Page 72 of Everything We Left Behind

“It doesn’t seem fair you know so much about me and I have to get to know you all over again,” she says, her thoughts aligning with his. But there’s an invitation in her observation.

“Do you want to, though?”

She taps the cup rim and nods.

He smiles, pleased she does. He picks up his cup, toasts hers, and sips through the lid opening. “Don’t worry about your dad. I’m looking forward to meeting him.” He grins broadly. “Again.”

While Julian surfs with his aunt, James borrows Natalya’s car and takes Marc and his mother grocery shopping. They barely make it through the produce aisle before Marc starts complaining. He’s bored. He wants to build sand castles at the beach with Tía Natalya. And he wants to color.

“Help me select the zucchini,” James suggests, bagging the squash he plans to grill.

Marc slumps, arms hanging loose. “This is booooring.”

James pushes the cart to the tropical fruit bin. Marc reluctantly follows, his flip-flops sliding along the linoleum floor. James selects two pineapples and compares their weight. “I can’t tell which one is ripe.” He had no problem selecting a cut of meat to go with potatoes and salad. Aimee always did the shopping for the other stuff. She’d been the cook in their relationship.

“Smell them.” Claire drops a bag of spiny maroon fruit in the cart. James sniffs each pineapple. “Scent or no scent?” his mother asks.

“This one smells sweet.” He bounces the pineapple balancing in his dominant left hand. “And this has no scent.”

His mother points at the unscented pineapple and he returns the sweet, overly ripe pineapple.

Marc peeks inside the cart and points at the spiny fruit. “What are those?”

“Dragon fruit,” Claire says.

“Whoa.” He pokes the fruit. “Do dragons eat them?”

“Maybe,” Claire says, playing along. “We’ll try one when we return to your aunt’s house.” She inspects the apple-bananas, a smaller, more flavorful banana varietal, as noted on the label James reads beside the price. He adds the pineapple to their groceries.

Marc swings from the cart. “Are we done yet?”

“Almost. We’ll go to the toy store next.”

“How about I take him there now?”

“What?” James tightens his grip on the cart handle.

“Sí, sí, sí!”Marc tugs Claire’s hand. “I mean, yes! Let’s go.” He tries dragging Claire away.

“I won’t wander off with him. I have no car.”

He scowls, and not because he suspects his mother will leave with her grandson like she thinks he believes.Hewants to spend time with Marc.

“You don’t want to help me shop?” he asks his son.

Marc vigorously shakes his head. He tugs Claire’s hand. “Let’s go, Señora Carla.”

His mother grimaces at the name and James can’t help humming a laugh at her expense. Then he leans his forearms on the cart handle, narrowing his eyes, watching her.

She gives him a perturbed look. “I won’t say anything. Both you and Natalya have been quite clear about that. But James,” she adds, letting Marc tug her away, “grocery shopping isn’t how Marc wants to spend time with his father.”

James ducks his head and sighs. He hates to admit it, but his mother is right. “Give me twenty minutes. I’ll meet you over there.”

She finger-waves good-bye. “See you soon.”

James watches them leave, their clasped hands swinging between them, and wonders when his son will voluntarily do the same with him. Once they’re out of sight, James checks the time on his phone. Voice-mail notifications litter the screen, one from his buddy Nick and several from Thomas. He slides the phone back into his pocket, making a mental note to call Nick later. Thomas can wait. Though he is curious if Thomas knows their mother tagged along to Kauai. Probably not. Thomas might be keeping their mother updated about his whereabouts, but he doubted she returned the favor.

James shrugs. Not his problem, he thinks, pushing the cart toward the meat department. He’s dying for a steak.

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