Just One More Kiss: Based on the Motion Picture

by Faleena Hopkins

  I mean, overdoing it a bit, aren’t we, Lorn?

  Barry’s wondering, too, if she was listening. He glances between the sisters. “I’m gonna go chop some firewood.”

  Standing beside our kitchen table where Lorna takes a seat, Abby exhales with relief, “Oh, thank you! I was wondering how I was going to do that now that…”

  She stops.

  The room is silent.

  Now that Max can’t, goes unsaid.

  “The uh,” Barry says, hoping to relieve the tension, “best thing about not drinking? I can swing an ax without the hangover! Woohooo!!”

  He strolls out of our front door as Abby joins her sister at the table. At the last possible second Barry shouts, “Balls!”

  It even makes me laugh.

  You fucking guy.

  This is why I loved you.

  Lorna calls after him, “That's not the best thing, but it's something!” I flash over to the window to see Barry walking toward where he and I used to compete over how much wood we’d cut for winter.

  Behind me, Lorna asks, “How'd you sleep out here? Was it terrible?”

  “No, it was fine,” answers my wife, lying. She’s always hated that couch. “How'd you sleep?”

  I’m watching Barry pick up the ax, throw it. There’s something to that feeling any man can understand, throwing it over your shoulder, the penetration as it splits a block of wood in two, supplying heat and comfort to the ones you love most. I could do it for hours.

  Back then.

  “When you were hiking, was Max there?”

  I turn around.

  Abby is bracing herself. “Yes...why?”

  “You fell.”

  “What? Do you think he pushed me?”

  “No.”

  “Give me one good reason why I should move on because I sure as hell can't think of any.”

  I’m staring at Lorna. What she just said stung. I know what she meant. I couldn’t help Abby when she fell.

  She pushes on, unaware her sister is about to snap. “Don't you want to touch him? Feel his arms around you? Kiss him?”

  I close my eyes, pierced.

  Furious, Abby whispers, “You're killing me.”

  “I just want you to be happy,” Lorna gently says, like a murderer stroking your hair as they slid in the knife. “Truly happy.”

  “I am happy! Dammit! No, I can't touch him. But I can see him. I can hear him. I can laugh with him!” She jumps up from the table, trying to keep it together. “I am so very, very sick of you trying to make me feel badly about this!”

  Suddenly put out as if she’s the wronged one, Lorna says with sarcasm, “I’m sorry. I'm not trying to hurt you.”

  Abby flips around, trying to hold her temper. “Don't take this the wrong way, I just really want the place to myself again. Go worry about me from home. This? This I don't need.” She glares at Lorna and walks away. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

  Moments after our bathroom door shuts, Lorna pushes herself from the table, storms into our living room, tightening the robe around her.

  I’ve always loved my sister-in-law the way you love a stray cat who claws at you. But now that I’m dead and feel things for what they really are, I can’t fucking stand her.

  She freezes, eyes searching the rafters. “Max?”

  “Oh this is gonna be good,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes, making myself visible again I’m so pissed.

  But she can’t see me.

  If she could, she’s be terrified.

  “I don't know if you're here or not, but if you are, listen up. Stop being selfish.”

  I lean close to her ear, rage fueling my, “You don't know anything.”

  She swats at her ear, “Fucking bugs,” and spins around. “She's going to be an old woman living in this drafty cabin all by herself holding onto the man she lost in a freak accident? That's not healthy.”

  I stare at her, struck.

  “If you love her, you'll do the right thing.”

  From outside Barry bangs on the door, voice muffled as he calls in, “Hey, open up! My arms are full.”

  Show off.

  Kindness and pleading isn’t her style, so Lorna drops the tenderness and digs deeper into my wound. “Good thing someone's here to chop wood. Sure is cold in here. Can you feel it?”

  I disappear.

  Chapter 27

  Abby

  Barry, Lorna and I are saying our goodbyes outside the main front door, beside colorful potted flowers while finches bounce around the grass below in search of a meal.

