dinners again. Or anything from me.
4
G reg didn’t follow me. He took a different route altogether, and he must have done some pretty fast driving himself, because he was waiting in front of the shop when I arrived. His time behind the wheel must have been therapeutic for him—he was actually smiling when I got out of my car.
“Hey, maybe I came off sounding a little angry back there,” he said, reaching for my hand.
“You were obnoxious.”
He withdrew his hand. “You got the keys?”
I glared at him, which was, alas, a wasted action because my face was in the shadows. “I am not a total idiot,” I said, and fumbled for the right key.
We both stomped our way back to the back of the shop. Of course Greg can stomp harder than I can, but I made up for it with my loud, drawn-out sighs of disgust.
“There, you see”—I pointed to the table behind the counter—” there’s your precious Ming. You happy now?”
“Hell no,” he said childishly. “I don’t see anything but some damn papers.”
That was it. I had lost all patience. I marched around the counter.
“Here—” I started to point, but my hand droppedto my side in horror. The Ming was missing. There was nothing on the table but a stack of bills.
“Damn you, Abby, is this some kind of a game?”
My mouth opened and closed rhythmically, like a baby bird begging for its supper. Unlike the baby bird, I was mute.
“I don’t have time for this,” Greg said, and turned.
I found my voice. It was a couple of octaves higher than where I’d left it.
“The Ming was here, Greg! I swear!”
He turned halfway around. I could see that his hands were balled into fists, pressed up against his chest. Greg has never hit me. He has never even punched a pillow in my presence. But I must have driven him perilously close to the edge.
“This is a serious matter, Abby,” he said in measured tones. “You can’t be leading me on.”
“I know it’s serious,” I cried, “and I’m not leading you on. The vase was right here when I locked up this evening. I looked at it—touched it even—just before I left.”
I knew he believed me when I saw his posture change. His shoulders, which had been rigid, relaxed and his hands came down to his side. He faced me.
“Who else has a key?”
“Lots of people,” I confessed.
“What do you mean by ‘lots’?” he asked calmly.
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. They were hot. No doubt they would scald my cheeks when they rolled down, scarring me for life. I was so stupid I deserved such a fate.
I looked away. He was just a blur anyway.
“I lose keys easily. You know that. That’s why I keep them on a ring by the front door. But sometimes I still lose them. So I keep extra car keys hidden under the hood of my car, and my friends all have house keys.”
“And your shop keys?”
“Just Wynnell, C.J., and the Rob-Bobs.”
I hung my head in shame, and the tears began dropping on my shoes. They weren’t that hot after all.
Greg, bless his soul, walked over and put his arms around me. I fully expected him to apologize for having yelled at me, but he didn’t. Which meant he was still mad. That’s true love, if you ask me—being able to comfort someone when you’re mad as hell at them.
“Tomorrow you talk to them. Find out if any of them—for any reason—might have borrowed your Ming.”
My tap shuts off easily. “My Ming! You mean I can keep it? I mean, if we find it?”
“Not very likely,” he said, and kissed the top of my head.
But he didn’t apologize. Not that night at any rate.
I approached the Rob-Bobs first, of course. After all, they were the only ones beside Mama and Greg who knew about the Ming.
“ Mais non !” Bob boomed. He sometimes resorts to French when he’s highly offended.
“Abby, Abby, Abby,” Rob said, and I felt as if a cock had crowed three times.
“Not that I thought y’all had,” I said, beating a hasty retreat.
It was still ten
4
G reg didn’t follow me. He took a different route altogether, and he must have done some pretty fast driving himself, because he was waiting in front of the shop when I arrived. His time behind the wheel must have been therapeutic for him—he was actually smiling when I got out of my car.
“Hey, maybe I came off sounding a little angry back there,” he said, reaching for my hand.
“You were obnoxious.”
He withdrew his hand. “You got the keys?”
I glared at him, which was, alas, a wasted action because my face was in the shadows. “I am not a total idiot,” I said, and fumbled for the right key.
We both stomped our way back to the back of the shop. Of course Greg can stomp harder than I can, but I made up for it with my loud, drawn-out sighs of disgust.
“There, you see”—I pointed to the table behind the counter—” there’s your precious Ming. You happy now?”
“Hell no,” he said childishly. “I don’t see anything but some damn papers.”
That was it. I had lost all patience. I marched around the counter.
“Here—” I started to point, but my hand droppedto my side in horror. The Ming was missing. There was nothing on the table but a stack of bills.
“Damn you, Abby, is this some kind of a game?”
My mouth opened and closed rhythmically, like a baby bird begging for its supper. Unlike the baby bird, I was mute.
“I don’t have time for this,” Greg said, and turned.
I found my voice. It was a couple of octaves higher than where I’d left it.
“The Ming was here, Greg! I swear!”
He turned halfway around. I could see that his hands were balled into fists, pressed up against his chest. Greg has never hit me. He has never even punched a pillow in my presence. But I must have driven him perilously close to the edge.
“This is a serious matter, Abby,” he said in measured tones. “You can’t be leading me on.”
“I know it’s serious,” I cried, “and I’m not leading you on. The vase was right here when I locked up this evening. I looked at it—touched it even—just before I left.”
I knew he believed me when I saw his posture change. His shoulders, which had been rigid, relaxed and his hands came down to his side. He faced me.
“Who else has a key?”
“Lots of people,” I confessed.
“What do you mean by ‘lots’?” he asked calmly.
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. They were hot. No doubt they would scald my cheeks when they rolled down, scarring me for life. I was so stupid I deserved such a fate.
I looked away. He was just a blur anyway.
“I lose keys easily. You know that. That’s why I keep them on a ring by the front door. But sometimes I still lose them. So I keep extra car keys hidden under the hood of my car, and my friends all have house keys.”
“And your shop keys?”
“Just Wynnell, C.J., and the Rob-Bobs.”
I hung my head in shame, and the tears began dropping on my shoes. They weren’t that hot after all.
Greg, bless his soul, walked over and put his arms around me. I fully expected him to apologize for having yelled at me, but he didn’t. Which meant he was still mad. That’s true love, if you ask me—being able to comfort someone when you’re mad as hell at them.
“Tomorrow you talk to them. Find out if any of them—for any reason—might have borrowed your Ming.”
My tap shuts off easily. “My Ming! You mean I can keep it? I mean, if we find it?”
“Not very likely,” he said, and kissed the top of my head.
But he didn’t apologize. Not that night at any rate.
I approached the Rob-Bobs first, of course. After all, they were the only ones beside Mama and Greg who knew about the Ming.
“ Mais non !” Bob boomed. He sometimes resorts to French when he’s highly offended.
“Abby, Abby, Abby,” Rob said, and I felt as if a cock had crowed three times.
“Not that I thought y’all had,” I said, beating a hasty retreat.
It was still ten
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