Well, no one was going to sit down and eat a whole pie in front of him, exclaiming all the while how wonderful it was, were they? Perhaps that was why some people had wanted to have a competition, so they could receive that feeling of reward. Of course the money earned for the library was the truly important thing about Abe's contribution, but mostly he just wanted people to enjoy his creations.
Perhaps he'd gone a bit overboard, if he felt that strongly about it. It wasn't like art, not really, but it was still a very audience-oriented thing to do. Baking was only really successful if your efforts were enjoyed. It had to do more than look pretty; it had to find people who wanted and liked it.
Well, Gregory had certainly been a receptive audience, and a help deciding which things to make.
He wandered around for a while, wondering how soon he dared leave without looking cowardly or like a curmudgeon, till he saw Mary and Fiona arrive, arm decorously in arm. He raised a hand to wave at them and found himself smiling, relieved to see people he felt comfortable with. He approached them and asked how they were doing.
"Very well, dear," said Mary, giving him a pat on the arm. Today she was wearing a blue-and-white dress that looked girlish in an old-fashioned sort of way. It suited her sweet, innocent face. "It's nice to see so many people here already. It looks as though the baked goods sale is a success." She gave him an appreciative smile. "I couldn't have done it without you."
Abe preened. He shouldn't be so easily flattered—or like being flattered so much—but he was, and did. "Did you see the auction items? Apparently, no one knows who donated that necklace." He sounded more enthusiastic about it than he actually felt. Mary was such an upbeat person, he didn't want to share his more suspicious thoughts or say anything negative.
"We'll take a look," said Fiona. She gave Abe a gruff nod. "Heard your fella's been keeping bees. Any luck with that?"
"Oh, well." He tried to still his hands so they wouldn't flutter vaguely, revealing his discomfort with the topic. "There's certainly a lot of them around lately, ha-ha! You'd have to ask Gregory, I suppose. He's over there." He pointed to the stand where Gregory was charismatically chatting with someone as he traded baked goods for money.
Abe had never known him when he worked as a suited salesman—only as the iron-willed permaculture-impassioned gardener next door, and then later the man he'd fallen in love with. It always gave him a bit of a jolt to see that other side of Gregory's personality. It was hard to imagine him working a cutthroat and high-powered job, bending himself to fit society's expectations instead of wearing his clothes till they wore out, or other people's. (He was a big fan of used clothing, was Gregory.)
When Abe got a rare glimpse of who Gregory used to be, he felt off-balance, as if he were looking at a stranger. Fortunately, he didn't have that feeling now, just bewildered admiration for Gregory's people skills. Abe would have been a nervous wreck working with the public, if he'd managed it at all.
He felt very small and strange when he thought of them meeting a few years ago and what Gregory would have thought of him then. The powerful, driven salesman would likely have been less than impressed by the mousy, nervous man Abe had been, struggling in a failing marriage. He was now actually a great deal more confident, forthright, and independent than he had been during that time. It was hard to think Gregory would have seen anything even remotely interesting in him back then.
They all stared at Gregory for a moment. "I will," said Fiona then, and strode over to him. She was wearing an ill-fitted gray pantsuit.
Mary and Abe watched her go. "Is she thinking of getting bees?" asked Abe. Why did everyone want to start keeping bees?
"We've been discussing it," said Mary mildly. "Thank you again. I really do appreciate how much effort you put into this. Why, you baked more than I did! There will certainly be enough this year."
"I didn't mind," said Abe, feeling bashful. "It was fun." He hoped they'd switch to a different topic soon, because he was starting to feel embarrassed rather than flattered.
She patted his arm again. "I'd better go and take a look around. Are you going to be voting on the contest as well? Perhaps I'll see you there?"
"No," said Abe, and suppressed his shudder. Being silly didn't change how on edge he felt about that whole thing.
Behind them, a group of senior citizens was entering the building, looking around, chatting to one another, walking slowly, some using walking aids. A few were in wheelchairs, pushed by nursing home staff wearing scrubs. It was nice they'd have a day out, if this counted as a day out.
