Just One More Kiss: Based on the Motion Picture

by Faleena Hopkins

  And fell over the side of it, a fact he doesn’t need to know. Still, I’ve been curious because the stone was unique.

  Without hesitation Jack says, “That's conglomerate quartz. It's beautiful.”

  My gaze drops as I whisper, “Conglomerate quartz,” memorizing it.

  “Have you been to the waterfall?”

  My mind is on memorizing the new term and, even though I’ve been many times, I shake my head, hum a negative to that question.

  “Perhaps I could take you sometime,” he offers, hurries to add, “Because you're a Moss Enthusiast!” I smile, knowing he’s trying to ask me out and that it can’t happen. “There's a moss that grows on the rocks down at the bottom, it's so green it's almost blue. You'd think you're in Scotland.”

  Surprised he’s said now both Belize and Scotland, the places Max and I were discussing, I ask, “Is that where you're from?”

  Jack’s leaning against the wall, completely comfortable. “It's where my family is from, yeah.”

  “Abby?” I hear from behind me, the familiar voice sending knives across my skin. “Abby!” I spin around to see Max’s parents stepping out of their car, Alice smiling, “Well, what a surprise!”

  Oh no.

  This can’t be happening.

  I’m talking to a man.

  Alone.

  And smiling.

  Did they see me smiling?

  “Alice! Henry!” I hug my groceries like a life raft. “What are you doing all the way up here?” Might as well be in a bikini the way this looks!

  Max's parents, both in black, walk up, eyeing Jack. Thank God I’m wearing black, too.

  Alice is polite, trying to be pleasant, “Well, I didn't want to show up at your place empty-handed and Henry wanted to use the bathroom.”

  Stewing in anger, my father-in-law mutters, “You don't have to tell everyone that.”

  I hurry to correct the question, heart beating fast, “I meant out here, not here at the grocery store.”

  Alice is still talking about the bathroom, airing out her nerves by arguing, “Abby knows you're a human being, Henry. Everyone has to go. I don't see what all the mystery is about.”

  He loudly announces, “How I wish you did!”

  She swats at him, “Oh you!”

  They turn to the local — the moment of reckoning — and having no clue, he amiably greets them, “Hi, I'm Jack McCaffrey!”

  In this moment I realize two things.

  One — he’s now learned my name since Alice repeated it.

  Two — his ancestry is about to be a problem.

  “McCaffrey?” Henry eyeballs him. “Scottish?”

  Jack smiles, “Yeah, it's funny — we were just talking about that. My family's from there.”

  “I’m an O'Connell, Henry, Irish through and through.” I close my eyes. “My mom was first generation American, but her accent didn't wash off on me.”

  Alice attempts to divert the brewing storm, “Pity, that,” implying she’d love an Irish accent on her husband. She thrusts out her hand, “I’m Alice O'Connell.”

  Jack shakes it, “Hi Alice, very nice to meet you,” and he glances to me, “Are these your parents?”

  “Almost,” Henry coldly answers, “She's married to our son.”

  Jack’s friendly smile temporarily disappears before he recovers with a tense, “Oh. That's great.”

  Alice says, “Was...honey,”

  “She's still married to him in my mind. Excuse me.”

  Anger takes him inside the store, leaving Alice to candidly explain, “He's not doing so well. We're going on a vacation, driving further up north to get away, and you know, rest.” She glances between Jack and I, including us both in the unloading of her burden, “Heal a bit with some fresh scenery. I thought it'd be a good idea to pop in and see how you're doing, but the second I mentioned the cabin, Henry was beside himself. Didn't talk to me for two hours! Can you believe that? I let him be, of course.” She glances to Jack, and returns to me, “I really don't know what to do for him.”

  “My husband was in an accident.”

  Jack’s, “I’m so sorry,” is sincere, and thoroughly confuses my mother-in-law.

  “You didn't know?” She points between us because why on earth wouldn’t I have told Jack this crucial detail about my life? “I thought since you two were friends!”

