Hungry for Love

by Nancy Frederick

  A woman carrying one of Annabeth’s small cabinets walked in and sat at one of the stools. After fixing a hot fudge sundae for the woman, Annabeth listened as someone on a nearby stool struck up a conversation with her customer.

  “What a cute little shelf.”

  “Thanks. I know, here look inside. There’s a tiny bird hiding in the corner.”

  “Oh, how adorable. Where did you get it?”

  “Etta’s Knick Knack Shop up the street. It was a real bargain. Maybe half of what it would cost back home.”

  “I’ll have to check them out.”

  “I think this was the last one, but they have other, undecorated cabinets.”

  “It’s the painting on it that makes it so cute.”

  Annabeth placed the ice cream in front of the woman with a smile. She was tempted to reveal that it was her painting, but she remained silent. Instead she said, “Enjoy your sundae.”

  Julie raced into the store at that moment, little Bobby in tow. “Thank goodness,” she said out of breath. “I really need to leave him with you for a few minutes. He dumped a whole box of T-shirts onto the ground.”

  “Gosh, Julie, I don’t know. We’re pretty busy now.”

  “You’ll be good for Aunt Annabeth, won’t you, honey?”

  Little Bobby nodded.

  “Just give him an ice cream, will you? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Before Annabeth could say another word, Julie dashed away, still breathless.

  “You’re going to have to be a really good boy, all right? How about a dish of ice cream?”

  Little Bobby nodded and sat quietly eating his dish of chocolate ice cream. It didn’t take him long to finish it and then he spoke up, “I’m ready to leave now.”

  Annabeth laughed, “Oh honey, I can’t leave now. I work here.” She looked under the counter, found a few sheets of paper, pulled a pen from her purse and set them in front of him. “How about making me a drawing?” Little Bobby drew a couple of dinosaurs, a house, two cars, and by then he was quite bored and began twirling on his stool.

  Annabeth handed the last waffle cone to a woman who wanted a double scoop.

  “Excuse me,” said the next customer, “I’ll have one of those.”

  The pizzelle machine was already heated up, and Annabeth was in the process of making more cones, but she couldn’t make them as fast as she could sell them. “I’m sorry—it will be a few minutes for a hand made cone. We’ve been very busy.”

  The man nodded and Annabeth dashed back to the end of the counter where little Bobby was twirling madly. “Bobby! Don’t do that. You’re making me dizzy.”

  Little Bobby stopped for a moment then twirled around again.

  Annabeth reached out her hand and caught him by the arm, halting his spin. “Stop it. I mean it. Draw another picture.” She turned, removed the waffle, and folded the flat shape into a cone, placing it into the holder on the counter, then poured some more batter on the machine. “I just want to let it cool a bit so your ice cream doesn’t melt,” she said to the man who was waiting.

  Three high school girls came in chattering and laughing and asked for regular cones, which Annabeth prepared, sending them on their way. “You’ve been awfully patient,” she said to the man who was tapping his foot. She reached for the cone, but at the same moment, little Bobby lunged for it as well, causing the stand to topple onto the floor, shattering the cone.

  A Southern gentleman, the man refused to be rude, and instead said, “Maybe I better just have a sugar cone.”

  Annabeth sighed in relief, “Oh thank you.” She gave him extra large scoops on his double dip and offered him the cone, saying, “There’s no charge.”

  “Why thank you,” he replied and left.

  Annabeth opened her purse, removed some money to pay for the man’s and little Bobby’s ice cream and placed it in the cash register. She then leaned over toward little Bobby, saying “I want you to calm down this minute.”

  “I’m bored,” he whined. “I want to come back there with you.”

  There was a small stool where Annabeth sometimes sat during the deadest part of the day, and she placed her nephew on this seat and admonished him to stay there while she washed and dried the stand and replaced it on the counter. She formed another cone, placed it inside and poured some more batter.

  A couple of women came in then, taking seats at the far side of the counter, and Annabeth prepared their banana splits quickly. One of them looked toward little Bobby, who began to scream. “Oh!” she exclaimed.

