1. The Market Welcome #2
I think about that as we walk to the car. This woman, with murder in her eyes, is going to do something nice for a boy who placed second in a spelling bee and apparently requires immediate consolation. Maybe there is something softer under that armor.
Ellie leans over to me and whispers, “Peak new-guy form, dad.”
“I’m aware.”
“No, I don’t think you are. First time in the market, and they’ll probably have our pictures posted as public enemies within the hour.”
“Always my little ray of sunshine, eh, El?”
“I wanted to wait until we were out of range.”
“How considerate.”
“You’re welcome.”
I glance over and find her smiling at the rows of flowers ahead of us.
My chest aches.
I bump her shoulder with my arm. “What’s our damage?”
“Financially or socially?”
“Either.”
“Financially, you bought the entire vegetable section and one loaf of bread approximately the size of my torso.”
“It was sourdough.”
“Socially, you may have to enter witness protection.”
“Can I do that locally?”
“You should ask the berry woman. She seems in charge.”
I glance back before I can stop myself.
Annie is back at Mrs. Weaver’s stall, talking to another woman. Her stained shirt is impossible to miss. She says something that makes Mrs. Weaver laugh, then turns slightly, and her gaze finds mine across the market.
She holds it. A direct, unimpressed reminder that I am the man who collided with her, ruined her shirt, and retreated with a bag full of too many vegetables.
I turn back around. Ellie is watching me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing-nothing.”
“I’m deciding whether to roast you now or later.”
“Later. Definitely later.”
“True. You’ve suffered enough.”
We make it to the car without further casualties.
I load the bags into the back seat. Ellie climbs into the passenger seat and pulls her knees up.
The car is older than she is, but I’m attached to the steel-blue convertible BMW Beth adored.
The car still runs like a champ, so I’m not about to get rid of her.
I pull out of the parking space and merge into the slow crawl of market traffic. As we wind down the road, neither of us says much. Ellie watches the world go by outside the window.
“So this is really home now,” she says.
It isn’t a question.
“Yeah, kiddo. It is.” I look at her profile. “You okay?”
“I am. I just realized at the market that this is one of our things now. A routine. It just hit me. This is really home now.”
“That still okay with you?”
“Dad, almost all of the boxes are unpacked already,” she teases. “Yeah. I’m okay with it.”
“Almost all of the boxes,” I say gently.
“I know, except the ones in my room.”
“No judgment. I just noticed.”
Her mouth twists. “You didn’t say anything.”
“I figured you’d unpack them when you were ready.”
She gives me a small nod. “Mom really liked it here?”
“She loved it here.”
“She wanted to come back.”
“Yep, when we finally retired.”
Her fingers pick at the edge of her sleeve. “Do you think she’d be mad we came without her?”
The question cuts through me like a knife.
I keep both hands on the wheel for a second because she deserves an answer that doesn’t wobble.
“No. I don’t,” I tell her. “I think she’d be mad if we stayed somewhere just because we were hanging onto old memories, getting stuck in the past.”
Ellie looks at me then.
Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry. My girl has gotten very good at holding tears hostage. I wish she hadn’t had so much damn practice.
“Really? You think?”
“I do.”
She nods again, then looks out the windshield. “I think she’d make fun of all your produce.”
“Your mother was a doctor. She respected nutrition.”
“She called kale grass with ambition.”
I laugh, which makes Ellie grin from ear to ear.
The things she remembers still surprise me sometimes. I run a hand over her hair and smile. Just my kid, riding down an unfamiliar road towards a new house that is growing on us, after watching me make a fool of myself at our first farmer’s market.
Another day in paradise.
“Can we make grilled cheese and bacon for lunch?” Ellie asks.
I glance at the bags in the back. “With all the produce we just bought?”
“Yes. Carbs and dairy should not be ignored.”
“Okay. We’ll go with that.”
She snorts and turns on the radio.
For the rest of the drive, she lets some pop song fill the car while she watches the town roll past. No more talk. No more questions that demand too much from a girl who has already given me more than I expected this morning.
We get home to a house with a few unpacked boxes in the living room and a kitchen table currently buried under school forms, mail, and one box labeled BATHROOM that contains no bathroom items.
Ellie heads inside with one bag and the bread while I collect the rest. When I reach the porch, she’s holding the door open with her hip, laughing at me.
“You look ridiculous.”
“I’m providing for my family.”
“You bought seventeen zucchinis.”
“Six.”
“It feels like seventeen.”
I stop on the porch and look at her.
Her laughter fades a little, but the smile stays.
“You okay?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She tilts her head. “You broke your rule.”
“I did.”
“You said you weren’t going to ask that a million times a day.”
“I’m working on it.”
She thinks for a second, then reaches out and takes the smallest bag from me.
“I’m okay right now,” she says. “That’s the best answer I’ve got.”
“Okay.”
She nods and disappears into the house.
I stand on the porch with the rest of the bags cutting into my fingers, looking out at the water. Beth would have loved this morning.
She would have laughed herself sick watching me get verbally filleted by a woman half my size. She probably would have ended up inviting her over for dinner, and they would have been the best of friends before dessert.
For the first time since arriving here, the memory doesn’t knock the wind out of me. It’s not painless, by any stretch of the imagination. But it’s solid, and it doesn’t gut me.
More progress.
Inside, Ellie calls, “Dad, why are there beets in the bread bag?”
“Operational error,” I call back.
“You need supervision.”
“Clearly.”
I carry the groceries into the kitchen and find Ellie unpacking with the exaggerated care of someone handling evidence. She lines up the vegetables on the counter, one by one, judging each item.
The house is not finished. Half our lives are still unsettled. There are gaps everywhere Beth should be.
But Ellie is laughing in the kitchen. The refrigerator will soon be full. And we’ve survived first contact with the locals.
Barely.
Welcome to Coupeville, Doc.
Hell of a start.