now I can’t avoid facing who I was earlier this afternoon. I do not like that woman, not one little bit.

  I spot Nettie’s container on the kitchen counter. The scones are gone, and if I had to guess, I’d say Liam brought it inside for me before he left. I fill the sink with some water and soap, then wash it, and force myself to go next door and apologize. When I walk into the pub, it’s quiet. Only two patrons sit at a table in the corner opposite the bar. Nettie is setting up cutlery for the dinner service that will start soon. She looks up and gives me a little nod, but her eyes don’t brighten the way they normally do. Glancing at the container, she says, “You can leave it on the bar.”