  My sister’s overly ambitious suitcase has been stowed in the car after she remarked it was a good thing they’d brought coats, mentioning several times now how cold it is.

  We’re East Coasters, our blood is thick. What is she going on about? It’s bait. I’ve left the hook floating in the sweet smelling air around us.

  And I’m trying to ignore how tightly she pulls her green and black plaid coat’s belt around her waist, shoulders tense with a brrr.

  Lorna, ya need to work on your subtlety.

  But the morning has been pretty fantastic, after our argument blew over and Barry scrambled eggs for us, with blackberry jam on toast. Seeing Lorna laugh at all of his antics pulled my layers of skepticism back from their relationship.

  They seem well-suited and, oddly, in love. They’re so comfortable together, and I’ve never seen her smile so much. She’s lost the dark eyeliner and the scowl was only aimed at me before my shower. Huge improvement.

  I almost — almost — regret her not calling me after their first date so I could’ve gone on this journey with her. I wasn’t ready, but under any other circumstances, I’d have been over the moon listening to stories of their first kiss, and when she knew for sure she was in love.

  Because she is.

  Lorna loves him.

  He gives her shit, and she gives it back. Arthur wouldn’t have done that, too kind. A man like Barry, with his rough edges and brazen humor, can keep Lorna on her toes rather than walking all over him.

  I’m the only one without a coat or jacket. Just my black sweatshirt, black jeans, and hair pulled back in a bun since I hurried the blow dry process to avoid cold eggs. Frizzy mess if I don’t control it. I don’t have Lorna’s straight locks, though we share the strawberry blonde inherited from Mom.

  She looks more like our mother now that I think about it, as she smiles at Barry while he talks to my absent husband. We stalled long enough, and now it’s time for them to go. “Max, if you're here buddy, I love you, man.” With feeling he ads, “I miss you.”

  Lorna again tightens the dang belt around her coat. “And about what I was saying...I'm sorry.”

  It’s all I can do not to laugh. Cocking my head I dryly repeat, “You're sorry.”

  She loses the facade and rolls her eyes, “Okay, I'm not,” then bursts into a loving smile as I go in for a hug. We squeeze each other extra tight, saying without words how much we want the other to be happy.

  Stepping back I glance to Barry who’s got a funny look. He opens his arms with a come-here-you-know-you-want-to smile. I give him a big hug, too.

  Nothing more to say, so much has been revealed during their brief visit. We’re all a little awkward as we stand a moment, looking at each other. Lorna points to me and the clouds. “We'll leave you two alone now,” and they head toward the stairs to our path that leads to the dirt and gravel driveway.

  She pauses, turns around and points at me. “So weird.”

  We wave goodbye as Barry leads the way. I watch them for a second thinking they look like they belong together now. Perhaps the years of friendship made this new step easy.

  I walk to lean on our wood railing to enjoy the view. The sun is shining in the sky, and in my heart it’s even brighter. A calm has taken over my worry, and grief feels like a nightmare I’ve awoken from and left behind for good.

  Max is right, it’s so beautiful here. From this perch I scan our pond in search of the frogs wh
o just began a throaty conversation. I can never find them, unless I walk by the perimeter and they jump in just as I approach. The memory of Max diving in after one brings a smile, his resurfacing, throwing his hair out of his eyes, grinning, “I’ll get him next time!”

  Alone now, except not really, I stay and let more memories remind me of all the good times we had.

  I say aloud, “Max?” happy and at peace, “Remember all of those times I didn’t want to come here? You win, handsome. I’d rather be nowhere else.” Dragonflies dart by and I watch their bright orange wings vanish with speed. “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for you to see Barry. And I get it, why you’ve stayed away this morning. They’re gone now. I’m here whenever you need me.”

  My gaze follows a blue jay flying from one pine tree to the next, the branch swaying as he lands. If I’d not been spending time with Max’s ghost, hadn’t known he’s really here in a tangible way, looking as he did when he was alive, I’d think that bird was him speaking to me. I don’t understand anything about what happens after we go. Max hasn’t been able to elucidate the subject. We’re both in the dark, and I guess that’s okay.