  Annabeth turned to see her nephew with his hand on the pizzelle machine, which he quickly removed, then began to cry.

  “Bobby!” she exclaimed, racing toward him. His hand was badly burned, and she held it under a stream of cold water. “Oh Bobby.”

  The child continued to wail as she held his hand under the water.

  Her voice grew soothing, “Come on now, calm down. I know it hurts, but you’ll be all right.”

  Charles came out from behind his pharmacist’s window and he walked over to where Annabeth was tending little Bobby. He took the child’s hand in his own and examined it. “Come with me, young man.”

  Annabeth watched as Charles applied a dressing and a bandage to her nephew’s hand, and eventually the boy’s howls subsided into whimpers. Charles led him back to the stool, poured a soda from the fountain and gave it to the child. He looked all around. “Where’s his mother?” he asked Annabeth.

  Her stomach knotted in embarrassment and worry. “He’s my nephew. My sister asked me to watch him for a few minutes. She’s running the art show outside. I’m sorry....”

  “Pretty inconsiderate of her to dump the boy on you like that when you’re so busy isn’t it?”

  He wasn’t angry at her even though little Bobby had caused a disturbance! Annabeth smiled gratefully at Charles. “Well, she counts on me. After our mother died I kind of raised her.”

  Chuck called from the rear of the store then, “Dad, could you help me with this?” and Charles went back as requested.

  Little Bobby, now calmed, finished his soda with a giant slurp, gave himself another push, twirled around a few more times, and then leaned over and threw up.

  “My God!” exclaimed Annabeth. She raced to clean up the mess, washed little Bobby’s face, her own hands, and was in the process of trying to catch her breath when Julie walked back in.

  “Mommy!” exclaimed the boy, “I burned my hand!” He thrust out the bandaged paw for her to examine, then continued, “And I threw up!”

  “Annabeth!” Julie turned the hand this way and that, then touched her son’s damp forehead. “You let him burn himself and gave him so much ice cream he threw up? What were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry, I was busy.”

  “Too busy to pay attention to a child? How is that possible? To let him burn his hand like that!” Julie took hold of her son’s uninjured hand and tugged him away.

  Annabeth, feeling guilty and upset, followed her sister to the door. “Julie, wait.”

  Julie stopped, and Annabeth reached out to touch her shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a very busy day. I’m not used to working yet. I didn’t mean to take my eyes off him.”

  Julie scowled, “It’s okay. You’ll be fine, won’t you?” She looked down at her son who was listening to the argument with fascination.

  Annabeth feeling miserable, reached out and hugged her sister, who was wooden, yet still hugged back. She turned back toward the ice cream counter to see Charles watching her with a strange, sentimental look on his face.

  It had been a long, exhausting day, and Annabeth was glad when she could leave for home. Sally sat on one of the porch rockers, waiting for her. The nights were still warm, the water that everywhere seeped up from the ground in ponds and puddles and flowed in from the Gulf in bayous that were like twining tendrils on the ragged coastline, also rose into the air, creating a heaviness that lay upon the skin and soaked into the fibers of
every garment. It was warm but not unpleasant, and Annabeth waved to Sally as she pulled into her usual spot, slowly exiting the car. Everything hurt. How hard it was to work all day, to stand all day, to bend over that freezer and try to scoop the hard ice cream. Her feet ached whether she stood or sat; the muscles in her back and arms had clenched, and she doubted whether she could make a fist because her hands were so sore.

  “Mom,” said Sally, “You look so tired.”

  Annabeth dropped into the rocker beside her daughter. “I’m beat.”

  “Want to go inside where it’s cooler?”

  “In a minute. Listen to all the frogs.”

  Sally nodded, having heard this so many times before. “Let me get you something to eat at least. How about a sandwich?”

  “That would be great.”

  Sally was gone only a short time, and she returned with a ham sandwich, some lemonade, and a plate of cookies.

  “Thanks,” said Annabeth, biting into the sandwich.

  “Mom, I need to talk.”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I’m going home to Jackson. I just miss him so much.”