Mary left his side and went to look at the rows of tables. He wandered down to the small shelf the library had set up with paperbacks for sale. As he looked through them idly, he wondered if he dared leave yet.
I wasn't always this much of a stick-in-the-mud, was I? He was bored to tears, and yet surely that was his own fault as much as anything. If he'd managed to be sociable, he could have enjoyed this. He gave up pretending there was anything of interest to him on the shelf and turned to go back to ask if Gregory wanted anything barbecued.
There was a line at the baked goods place now, of people waiting to hand money to Gregory. Abe smiled and headed towards the end of the line.
"Fancy seeing you here," interrupted a familiar voice. Abe's heart plummeted. He turned, fear and misery rising in his chest. Lenard Benton, his ex-husband, stood not six feet from him, staring at him in a most uncomfortable way.
Chapter six
Lenard was smiling, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. He looked at Abe as though he knew everything about him, saw right through to his worthless, frightened core: the fact that he would never be strong, or tough, or brave, that he would always be a rather silly joke that no one could quite take seriously.
"Let me guess, you helped with the baking?" he said, as if that was funny and exactly in character—just the sort of thing a silly old queen would do. Baking! Imagine!
"Yes," said Abe with dignity. "Believe it or not, some people like the things I make, Lenard." He stood a little straighter, wondering where he'd gotten his spine, proud of himself for being able to speak at all, much less so caustically.
"How lucky you were to find those who do," said Lenard, which should have been a diplomatic thing to say, but, coming from him, managed to sound as if that was an unbelievable miracle, the most unlikely of events—to find the few souls in the universe who could stand Abe's kitchen creations.
Abe flushed, his hands clenching at his sides. He said nothing. He stood rooted to the spot, although he wished he could just turn and walk away, snubbing this dreadful man. Anyone should be able to just turn and walk away. He wasn't married to this man anymore; he didn't have to stay and listen to him.
Why wasn't he walking away? And would Lenard talk to Gregory next and try to make Abe look bad to him? Foolish? It was hard to imagine Gregory believing anything Lenard said; he was protective and had a strong bullcrap sensor. But that didn't mean Abe didn't have the sudden superstitious fear that Lenard was going to try to ruin this relationship for him.
Wait... He doesn't know I'm seeing Gregory, does he? The thought gave Abe hope; maybe it was just a coincidence he was here, nothing more. Just a nasty chance encounter, rather than some premeditated event.
"What are you doing here, Lenard?" asked Abe. "It doesn't seem like your kind of thing."
"There's supposed to be a Jack London. One can brave even the backwaters for a signed edition—should it be legitimate, which I very much doubt." His smile was acid.
"So, you're an expert now?" challenged Abe bravely. Lenard had always found pretentious things to collect, but books hadn't been his focus when they were married.
"I'd say I'm a bit more of an expert than you," said Lenard, managing to indicate that Abe was both a collecting idiot and a kitsch-challenged fool.
Since when did Lenard like Jack London? Most likely, he was hoping there was a legitimate signed edition here that he could get cheaply. Lenard loved it if he could get s
omething for an unexpectedly good deal—a yard sale find that someone didn't realize held real value, that sort of thing.
They used to enjoy going yard-saling together, although Abe had always been a bit unnerved by how much Lenard enjoyed talking the price down, especially when he knew the item was already far undervalued. It had seemed strangely perverse to Abe to bargain an elderly, wearying seller down from five dollars to two, when Lenard knew the item was probably worth far more than that. (And he always had seemed to know. He had a sixth sense for "steals," as he liked to call them.) Abe hadn't been one to cross Lenard in those days—he wouldn't have dared say anything. But he'd felt odd about it.
Still, there wasn't much harm Lenard could do here with the Jack London book. This was a silent auction; he couldn't bully it or talk it down. It wasn't as though he'd be the only one to bid on the book, and if it did have any value, it should go for more than whatever he'd offer. Abe wasn't worried about that. He also didn't believe that was really why Lenard was here.