  But the idea of that bird, and nature, being so touched by love — which I believe the afterlife is, especially with Max there — inspires a deep breath of gratitude for the little signs that feel reassuring.

  Chapter 28

  Abby

  After hand-washing the dirty dishes, cleaning our breakfast mess, deciding I’ve had enough coffee, I head to the bookshelves that span the entire north wall. I’ve read most of these titles, but some are new to me.

  Thin spines catch my attention, never paid much mind to them before, knew they were non-fiction books such as manuals or travel guides, or…gardening.

  Hmm.

  I pull one out and then another, curious when Alice bought these, some even on local horticulture.

  I sigh on a frown, “Never had a plant we didn’t kill,” because what he said was true.

  But let me just have a look.

  I lie on my back, learning, and hours pass before I realize Max hasn’t shown himself yet. I pull my gaze from lavender planting tips, and glance over the top of my book, scanning our living room. “Don’t want me to read aloud to you, huh?”

  Amused, I disappear in the pages, and let him be.

  All day.

  And night.

  He never shows and when I go to bed, and he still hasn’t come, I have a hard time sleeping.

  I know my husband. Following him into his man-cave, to drag him out, has the opposite effect I’m ever hoping for. It’s a struggle to wait, but giving him space is a sign of respect. And trust. Best to let him work through whatever he’s feeling.

  I’m sure a lot was stirred up.

  He’ll be back.

  I’m trying not to let Max’s absence bother me. In order to get a handle on my feelings, I replay when they were here, when he was fighting for me, finding solace in his, “I promise you…”

  The memory abates my nagging sadness for a time, but by twilight after a second day of silence, I put on my favorite blue silky pants and black halter, the ones I used to wear with heels, now as pajamas. They’re a comfort to me, especially since I was in them when he came back into my life.

  Leaning against our kitchen counter, my gaze drifts to the coats and jackets waiting on hooks, mostly his. The rain coat that was only ever used for fixing broken things outside the house, holds my attention as a memory returns of Max hurrying in, dripping wet hood over his head, boots soggy. “Abs! Come look! Baby foxes! Hurry before the mom returns to their hiding spot.”

  I refill my water and walk through the living room, out the glass door, onto our porch. “Babe?”

  Just crickets, the scent of pine needles and approaching rain, but no Max.

  The next day, it’s the same.

  And the next.

  Until I awake in our bedroom feeling he’s here, and look around to find the only thing watching me are the sunbeams streaming through the window.

  “Max…”

  If you want to feel better, you’ve got to look better.

  I’ve taken an overly hot shower to pound out my worries. Played some music to tease Max out of hiding. I even said, “I’m naked and wet! Really, really wet!” to make him laugh and break through.

  Nothing.

  But I can’t be depressed anymore. I’ve got no wine to hide behind. I won’t allow tears because that feels like giving up.

  So I fixed my face, put on my fave lipstick, straightened my hair with the blow drier and a round brush, and bam, I look ready for the world again.

  Walking out of the bathroom, tucking my hands in his robe, I whistle while scanning the cabin. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

  Nothing.

  Fine.

  I open the fridge, knowing I’ll find it mostly empty from their visit and the addition of days since they left.

  Max and I have done all of the shopping since he returned to me — maybe this’ll spark his interest. A change of scenery is probably perfect for what he needs.

  Why didn’t I think of that?

  He and Barry grew up here!

  I can’t believe I didn’t realize…

  Hurrying upstairs, I slip out of his robe and into a black wrap dress that falls to just above my knees.

  Descending our stairs, I adjust the belt and glance around, in case he’s here. At the bottom, I hold onto the bannister and smile, “Babe? I’m going to the store for some eggs and stuff. You wanna come?”

  Surely he’ll show himself.

  He loves telling me what to buy.

  I wait, and find more silence.

  I’m tired of silence, I inwardly sigh, determined to be strong.