  “Of course you do. Even though you are together every evening,” Annabeth laughed.

  “I miss living with him. I miss waking up with him and falling asleep with him. Jackson is the best snuggler.”

  “Sure.”

  “I know you need me here.”

  “Sweetheart! I love having you here, but you have your own life and you should lead it. I understand that.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I just got so upset about the divorce. About you being all alone. About me being just like you.”

  “I know.” Annabeth put her hand gently on Sally’s arm.

  “But I don’t want to break up with Jackson.”

  “Jackson is wonderful.”

  “I want to marry him.”

  Annabeth nodded.

  “But I was thinking, it wouldn’t hurt me to take a class or two. I was thinking about bookkeeping. I’m pretty good with math. Then I’d have a profession, not just a job.”

  Annabeth smiled, “That’s an excellent idea.”

  “I thought it would make you happy.”

  “It does make me happy, but what matters is that you’re happy.”

  “Oh, Mom.” Sally’s voice grew soft as she spoke these last words, then they sat there for a long moment, comfortable in silence, both rocking until Sally was ready to continue, “So is it all right if I go back tonight?”

  “Of course it is.”

  Annabeth sat, watching the tail lights of Sally’s car grow fainter as she drove off until she rounded a curve and could no longer be seen. She smiled, thinking of her daughter, so in love. The night, like warm vapor all around her, drew her into a reverie and from that mist rose up memories of her own past, and she sighed softly, full of sweet longing, yearning for those days again. R.J. was such a wonderful lover. She recalled the nights in his arms, the mornings they would wake up together and then slide closer, her head resting comfortably for a long time on his shoulder, his arm around her back, her hand a tender weight on his rough cheek. She remembered the nights he would get in late, find her asleep, and how he would begin touching her and she would awaken all afire, ready to be smothered by R.J. and his need for her. Alone there on her porch, she blushed, envisioning all the things they’d done together, and all she wished to do yet. She thought of the nights most recently when he was absent and she lay alone in that big soft bed, a sense of longing like a rage in her heart that could never be quenched, and sighing, she grew more melancholy, weary from the day and for the long night ahead.

  *

  Annabeth drove toward town, toward her father’s law office, a knot in her stomach. Going over financial things was just a formality, nothing to worry about. It wouldn’t be that bad. She rode past Hawkins Auto, speaking aloud, “Oh, my!” She’d been meaning to get that seat belt check for two or three weeks and kept forgetting. She was just so busy with work, yet she made so little money. She thought briefly of her finances. There was enough for food and to pay the electric bill, the water bill, but just barely. And when she had a few dollars saved something needed fixing, as was usual in the upkeep of an older house. Annabeth sighed, then pulled into a parking spot outside Will Copeland’s office.

  Although the rest of the world was sliding into fall, in the Florida panhandle the summer heat still raged. Annabeth touched her cheek with hands still cool from the car’s air conditioning. She was flushed, but that was probably worry. She walked toward the three story brick building, wishing she could turn around and go in some other direction.

  “Annabeth.”

  She turned toward the voice, knowing whose it was. The knot in her stomach tightened. “R.J.” She looked into her husband’s eyes.

  “Sam called me, you know. He got some laugh on me.”

  She wanted to say, Oh you look so tired and to reach out and touch his cheek, but she did not.

  “He was pretty damn happy to steal my collection of classic cars. Brought up that whole card game thing.”

  “He accused you of cheating again? How silly.”

  “Yeah well, he paid you like five hundred bucks less than the cars were worth. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

  “I’m sorry about Sam, R.J., but what choice did I have? My car wouldn’t run anymore.”

  “Probably just needed plugs.”

  “No, it needed thousands in repair.”

  “So you go out and buy yourself a new car? Why didn’t you buy a Mercedes?”

  Annabeth’s eyes narrowed. She had never participated in a scene in public, and in fact had rarely even argued with R.J. in the past. She lowered her voice, but spoke with an intensity that was uncharacteristic for her, “I don’t see you driving a car that breaks down every two blocks.”