  “We're not friends.”

  Jack overlaps my explanation with an emphatic, “We just met!”

  “Oh, well!” Her eyes flash with regret as she realizes her error in sharing such personal details with a stranger. “I didn't mean to dampen a casual conversation with unexpected depth, excuse me.”

  I hurry to alleviate her self-consciousness with a hopeful, “Are you guys staying overnight?”

  To slow both of our chattering nerves, Alice uses our old joke, “In that small shack? No! We just thought we'd whiz by, see how you were, maybe stay for a cozy little dinner?” I tilt my head, and she laughs, “Who am I kidding? Of course we'll stay for dinner!”

  Well-mannered sweetheart that she is, Alice starts to invite Jack to join us at the cabin. She’s embarrassed, not thinking clearly, forgetting how Henry just behaved and how inappropriate it would be to invite a man over. With a not-so-subtle, “It's been so long since I've seen the two of you alone,” I hurry to shoot it down.

  Also obvious in her cover-up, Alice smiles hard, “Well, I'd better stock up on some delectables then. You like duck, don’t you, Abby? Nice to meet you, Jack.” We are winning at this today.

  He says, “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. O'Connell,” and she disappears inside the store.

  “She's an author,” I smile, kicking myself for talking to him in the first place. “Hence the unusual vocabulary.” It’s not his fault. “Um, I’ve gotta go.” I was curious about gardening. “I’ve got some things in here that are going to thaw….” Maybe needed a light-hearted conversation, if I’m honest with myself. “I better get them to the fridge.”

  “Yeah, please,” he nods, “by all means.” I head for the car and Jack raises his voice a little to say, “Hey.” I turn around. “It was good seeing you.”

  I nod, and keep walking.

  Oh no!

  I can’t just drive off.

  Dammit.

  Flipping around, I head for My Market’s front door, explaining as I pass Jack, “I just realized I should probably tell them I'm leaving.”

  He had this hopeful look on his face, and it falls as he says a flat, “Yeah.”

  Jack thought I was coming back for him.

  “Alice!” I shout into the store, “I’m going to see you guys back at the cabin!”

  She yells, “Okay!”

  I pass him yet again.

  “Bye, Abby.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  Just as I start to pull out my keys I hear Max’s voice after days of its absence. “I’m Scottish. Look at me. Nyah nyah blah blah blah blah.”

  I’m standing by the driver’s side, door closed, warming groceries in my hands as Max locks eyes with me.

  Luckily Jack isn’t looking at either of us.

  As I tilt my head with a look that says, yes, I see you, Max’s lips part with surprise.

  Did he not realize he’d become visible? How long has he been with me?

  “Abby…” he groans, feeling like a jerk.

  With a you-idiot-I-love-you smile I get in the car and drive back home, happy he’s back.

  Men.

  I’ll never understand them.

  Chapter 30

  Max

  Mom discovered duck was not an option so she’s made salmon, broccoli, and —my favorite — mashed potatoes with butter and garlic.

  With the mood I’m in, did she have to make my favorite meal? Dad looks like he remembers, too, but Abs is oblivious, enjoying it since she didn’t have to cook it.

  That salmon would have been dry and inedible.

  I’m being harsh.

  If I’d have instructed
her, the meal would’ve turned out fine.

  But on her own, charcoal.

  Still harsh.

  So what? I’m pissed off.

  She’s acting like I’ve no reason to be.

  Playing innocent. Chatting away as soon as they arrived with their own bag of groceries like she hadn’t just laughed at that guy’s dumb jokes.

  Mom went straight for the kitchen, knowing where everything is since it used to be hers, pulled out pots and pans, and dug around the fridge, home sweet old home.

  Happy to find Abby not depressed, and determined to keep it that way, Ma chatted about New York City, saying nothing has changed, “You aren’t missing a thing. What have you been up to here?”