Had someone posted on social media that Abe was going to be doing the baking? Had Lenard found that information and decided to show up to poke at him? It seemed ridiculous, but it was hard not to be paranoid about his ex. Lenard might not want him anymore, but that didn't mean he'd say no to getting in a few digs at Abe, if he didn't have anything more interesting going on.
Lenard had a cruel streak. Even when he couldn't directly hurt or control Abe, he'd found his ways. During the divorce, he'd managed to twist their friends as a couple onto his side, even when he didn't particularly like the people. He'd just wanted to keep them from Abe. Then there was the way he'd fought Abe over Abe's collection of Dolly Parton memorabilia—a collection he'd always mocked, until he apparently needed to keep it in the divorce.
These days, Abe didn't collect anything. It wasn't really worth starting fresh. Some of those things he'd had since he was a teenager. Most of it hadn't actually been worth much, just the sentimental value. Lenard used to call it kitsch and trash.
Abe still secretly and wholeheartedly loved Dolly. He hadn't introduced Gregory to that side of himself yet; it was easier to hide his passions and not seem silly and kitschy when he didn't have collections filling his space. Yet another reason not to start again.
"The book's over there. Don't let me stop you." Abe pointed to the auction table, pleased with the mild disdain in his voice and that it wasn't shaking.
"Thanks," said Lenard sarcastically. He brushed by Abe, too close.
Abe flinched, his composure lost. He didn't like that Lenard still made him flinch, but he did. Abe hurried away, hands trembling, breath ragged. He felt like an idiot and a coward, but he had to leave—now. Memories of Lenard, close, intimidating, and violent, came flooding back to him, a nightmare he'd gotten past and didn't feel like reliving. That man had defined his life once, and his anger when it was turned on Abe had been terrifying.
Too bad Abe couldn't have held out till Ollie arrived and spoken with him, giving him his pies and chatting a bit, but Ollie would understand. Ollie was one person who had never liked Lenard, and hadn't doubted Abe's version of events, or made him feel like he was a bad person for not trying yet again to make the marriage work. So many of his old friends had.
That had been the painful icing on the whole awful cake: when he had finally had enough, and got up the courage to leave Lenard, and people thought he didn't know his own mind, or that he was overreacting, and Lenard was all right, really. After all, he was always so nice to everyone in public...
Abe headed outdoors, past the barbecue, past the place where Gregory was still working industriously selling things, and brushed past the Heatons as they arrived. Henrietta was wearing an improbably brightly colored flower print dress and a hat. Both looked like they belonged in a church on Easter, not at a bake sale. But what did he know? He was a silly old man and did not want to be here one more second or talk to anyone else who would make him feel like crap.
He gave them a brief nod and hurried past. Henrietta started to say something, turning to look after him, but her husband held on to her arm, and she didn't follow him.
Abe didn't turn back. He kept walking, steps fast, breath tight. They had driven here, but it was only a mile or so, and he could walk that easily, leaving the car for Gregory. He could, he would, if only his ridiculous heart would stop pounding.
Halfway down one sidewalk and ready to cross to the next, he looked around, bewildered, wondering if he was lost or losing his marbles. He stopped beside a decorative cherry tree of some sort—the kind that didn't grow cherries, that Gregory would say was a waste—and leaned one hand against its rough bark, telling himself his breathing would slow, that nothing was wrong, that it had just been an ugly surprise. Lenard was not stalking him, he had no more interest in Abe, would never do anything violent to Abe again, and really, it was just an unfortunate surprise.
But his head was spinning and his heart was pounding, and he felt like a fool. He'd just walked away, not even saying goodbye to Gregory. Perhaps Lenard meant to harass him; Abe had given his boyfriend no warning.
Does he even know what my ex looks like? Abe hadn't exactly kept any cherished pictures of the two of them. He didn't think Gregory had any interest in online or otherwise finding out more about Lenard.