  “Hey, babe, I work for a living.”

  Annabeth was about to reply so do I, but thinking it was pointless, she turned and walked away from her husband.

  Annabeth exited the elevator and walked into her father’s offices, bumping into Hugh McGraw, who had stopped at the front desk to speak to the receptionist.

  “Annabeth” he said warmly, opening his arms and offering her a hug.

  “Hugh! It feels like ages since I’ve seen you. How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “You?”

  “I’m here for this legal meeting, you know, the divorce.”

  Hugh nodded. “Don’t worry. Quentin will take good care of you. Kyle Sennet is no match for him at all.”

  “How’s Maggie?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “I’m just so upset about this whole thing with her. I’ve been by the house a bunch of times and I’ve called. She won’t speak to me. It’s crazy. Sally and Jackson got back together last week.”

  “I know. Doesn’t make any sense to me either. I’m sure she’ll come around. She’s been spending time with Louise Watkins. That sure can’t last.”

  Annabeth laughed then became serious. “I just don’t know what else to do. We’ve been friends for nearly forty years. My God. Forty years.”

  “Now I feel old.”

  Quentin Asprey appeared in the hallway, and walked over to introduce himself. “Mrs. Welner, I’m Quentin Asprey.” He was a slender man of about six feet, his hair sandy and streaked with highlights caused by all the sun he got on the weekends. He had the typically freckled complexion of people in the sunbelt and a large beaky nose that curved toward his mouth. A mustache would have done wonders for his looks, but his upper lip was bare.

  “I’ll talk to Maggie,” said Hugh, smiling sympathetically, then turning toward the younger attorney, added, “If you need any help with this divorce, I’m available.”

  Annabeth followed Quentin into his office where they sat down at a round table in the corner. This small firm was successful by local standards, but they had no need of a meeting room or a bi
g conference table that could seat twenty. Business was usually handled in a more informal manner.

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” answered Annabeth.

  Quentin nodded, “Good, I’m glad there are no immediate problems. Today we’re going to go over financial statements. It’s probably very routine, so don’t worry.” Reaching for a document already on the table, Quentin continued, handing it to Annabeth, “Sennet sent over this statement. Take a look. This is your husband’s version of your assets. Eventually we’ll come to an agreement on what everything’s worth and then we’ll decide how to divide it all up.”

  “I didn’t know our house was worth this much.”

  “Is R.J.’s income accurately represented?”

  “Yes, that seems right.”

  “Are the business assets listed accurately?”

  “Gosh, I guess so. How much can those old vending machines be worth?”

  “Do you know how many he has now?”

  “No, not really. He was gone for days at a time on his route,” her voice lowered and she spoke with sadness, “But who knows how much of that travel was business.”

  “It says here he’s partners with his mother.”

  “She loaned him some money to buy the first couple of machines. Oh—Mr. Asprey—”

  “Call me Quentin. Yes?”

  “There was some money in our bank accounts—the ones he closed. That’s not listed here.”

  Quentin nodded. “All right.”

  The buzzer on his desk rang and Quentin stepped over to answer the phone. “Send them back,” he said, and then to Annabeth, “They’re here.”

  Kyle Sennet looked like the sort of lawyer who advertised for business in the classified section of the local paper, the type to work out of a small office outside of town and handle whatever cases that came his way for fees as high as he could wrangle, things like bankruptcies, divorces, an occasional accident case or drinking, drug and misdemeanor charges. In short, he was the sort of attorney her father scorned. He was a slight man with too-long hair and an ill-trimmed beard that drooped, giving him the air of a disenchanted elf. Annabeth wondered if he wore a business suit when he appeared in court, because now he sported jeans and a T-shirt featuring a sports car with Daytona Beach printed over it. He carried an inexpensive attaché case, which he placed with a thud on the table at which Annabeth sat. He nodded toward her as though she were nobody indeed then reached out to Quentin, who shook the offered hand in a way which was friendly yet managed to convey the sentiment that the man was no colleague at all and was lucky to be allowed in the office.