19. Barb
Barb
ANDY
The grocery store was busier than usual for a weekday afternoon. I grabbed a basket and worked my way through produce, checking avocados for ripeness and picking through the bananas for a bunch that wasn't already browning.
I was comparing two cartons of eggs when I heard running footsteps and felt something small collide with my hip.
"It's you!"
Birdie Brooks was grinning up at me with both arms wrapped around my waist like she'd been looking for me all day. Her ponytail was neat, her pink bow clipped on top.
"Birdie!" I crouched down to her level. "What are you doing here?"
"Shopping with Barb!"
An older woman came around the end of the aisle pushing a cart. She had the exasperated look of a woman who'd just lost track of a six-year-old in a public place.
"Birdie, sweetheart, you cannot just run off like—"
She stopped when she saw me. Her eyes went from Birdie's arms around my waist to my face, and her expression shifted from panic to confusion.
"I'm so sorry. She just took off before I could stop her."
"It's okay," I said. "We know each other."
"She's the princess cop! She lives across the street!" Birdie announced, still attached to my hip.
The woman looked at me again. "You're Andy."
"I am."
"I'm Barb." She extended her hand and I shook it. Her grip was firm. "Birdie and Wyatt talk about you all the time. It's nice to finally put a face to the name."
I didn't know they talked about me at home.
"It's nice to meet you too, Barb."
Birdie detached herself from my waist.
"Are you coming home with us?" Birdie looked up at me with those big eyes.
"Birdie, honey." Barb put a hand on her shoulder. "Andy is doing her own shopping."
"It's fine," I said. "I was almost done anyway. Can I help you carry the bags?"
We walked the three blocks together. Birdie held Barb's hand with one fist and mine with the other, swinging between us like a bridge.
I carried two of the grocery bags and Barb carried the third.
Birdie talked the entire walk about a dog she'd seen at the park yesterday, a girl in her class who could hold her breath for a whole minute, and a theory about whether clouds had feelings.
I was inside the house before I'd made a conscious decision to go in. Birdie pulled me through the door, Barb needed help with the bags, and the groceries needed to be put away. I was being useful. That was the only reason I was standing in Wyatt Brooks's kitchen that afternoon.
"Wyatt had to run an errand this afternoon," Barb said, putting milk in the fridge. "He'll be back in a few hours. Stay for coffee?"
"I don't want to intrude."
"You carried my groceries. The least I can do is make you a cup of coffee."
Barb made coffee in a French press and set out two mugs while Birdie settled into the living room with her coloring book and the TV on low.
We sat at the kitchen table. Barb asked about the job, about the neighborhood, about how I was settling in. Easy questions that people asked when they were taking stock of someone new. I gave her honest answers and she listened without rushing me.
"Birdie is obsessed with you," Barb said. "Every time I pick her up from school, it's Andy this, Andy that. She told her entire class that a real detective lives across the street."
"I'm not a detective yet."
"According to Birdie, it's already done." Barb took a sip of her coffee.
I smiled. "She's the kind of kid who makes you want to earn it."
"She is." Barb set her mug down. "Wyatt's done well with her. I help where I can, but that little girl is all him."
I could hear Birdie in the living room, talking to her toys. The TV was playing something animated with a lot of singing.
My bag was on the table between us. The Kindle was sticking out of the top. I'd shoved it in before leaving for the store. The lock screen showed the cover of the book I'd been reading on my porch that morning.
Barb glanced down at it. "Oh, that's a good one."
I felt the blood climb up my face.
"I finished it last week," she said, picking up her coffee like she'd just commented on the weather. "The scene where he shows up at her door in the rain? I had to put it down and walk around the block."
I stared at her. "You've read it?"
"I go through about two a week. More when Wyatt's on shift and Birdie goes to bed early." She took a sip. "So who's your favorite author?"
"I can't say I have just one," I said. "I like a lot of them."
I told her my favorites. She told me hers, and within five minutes we were comparing notes on the authors we loved, characters we couldn't stand, endings that made us cry, series we'd reread.
Barb had opinions about everything, delivered with the confidence of a woman who'd been reading romance for decades and didn't apologize for any of it.
I'd never talked about these books with anyone before. There was something refreshing about sharing something I loved with someone who wasn't making me feel stupid for loving it, or making me feel like I wasn't the kind of woman who should be reading these books in the first place.
"Andy?" Birdie appeared at the edge of the kitchen. "Can you do my hair like yours?"
"Like mine?"
"The braidy one that you had at school."
I looked at Barb. She smiled and nodded toward Birdie.
I sat on the couch, Birdie plopped on the floor between my knees. I pulled off the hair tie keeping her ponytail in place and combed through her hair with my fingers, separating three sections.
"This might pull a little," I said. "Tell me if it's too tight."
"Okay."
I braided slowly, crossing one section over another, the way I'd done my own hair every morning. My fingers knew the pattern without thinking. Over, under, pull. Over, under, pull. Birdie sat perfectly still.
When I finished, I wrapped the elastic around the end and patted her shoulder. "All done."
Birdie scrambled to her feet and ran to the bathroom mirror. I heard a gasp, and then her footsteps pounding back down the hall.
"It's so pretty!" She stood in the doorway with her hands on her cheeks, beaming. "Barb, look! Look!"
"Oh, honey." Barb put her hand over her heart. "You look beautiful."
Birdie ran back to the mirror. I could hear her turning left, then right, studying herself from every angle. I sat back down at the kitchen table with Barb. Birdie came running back and threw her arms around my neck.
"Thank you, Andy."
I wrapped my arms around her. "Anytime, sweetheart."
She pulled back and twirled.
"Barb, look! Look how it moves!"
"Oh, give me another spin," Barb said, clapping her hands together. "One more, one more."
Birdie spun again, giggling, her arms out wide. Barb cheered like it was the best thing she'd seen all day.
I picked up my coffee and watched them from the table.