Did Lenard know about Gregory? Abe didn't post any public information available about Gregory; he didn't talk about dating, mention a boyfriend, or share pictures of Gregory. At this point in his life, social media was only for his professional life. His personal life stayed private. If he'd been twenty-three with a boyfriend as amazing as Gregory, it would probably be a different story. He'd have wanted to shout it from the housetops, bragging and sharing and generally being as obnoxiously public as possible about their relationship, young, unafraid, and wanting to show off.
But he was older now and had learned to appreciate how nice it was not to have any more information than was strictly necessary out there in the world...and not just because he had an ex he was rather frightened of. Although mostly because of that. (He knew it was silly, that Lenard couldn't hurt him, probably didn't even care one way or another about him anymore...but that didn't change how exposed and vulnerable he'd feel if he shared anything personal online.)
But even if Lenard meant the worst and was wreaking havoc back there, Abe could not make himself turn around and walk back into that building. Sure, his premonitions had been wrong, associating the feeling of dread he'd had building with another brush with murder and neighborly suspicion. Instead, the reality had been facing his ex when he wasn't ready, and perhaps never would be.
Pulling himself together a bit, taking deep breaths, he was able to continue on, walking slowly home and trying not to think. It was a lovely day; he wished he could enjoy it even a little bit. At last he remembered his phone in his pocket and pulled it out to text Gregory a quick apology for leaving.
He waited a few moments, continuing to walk. There was no immediate reply. He sent a brief text to Ollie, apologizing for missing him, saying that Ollie could get the pie from Gregory and stop by the house to chat if he wanted to see Abe. He thought about mentioning Lenard, but then decided not to. He didn't feel like revealing his sudden need to escape, even to Ollie.
Maybe Ollie would stop by, and they'd have some coffee and chat. Abe should have himself pulled together by then, right? He didn't get to see his friend enough, and it would be a shame to miss him today as well, when he was in the neighborhood.
Hopefully, Ollie wouldn't run into Lenard unprepared, either. Though he was more likely to tell Lenard off than get unnerved by him—or just ignore him, which was of course the correct course of action.
I shouldn't be letting this get to me...
The text alert chimed, and Abe pulled up Gregory's reply. U OK? he'd texted, obviously in a hurry if he was abbreviating. He usually spelled out things, even "OK" as "okay."
Abe hesitated, already feeling guilty about the lie. He could pretend he hadn't see
n the text, instead. But at last he typed a bald-faced lie: Yes. He hit send, and percolated in his guilt and cowardliness the rest of the way home.
ABE SAT DOWN AND TRIED to get some work done, but he couldn't concentrate. Nor did cooking or baking sound like something he could remotely bring himself to face. All he could think of was Lenard's scorn for his kitchen efforts.
At last he took his sketchbook and went outside. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well at least try once again to draw something. He sat on his little bench with his stupid blank paper in front of him and thought depressing thoughts and got distracted by the ever-present bees. If he'd known he was going to spend so much time in their company, he'd have asked Gregory not to get them.
Still, at least he hadn't been stung so far. He began doodling at the edges of the paper, not the middle, so he wouldn't mar the empty space, just around the edges, where it didn't matter so much. Like doodles around the edges of homework—not big enough to make waves, to use up precious paper, to really stand up and demand attention.
Little squiggly bees emerged from his pencil, winging their crooked way into a border of flowers and bees, flowers and bees and thorns. Lots and lots of thorns. Thorns had a sting, bees had a sting... Even soft, fragile things like plants and bees could be dangerous if cornered.
Lost in thought, his stresses began to ease, and when he blinked and looked up some time later, it was with less tension in his back, and the feeling that he had escaped somewhere else for a while. He felt refreshed. He looked down at what he'd drawn.
Huh, he'd filled the page after all. It was just doodles, not high art, but it was definitely creative, a lush, tangled greenery layout, with bees weaving their way through it. Gregory would be impressed.
Poison at the Bake Sale Page 6