"Scotland?" His head rolls back — the O'Connells are almost pure Irish. "Why Scotland?!!”
On a laugh, I rinse suds from our silverware, placing them beside the plate and glancing behind me to where I left my water. I still need that, so, guess I'm done here, pans soaking. "You loved Highlander, Max, remember how beautiful the landscape was in that movie — remember the ending? I've always wanted to see those hills. Let’s visit Ireland first, and then we'll go to Scotland, and you can talk about how crappy it is."
He laughs, "Fair enough."
From a newly cleaned fridge I remove our water pitcher to pour ice cold agua into my half empty glass, making it more optimistic. "I'd also like to see Italy, Max — Verona, especially. Because of Romeo and Juliet."
Max smirks, "Of course, anything literary.”
My eyes flick to the ceiling where all good ideas come from. "Maybe Egypt. Seeing the pyramids would be fantastic!”
“I’d love to go to Egypt, Abs..”
I lock eyes with him. “Would you? We never talked about that. The idea just came to me."
"You know what would be fun?"
He smiles, “What would be fun.”
"If you stood on the top of the pyramid while I was at the bottom and nobody knew that you were up there, but me. Balancing on the tippy tippy top."
Max's body bends forward on a silent laugh that I have missed so much. He always did that. Sometimes he laughed outright but a lot of times not because he was constantly preparing to volley a witty comeback.
“I’ll go into places you're not allowed to, then come out and tell you all about them.”
“And I’ll tell our guides what you saw and they’ll think I’m psychic!” A grin spreads on my face. "Oh my gosh, that sounds like so much fun. Let’s do it!”
“I’m in!”
I slap the table. "I know where I want to go!"
Max cocks an eyebrow. "Where?"
"Fiji."
He smirks, "Because of the water bottle.”
"Yes! I like the blue.”
"That's a terrible reason to visit an island." He paces, emphatically gesturing. "You go for the beach! The sun! The snorkeling amongst fish who are wondering what the fuck you are doing there and who want you to leave! That is why you go to a beach. You go to drink Mai Tais, Piña Coladas, BEER. To forget your own name by the time you get back to your hotel…”
We look at each other and remember Barry.
Because Oahu…he was a mess.
And that brings us back to our anniversary.
Max drops his hand. "Where else would you like to go?"
"Anywhere you want to go, baby,” I smile, hiding pain and anger at his best friend being such a wreck he needed Max to babysit him. I know it’s not fair, that alcoholism is a disease, and I just tried to drink myself into forgetting.
But fuck that right now.
I’m not over it.
The ghost of my husband locks eyes with me, feels the love in mine, and his smile returns. "I can't believe you can see me, Abby.”
“You know what? I could just stay right here as long as you're with me again. I don't need to be anywhere else. I'm happy right where I am. And the view is perfect."
Chapter 20
Max
Enjoying the sunny afternoon on our porch, Abs and I are surrounded by potted flowers kept alive by our greedy landscaper. His sticky fingers partner with a green thumb, I’ll give him that.
Flowers hang above us from the rafters amid vines with leaves of yellow-green. The property is on a hill, so this view overlooks it from above. Even though we’re on the first floor our land slopes beginning at the driveway, house built on a platform and stilts to accommodate the drop.
I’m standing with my arms crossed, hands tucked, while Abs sits crossed-legged on our wicker loveseat in her blue cotton jump suit under a dark olive green cardigan Mom left in a dresser, back from the good old days when I was just a kid.
Abs brought few items of clothing here with her, most donated. She’s relaxed a bit on the style and gone for comfort. Her red hair is soft and straight, and she’s got no makeup on, a cup of fresh coffee in her hands.
We’ve had so much fun together, these past weeks. Went antiquing knowing she’d come home empty handed. Abby says she’s done buying stuff she doesn’t need. I teased her, “Does that include books?”
She swatted at my chest, and her hand went right through me. It gave us both pause, and I looked at my very-much-alive wife from under my eyebrows wondering how she’d react to the reminder that as the Beatles said, I’m not the man I used to be.
Green eyes darkened before she smirked, “I need books. Don’t ever threaten the absence of books again.”
I understood the double meaning. She was partly referring to me. “Your books aren’t going anywhere.”
Abs and I have one point of contention, reading fiction. I’ve never gotten into it and she’d love to change that.
Will never happen.
And I’m here for eternity.
Hiked Minnewaska, too. Abby swam under the waterfall and of course I joined her. I tried to take off my clothes and we were both surprised I couldn’t. It was an awkward second or two before I joked, “Guess you can’t fold ghost jeans and leave them on a boulder.”
Abby pointed to my sneakers. “At least those will never get soggy.”
“I hate soggy sneakers!”
“Me too!”
She disrobed, ignoring goosebumps from the chilly air, and jumped in the deeper section of the natural pool, water copper-colored from local minerals. I told her ponds weren’t like this in Ireland, they favored green, and she asked for every detail I could remember as she swam on her back and kept repeating, every time I asked about her goosebumps, “It’s not that cold. Stop mothering me! You remember how it is — you get used to it!”