  Leaving me out of the stories, Abs told of driving after sunsets, following them as far as she could before parking to enjoy the final slip of sun disappear. The antique shopping we did. Waterfall, hikes — leaving out the near death experience. How she read outside when it was warm enough, and how she found garden manuals Mom left behind.

  “That was when I considered tinkering around. Remember that, Henry?” Mom called to where Dad was seated on the knobby-wood bench he loves — had the thing shipped here when they found it an antique store in Germany. Now he’s alone on it, in the living room, a glass of red wine gripped firmly in his white knuckles.

  “No.”

  Mom waved, “It was short lived.”

  “You bought enough books for a career,” he muttered.

  She glanced back, struck by his harsh tone — a rarity — but waved it away, “You know me and Abby, we love buying books.”

  My wife joined in to help them both, “I’d have bought more at the bookstore last time I visited, but only came back with one since we’ve collected enough to start a library — you’re right, Henry!”

  They exhausted the topic while I stood by, flashing in and out of visibility. Abby never blinked twice, just shot me a secret smile whenever she could.

  She laughs at my jokes.

  Mine.

  Now they’re at the table, nice lighting, charming presentation. Abs even snipped some flowers from the pots outside to put in a tiny vase.

  Cute.

  And so innocent.

  Absconding to Belize.

  Give me a fucking break.

  Absconding to Belize.

  I’ve got some conglomerate quartz he can sit on.

  Dad’s opened a second bottle of wine. It’s finally wearing the mood down since he’s said little since they got here, all of it growled.

  Nobody’s talking, uncommon for our family. The cabin is quiet except for the sound of clinking silverware. Their eyes are on their plates, Dad’s tense and Abby’s pleasant. She’s just happy we’re all together again.

  “I have a new urban fantasy novel out,” Mom offers, “It's been in the top one-hundred in the Kindle store for a week now.”

  “That's great, Alice!” smiles Abby.

  “Not bad,” Mom rises, “Not bad,” wanting more water from the pitcher left on our counter by which I now stand.

  I’m so close to Ma, wishing I could hug her, tell her I miss her, that I’m okay, and Dad interrupts my longing by finally unleashing what’s been bugging him. “Who was that man we met today?”

  I look over, see Abby sit straighter in her chair, swallowing her food to ask a vague, “The landscaper?” like being caught talking to The Hulk meant nothing.

  Mom guides Pops toward civility, offering, “Jack was his name.” She returns to her seat. “Handsome!” I vanish.

  And reappear in the opposite corner, drawing a darting glance from Abs. She finally sees I’m furious.

  Oh!

  Just catching on now, Abs?

  Huh?

  Dad announces, lifting his glass for another sardonic sip, “I’m just glad he wasn't British. Scottish I can handle.” But he looks like he can't handle Scottish, either.

  Abby smiles, “I’m not interested in Jack. You don't have to worry.”

  Dad bluntly says, “Good.”

  “Henry!”

  He sways his wine glass to Mom. “I’m just being honest.”

  “Well, quit it.”

  Abby reaches for my father’s hand, saying gently, “There's only one man in my life. You guys know that.”

  I relax a little.

  “Abby, honey,” Mom sighs, “you're gonna have to let go of the rope someday.”

  “What's your book about?”

  “It's about a woman who moves on.”

  Dad barks, “No, it's not! And she can take all the time she needs. What's the rush?” He grabs the bottle and begins pouring into his glass.

  Mom mutters, “Looks like I'm driving tonight.”

  Dad grumbles, “We already agreed on that,” his voice raises, “With my night vision—”

  “—You know I was hoping that someone would be able to help me navigate.”

  Dad shouts, “Enough,” rattling the cabin. “It's like you don't even feel it that we're here, in our son's home! You don't even show you care that he's dead.”

  Abby’s eyes drop to the table as Dad glares at Mom’s shocked face.

