Page 147 of Just One More Thing

“It’s groceries.”

“It’s shrimp and ice cream,” she says. “That’s not groceries. That’s intent.”

Mo laughs under her breath while she starts unloading the basket.

Marlene reaches under the counter, hands me one of the cookies she keeps for Hank, then starts weighing produce.

There’s a fresh issue ofSouthern Livingin the rack beside a variety of Goo Goo Clusters and batteries. I reach for it automatically and thumb through until I hit recipes.

“Not in that one,” Mo says without even looking up.

I glance over. She’s lining up butter beside the pasta on the belt, but when she lifts her head, her whole face is smiling.

“Jake,” she says quietly. “I love that you do that. That you’ve been doing it all along.”

Before I can answer, Marlene hoots. “Oh, honey, he held up my line once for a good ten minutes staring into one of those.”

“Hello,” I say. “Heis standing right here andhewould like some things to remain private.”

“Well then,” Marlene says, scanning the bacon, “heneeds to live somewhere else.”

Mo laughs and high-fives her across the register. And God help me, I think I could stand there watching her fit into this town forever.

By the time we step back outside, the heat’s finally started easing off. The sky over the water’s gone that deep summer blue that only shows up right before dusk.

I load the bags into the back of her truck while she climbs into the passenger seat and tucks one leg underneath herself. When I get in, she says, “I’ve never let anyone else drive my truck before.”

I glance at all the buttons and dials overhead. “Probably because it looks like it should come with a pre-flight checklist.”

She smiles faintly. “You’re the one and only.”

Just five words.

Still enough to stay with me all the way down Bay Street.

The windows are down. The safari windows are popped up. Cool air moves through the truck, carrying salt and the hint of fall with it.

We pass the little white church with the black shutters. Two kids dragging fishing poles. Lainey walking home with a stack of books balanced on her hip. I tap the button with the bicycle symbol, giving her a polite toot. She looks up, grinning as she waves.

Halfway there, she says quietly, “Granny gets her cast off tomorrow.”

The words themselves are simple.

The way she says them isn’t.

“That’s good,” I say.

“It is.” But her voice catches just enough on the last word for me to hear it. Her fingers tug absently at the hem of her shorts.

I keep one hand loose on the wheel and reach over with the other to cover hers. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She exhales slowly. “I just… it’s weird.”

“Weird how?”

“She’s had it long enough that everything sort of rearranged itself around it.” She shrugs a little. “Schedules. Deliveries.Rides. The bakery. Me being there all the time.” Her mouth presses slightly to one side. “It became this whole version of life.”

I wait.