I was half in the water with her under that waterfall, but I couldn’t feel a thing, everything about me appearing dry as always. I went under and didn’t have to hold my breath. Abby waited until I reported back, “The fish can’t see me.”
“Really? You’d think animals and…fish…would be able to see.”
“Guess not.”
“Are there any snakes around?”
“Yes. About a half dozen.”
“What?!” she screamed.
I cracked up, “You should see your face!”
“Are there six snakes or aren’t there?!”
“No,” I laughed, hardly able to speak it was so funny. “Zero snakes, baby, I would’ve told you to get the fuck out the water.”
So beautiful staring into a seemingly endless shower that nature provides. Sure, it’s more potent after winter, so the stream was not as majestic as it sometimes is. We weren’t complaining. Nothing to complain about anymore.
However one tiny thing has been bothering me, and it’s on my mind as I gaze at our lush property while she sips steamy caffeine. “Look at this place. The best thing I ever did, besides marrying you, was buying these acres.”
Abby agrees, “It's very beautiful.”
I side-eyeball her. “You always hated to come here. Now look at you — ordering delivery and hanging out with me for almost a month.”
Throwing me a you-really-want-to-go-there look, she removes the green sweater, freeing her arms while she argues, “I did not hate it. That's too strong a word.”
Humming an I-don’t-buy-it-for-a-second, I cock my head, “Hrmmm.”
She folds the sweater to gather patience, jaw ticking before she admits, “Okay, it wasn't my favorite thing to do.” She throws out her arms, “But the drive!”
“It's two hours!”
“Of me white-knuckling it while you drive the speed of light! Not comfortable!”
I start laughing, and she starts giggling.
Because who really cares about stupid shit like that anymore.
Who has time to fight?
She takes a sip from her cup.
“I miss coffee
.”
Abby frowns, sipping more. “Oh that's good. Mmmm. That's real good.”
“That's it, live it up.”
It takes her a second to get my pun, and she laughs, but the laughter fades as the sad reality hits her.
That wasn’t my intention.
But it’s hard to ignore sometimes.
I am no longer a man.
I drank my last coffee.
Among other things.
I return to the view until my wife asks with gentle curiosity, “Have you seen a light?”
The question has plagued me for months. “Not yet. Think that means I'm going to hell?”
Abby looks me in the eye. “I don't believe in Hell. I think ‘Hell’ is living on Earth without you. And I don't recommend it.”
I feel this, and ask with all seriousness, “But you believe in lights?”
She blinks against the dappled sunlight as it temporarily blinds her through our vines. “A lot of people have seen them.”
I’m not one of those people, and I don’t want to be, not if it means leaving Abs again. “What do you want to do today?”
She thinks about it until she gets a weird look on her face that worries me, finally revealing her big idea with a sneaky smile, “You want to come with me to a bookstore?”
“Oh shit.”
She cries out, “Now you have to come!”
With equal albeit opposite feeling, I inform her, “I don't have to do anything. I'm not tethered to you, woman. I can stay here and look at the pretty trees if I wanna!” Which is exactly what I’m doing now. But she’s so quiet I’m curious why. Side-eyeballing her, I notice Abby sliding down the straps of her jumpsuit, blue cotton falling over her breasts until they spring free, perky nipples saying, hey Max, what’s up?
I nod, “Bookstore it is.”
Abby yanks up the straps, claps her hands triumphantly, “Yay!” and jumps off the loveseat to change clothes.
Hiding my grin I call out, “But you're driving!”
Chapter 21
Abby
Inquiring Minds Bookstore feels like a second home from my visits over the years. Privately-owned, New Paltz is the smaller of two locations, created with a lot of love by its private owners. It’s filled sky-high with both new and used books sharing the same space. Antique couches and chairs are coupled with iron, antique lamps, and hand-scrawled signs show you the way.
Walking these familiar aisles with Max right now, I’ve never been more content. He’s talking to me, not looking at the books, but that’s fine. He’s here.
Can’t believe I haven’t visited.
Not since moving.
Why didn’t I?
Perhaps I suspected how good it would make me feel.
Depression is a seductive bitch.
I truly do not understand how my husband doesn’t value books. Getting inside other people’s minds and hearts. Visiting alternate worlds. ‘Seeing’ things you’d never otherwise have experienced. Sure they’re fictional, but are they? Every good story has universal themes of humanity and truth in them. You’re basically jumping on a ride the author made for you, letting go of the safety bar in your mind and yelling, No hands!!
I’m in.
Over many a family dinner, his mother and I tried to convince Max to read more. Henry does a bit, but prefers watching sports, so he’d simply smile, understanding both perspectives.
Alice and I came here often in the beginning. When his parents still owned the cabin, Max and I would drive up to New Paltz for a weekend. We slept in the storage room under the official first floor, in a bed long since gone and replaced with dusty boxes. They collected things, Henry and Alice, and when they left didn’t take any of them, including their books.
“It’ll be nice to start fresh!” she’d said.
However, we’ve been to their beach property and it’s conspicuously lacking in knick knacks. Even the novels are few. Perhaps because she writes so many and he prefers sports.
