Free Seed No Evil by Kate Collins Page B

distracted and not interested in what I have to say. And just now, when I asked him about us having dinner together, which we almost always do, he said he’d get back to me.”
    â€œWho said he’d get back to you?” Grace asked, stepping out of the parlor.
    â€œMarco,” Lottie said. “He’s distracted, and Abby thinks he’s keeping his problems from her.”
    â€œShe shouldn’t worry about it,” Grace said, “because he’s made it clear he’s madly in love with her.”
    â€œThat’s just about what I told her,” Lottie said.
    And exactly what I wanted to hear.
    â€œDid you tell her that men are easily distractible?” Grace asked.
    Suddenly I felt like I’d stepped out of the room. “Hello. I’m still here. You can talk directly to me.”
    â€œAbby, dear,” Grace said, putting her arm around my shoulders, “you mustn’t take every little thing as a sign that something’s amiss.”
    â€œI don’t take every little thing as a sign, but there’ve been a
few
of these little signs and they’re starting to add up. It isn’t like Marco to ignore me, which is what it feels like he’s doing. I mean, I thought I knew him, but lately—”
    â€œAh, there’s the problem,” Grace said to Lottie. “Do you see it?”
    â€œYou betcha,” Lottie said.
    Having no sweater edges to hold, Grace folded her hands together and put her shoulders back, assuming her alternate lecture pose. “As that wise man Friedrich Nietzsche once said, ‘One should never know too precisely whom one has married.’ And what that means is, you’ll never know Marco completely, nor should you want to. Let him be a little mysterious. You’re always going to discover new things about him, and perhaps one of those things is that he doesn’t always pay attention. I’ve practically got to stand on my head to get my Richard’s attention during a sports game.”
    â€œAnd I’ve told Herman my birth date a hundred times,” Lottie said, “but he always gets it wrong. Thing is, he doesn’t do it on purpose. He just has a lousy memory.”
    â€œSo you’re saying I should ignore it when Marco doesn’t listen?”
    â€œUnless it becomes habitual,” Grace said. “Then it would need to be addressed. Always keep those lines of communication open, love.”
    I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you both so much. I feel much better now.”
    â€œThen our work here is done and I must get back to my customers,” Grace said. “I could use a hand in there, Abby, if you wouldn’t mind.”
    I was about to ask Lottie if I had orders waiting, but before I even opened my mouth, she gave a little shake of her head, so I followed Grace into the parlor and grabbed a pot of coffee.
    Bummer.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    At three thirty, the bell over the door jingled, and I heard my mom’s voice up front, so I left my cleaning project in the workroom and stepped through the curtain. In Mom’s hand was a large plastic bag, which she held up with a smile.
    â€œGuess what I’ve been doing, Abigail.”
    â€œI hope you’re going to say working on an art project.” Wait. Had I actually said that?
    â€œYes!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I felt so much better knowing you and Marco were on the case that I stayed up late working. This is just a prototype, but I wanted you to see it before I made any more.”
    As always when Mom showed me a new project, my stomach knotted, knowing she would ask me to sell it in the shop and that I probably wouldn’t want to. Once she’d made a footstool that looked like a giant bare foot, toe hair and all. Another time she’d made a hat stand that looked like a giant bowling pin with a Homer Simpson face, with pegs sticking out of his neck, à la