  “Where is that coming from, Henry?” she whispers, sounding almost like a child. “Is that why you're glugging that like it's water? Because we're here?” Her voice regains its strength. “Well, enough! Some people don't handle grief the same way you do. They don't mope around and act as if they died, too.” Her eyes tear up, and so do mine as she clutches her hand over her heart. “They try their very best to rise up from the ashes and live a good life in honor of their son, so that if by God he is watching, he doesn't have to hurt anymore. If Max were here, do you think he'd want to see the pain you hold onto like some badge of love?! Do you think he wants his father hurting like this, because if he does, he is not the boy that I raised!” Her beautiful head tilts with a warning, cheeks flushed, eyes brimming, “And don't you dare ever, ever, insinuate again to me that my heart didn't shatter when he died! Because every day I want to see him and I can't. And every day I want to say goodbye to him in a different way than I did at that party.” I completely lose it. “I want to say, Max, you are the best person I have ever met. And I want to say, I can't believe what an amazing man my little boy grew up to be!” She throws down her napkin, leaps up from the chair, “I want to hold him!”

  Abby starts to go to Mom, but Dad touches her hand, telling her this is for him, his error in judgment to fix.

  Rising, he drops his napkin with a soft release, walks to pull Mom into his arms, whispering, “I’m so sorry!”

  She relaxes into Dad, and I kneel beside Abby as we both watch.

  I ask her, “What can I do?” just crushed. I feel it in my heart — the only thing I seem to have left — that it would do more harm than good to explain I’m a ghost. They’re from a different stock, believe psychics and ghosts aren’t real. “You can't tell them. They'd never…”

  Abby gives the smallest nod, and Mom’s sobs echo throughout the room.

  Chapter 31

  Abby

  Well, it’s a good thing they were driving with planned over-night stays, because they’re not going anywhere tonight, and pajamas are needed. Alice and Henry have changed into comfy clothes for some much needed sleep after the emotional dam that burst.

  Alice disappeared to wash her face, and took her time gathering decorum in the bathroom. Her repressed anger is gone, for the moment. Henry’s misguided rage has dissolved, as well.

  There’s a calm in the air after a storm like that where everyone’s kinder than normal. Quieter.

  But the sadness might never go away, not really. We will always have this between us. Even with his ghost here with me, I still feel it, the loss. I’d love to hold him, too, and I can’t. Ever again.

  I won’t let myself linger on it.

  There’s no changing what is.

  I’m so grateful, and anything else would be a slap in the face to Max. He’s lost more than even I have. He was wrecked by
her breakdown.

  With Henry in the bathroom, Alice follows me as I carry our softy, fuzzy blanket to the couch.

  Her warm brown eyes are puffy, but dry, tone apologetic and respectful, “I hate to kick you out of your own bed.”

  Together we spread out my blanket, moving slowly after the night’s exhausting revelations. “It's totally fine. I slept on the couch when Lorna…came to visit. It's really comfortable, actually.”

  I left out that Barry was here.

  Leave that unsavory information for a happier time.

  “Lorna came?” Alice smiles, “How is she?”

  “She's well.”

  “How are she and Barry doing? Still happy?”

  I stare at my mother-in-law. “You know about that?”

  With a maternal grace, Alice steps closer and straightens my necklace as she shares, “Barry came to see us a number of times after that night. Such a wreck. Poor guy. I think he always felt Max was the better man.” Her eyelashes rise, hands falling. “And maybe he was.” She holds my eyes, with love in hers. “But Barry has a good heart, and he's very loyal.”

  If it were any other night, I’d ask why I was the last to know about Barry and Lorna, but I can’t bring myself to. Who really cares, in the end. We’re all together now, and happy. So I swallow my questions and agree that he is loyal. Nobody can fault him that.

  She smiles, “I’ve known that boy since he was fourteen. He confided in me that he loved Lorna a long time ago.”

  She turns for the stairs, footsteps tired.

  He confided in her? How did Max and I never see his feelings were more than unrequited lust? Barry was always such a jerk to her, but I guess it was like the boy in grade school who pulls your hair when he thinks you’re pretty.