“Sneaky move,” Max said, around the fourth or fifth time we visited. “Leaving all your crap with us.”
They denied it, lying their butts off, so we never let them live it down. It became the family joke.
Henry would offhandedly ask, “How’s the cabin?”
“Cluttered,” Max would answer.
Henry would reply with mock surprise, “Really?”
Alice would ask me, “Have you gone away recently? Out of the city?”
I’d shoot back, “To that small shack?”
“It’s not small.”
“With all the antiques it is.”
“Oh you!”
And we’ve been calling it a small shack ever since.
Can’t wait to tell her he finally came to the bookstore she and I love so much.
Oh wait.
I can’t.
“You ever think about getting a dog?”
Distracted I ask, “Why would I get a dog?”
“To keep you company.”
“I have company.” I spin around at the end of an aisle to point at my husband. “I have you.”
He laughs that doubled-over laugh I love, and hurries around the bookshelf to volley, “Yeah but I can't lick your face. Sleep in your lap. Shed all over the couch.”
I roll my eyes, “Oooh, you're making it more appetizing by the second,” as I slide happy fingers over book spines.
He laughs again, and drops it. Thank God.
Passing a velvet armchair of dusky-rose, we pass shelves made from pale pine offering graphic novels and YA novels I merely glance to. On my left are tables stacked in artistic ways with batched genre suggestions, colorful penmanship explaining why they’re special.
My mind is on the fiction section, just ahead, and I absently twist my ring, but find instead a naked finger. “Oh!” I whisper, “I forgot my wedding ring by the sink.”
“You wanna wear mine?”
I glance back, his joke evaporating my frown, as he hoped it would.
This is the cozy alcove I’ve spent the most time in, where new and used books share shelves built like a bay window with a better view. My gaze travels down the spines of novels on a freestanding bookcase in the middle, many of which might just be lucky enough to come home with me. And they won’t even have to buy me dinner first.
I spot a worn copy with a familiar title. “Oh Look! An old copy of Little Women!”
Max leans against the bookcase, “Yay,” drier than this paperback.
Flipping through the used pages, I smirk, “I’m going to read it to you cover to cover.”
He looks at me. “Don't you dare.”
A voice to my left asks, “Excuse me?”
Surprised to hear someone else’s voice, I lock eyes with a dark beard in his twenties staring like I just came onto him.
“Oh…I wasn't talking to you.”
Suspicious brown eyes avert from 'the horny lady.’
“She was talking to me!” Max flies around me and gets in the guy’s face. “Hey! You got a problem? You wanna take it outside?”
He is, of course, being ridiculous. And hilarious, because nobody can see him but me.
Under my breath I laugh, “Oh my God,” and keep my eyes on the book.
“Seriously, sir. I need to know. What is the appeal of books when you can just watch the movie?”
The prick of an old battle makes me argue, “Because the movie is never as good as the book, which you would know if you ever read a book.”
Beard demands, “What? I read books all the time. Why do you think I'm here?”
I blink at him. “I’m sorry. I wasn't talking to you.” He sets down his book, and backs away as I call after him, “I was having one of those old arguments in my head. Don't you ever play out those old arguments from your…”
I sigh.
He’s gone.
Great.
Behind me comes a new voice. “I do that. All the time.”
I turn my head to discover a beast of a man in
a flannel shirt, dusty blue jeans and a baseball hat shading warm brown eyes and a stubbled jaw — the kind of man you’d imagine could chop down the biggest tree in the forest while maintaining a joking conversation without a bead of sweat.
Seated in one of the bookstores antique armchairs, he was reading a novel. Now he’s smiling at me with caution. Hoping I’ll be receptive.
“Hi,” slips from my confusion.
He repeats, “Hi,” and rises from the chair, dwarfing me and the bookcase. “Sorry, I just thought I'd come to your defense instead of leaving you hanging out there in the cold. That's Mike. He's like that with everyone. I wouldn't take offense.”
I don’t know what to say, for some reason, and I’m very aware Max, behind me, is watching. I feel his jealousy ignite.
The man thrusts out a hand the size of my torso. “I’m Jack. I heard you're new in town.”
My lips part to speak because when introduced you’re supposed to shake their extended hand. Something inside me says, run!
I back away.
With my book.
And leave the nice stranger hanging in the cold.
Chapter 22
Max
Abby sits long-ways across the couch, with me beside her on the floor enduring her reading aloud the umpteenth chapter of — how did this happen to me — Little Women.
Truth is, I’m enjoying it.
Didn’t suspect it was possible. But she brings the characters to life. And it’s a good read.
Can’t let her know I’m digging it, though.
Too fun to hide that fact.
As she finishes a passage, and pauses to see what I think, I fall over, faking passing out from boredom.
She laughs, onto me, “You're enjoying it, stop it,” but then her voice becomes serious. “Do you want me to stop?”
I shrug, “No,” like she could keep going or not and it wouldn’t bug me either way.
“I’ll stop.”
I sigh, “No, don't stop.”
She closes the book. “No, it's done.”
Just One More Kiss: Based on the Motion Picture Page 7