  Lifting my bag, I start to leave and struggle. Don’t do it, Abby. Let him be.

  Okay, I’ll just go.

  Wait a minute.

  Is it because of Barry?

  Or did Lorna say something?

  This is the first time it’s occurred to me, and anger drops my hand as I turn to our living room and say, as gentle as I can with the feelings that just arose, “Okay, it's been several long days of the cold shoulder and since you're not speaking to me, you can't argue with me either. I don't know what happened when they were here, but if you think you're helping me by staying away, you're not. I need you, handsome.” I wait for a response, but not for long since I don’t expect one. “Please come back to me.”

  Chapter 29

  Abby

  Wanda — how can one woman be so happy all the time, and so welcoming? She’s amazing. Refreshing. Glad I got out of the house — needed to talk to somebody again. She made me smile, and noticed I’m wine-free these last shopping trips.

  “Well, my sister bought some wine, but that was for a weird occasion.”

  I run the credit card as Wanda asks, “Your sister is here?”

  I smile with meaning, “Was.”

  “You don’t get along.”

  “No, we do. Sometimes we fight. It’s complicated.”

  Wanda chuckles, “That’s family,” ripping the paper receipt and handing it to me.

  “Did you see her come in? Same coloring as me, only she has a rounder face — something I’ve always envied about her.”

  “What’s wrong with your face?”

  “Too long.”

  Wanda tilts her head. “Honey, life is too short to say such dumb things about yourself.”

  I laugh, “Fair enough,” and pick up the brown paper sack. “Have a good day.”

  “You too!”

  As I walk outside the store, I pause upon seeing the man from Inquiring Minds Bookstore, the one I’d left hanging, introduction deserted.

  Oh boy.

  Hope he doesn’t see me.

  Without provocation Jack looks over his shoulder right at me. “Hey!” like I’m his best friend in the world, and starts running.

  Literally running.

  And he’s
a big guy.

  With a bigger grin.

  “Morning!” he greets me as I back up to give him room on the sidewalk. He’s got no clue that there’s a huge smear of dirt on his face. “Sorry I startled you that other morning at the bookstore.”

  I’m trying not to laugh.

  Because I know he likes me.

  That smudge…

  After I left him hanging.

  It’s so wrong it’s hilarious.

  Jack leans in at my covered laughter, “What?”

  “Um…You uh…”

  “I uh what?”

  I motion to his cheek. “You have a little something on your face.”

  As if sharing a secret, he asks, “Oh no, is it bad?”

  “You should be mortified.”

  “Like when the bird pooped on my head Freshman year mortified?”

  “Was that high school or college?”

  He smiles, “That was high school.”

  “Then yes, definitely.”

  “Oh dear. There? There?” I’m grinning at him as he rubs at it, making a fuss before offhandedly shrugging, “Yeah. Eh. Well. Hey, check this out.” His arm shoots out to point at the patch of weeds he was crouched in when I walked out here. I look over, curious what he was doing there. “So I set down some potted plants over there. I came back,” he looks at me, dramatically revealing, “and they're gone! So I'm thinking people liked 'em enough to steal 'em or…” He leans against the beige brick exterior of My Market with a I-figured-out-the-mystery gleam in his eyes, “…birds absconded with them to Belize.”

  “Absconded. To Belize.”

  “Yep!”

  I dryly shoot back, “Really.”

  He smirks, “That's my best guess.”

  Glancing to the weeds, curiosity gets the better of me. “Are you a gardener?”

  “Landscaper. So yeah, you could say that.”

  I’ve had so many questions, this is my chance to ask a professional. Shifting the grocery bag to one arm, I describe as best I can what’s foreign to my experience. Normally I’d be self-conscious — feeling the questions ‘dumb’ — but I’m so interested in this subject I dive right in, “There's this moss I saw growing on the cedars up here that's like tiny feathers,” I slowly wave my fingers in hopes he understands, “or something you'd see in the ocean swaying in the water.” Jack nods. Encouraged I continue, “And then I was walking along this rock that's light grey almost to the point of being white.”