"I will," Dean promises. "Tell Bellamy and Eric, I say hi. I haven't had much of a chance to talk to them recently."
"Definitely. Hopefully, we'll all be able to get together sometime soon."
It's been a long time since the whole extended group has been able to spend any time together. Some of it comes from clashing busy schedules. Some comes from the tension between Bellamy and Eric that developed a few weeks after Greg died. It’s all only really let go within the last few months. Things seem to have settled between them, but I don't know all the details of what happened.
I figure at some point Bellamy will probably fill me in. For now, I'm not going to mention it. All of us have more than enough to think about.
Chapter Five
I unload my groceries onto the conveyor and smile at the young man behind the cash register. It's one of those moments that really puts into perspective how far I've gotten in my life. After my birthday last year, I slipped out of my twenties and into my thirties. Now suddenly, when I see someone even just a few years younger than I am, I immediately think of them as being so young. I feel like they are in their adult years, but I am an adult, in italics.
"Hi, Emma," he says cheerfully.
It's not too much of a surprise, considering I heard him greet Andre Bailey by name when he went through the line ahead of me. But it is impressive he's been able to grasp the names of so many people in town already, considering he has only been working at the grocery store for the last three months.
"Hi," I say, searching for his name. "Gabriel, right?"
He nods, his infectious smile getting even wider. A shake of his head moves a thick lock of dark hair across his forehead and reveals more of his expressive hazel eyes.
“That's right,” he says. “How are you doing today?”
“Doing alright,” I tell him. “How about you? Getting along in Sherwood okay?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “I love it here. I mean, I knew I would. I spent a lot of time here when I was younger.”
“You did?“ I ask. “I don't think I knew that.”
“Yep. That's why I'm back here, actually. My grandmother is here. My grandfather died a couple of years ago, and her health has gotten worse. She hasn't been able to take care of herself recently, so I came to help her out. It's really good to spend time with her, and I love the town. I'm finishing the next couple of years of college with online courses so I can be here with her,” he explains.
“My grandparents lived here too,” I tell him. “That's how I ended up coming here when I was younger.”
He grins. “What a small world.”
“Not really,” I say with half a laugh. “Sherwood is kind of a grandparents’ town. It seems at least half the kids I knew when I was in school here ended up moving into town because this is where their grandparents were. But it does make it special. Who's your grandmother? Maybe I know her.”
“Evangeline Costas?” he asks, glancing up at me as he scans my groceries over the reader.
I think about the name for a few seconds, but it doesn't ring a bell.
“It doesn't sound familiar,” I tell him. “That's the thing about this town. Too small to feel like you are anonymous but too big for you to know everybody around you.”
Gabriel laughs.
“I hear that. I've been trying to learn people's name, so I can say hello to them when they come in the store, but right when I think I've gotten the hang of most of the people who shop here, somebody new comes through the door, and I have to add them to the list,” he chuckles.
“Well, I think you're doing a great job.”
He thanks me and fills a bag with the last of my groceries. Giving him a smile, I take my bags and leave. When the weather is nice, and I only need to pick up a few things at the grocery store, I often walk from home. It's not very far, and the surroundings are beautiful, giving me a chance to think or even just relax my brain. But today it's too cold to haul my bags back to my house. I'm shivering by the time I get to the car and toss everything in the backseat.
Getting in the car, I lock the doors and take a peek in the rearview mirror. I was just standing at the side of the car, looking into the back seat. No one is there, but it's a habit I haven't been able to shake. Maybe now that I'm no longer on active duty, the compulsion will fade. Just like the compulsion that makes my eyes flicker back and forth across the sidewalks and my hands tighten around the steering wheel a little bit more every time I pause at a corner.
It's been nearly a year, I tell myself. I don't have to be this way. Getting the answers I wanted and finally hearing the door of a jail cell slam behind the man responsible for my mother's death and also the one responsible for the torment I went through was supposed to end this. Life is supposed to move forward.
But not yet.
I'm getting there. There have been definite improvements and flecks of color glimmering across the sepia wash that took over my existence in the last couple of years. But the journey hasn't ended. There's still a long path at my feet.
Pulling up in front of my house, I open the door and step out. As soon as my second foot touches the ground, I hear a scream from behind me.
"Catch me!"
Bitterly cold air fills my lungs in a sharp inhale. I
