stains on it and I had a sudden urge to press it to my face. It smelled good, like saltwater and soil, with faint musky undertones. I tossed it back on the chair like it was on fire. I looked around sheepishly to see if anyone had seen me, but I was alone.
“You are really losing it,” I muttered under my breath. I chugged my lukewarm coffee and headed back into the house.
Abby returned, clad in a tie dyed top over a long ruffled gypsy skirt. Her still damp hair was tied back with a silk scarf. She looked radiant.
“Let’s check with Cruz one more time,” she said.
We went down the hall to his room and knocked right under the “Warning : Radioactive Waste” sign that was posted on his door. It swung open a crack.
“Are you sure you won’t join us?” Abby asked sweetly.
“No mom,” Cruz replied with a hint of exasperation, “Megan’s coming over to hang out.”
“OK, just asking,” she said with a note of resignation.
When we got in the car Abby turned to me with a serious face, “I’m worried about Cruz. He just doesn’t seem happy anymore.” She heaved a sigh, “He hates school and he never wants to do anything.”
“He’ll be okay,” I tried to sound reassuring, “I get the impression that high school just kinda stinks for creative types… I’m not overly excited about going either,” I added, “but at least we’ll have each other this year.”
Abby smiled at me gratefully, “I’m so glad your dad let you come stay with us. I’ve been missing you for so long.”
“I’m glad to be here too,” I said, surprised, because after all the protesting I’d done I really meant it. “Me and Cruz have a lot in common. You know, after he graduates he wants to go to design school in San Francisco... I was thinking he might want to come and live at our apartment with us for a while.” I glanced over to see her reaction.
Abby looked thoughtful as she considered it. “That might really work out,” she mused under her breath as though she were thinking aloud.
“I think so,” I said confidently.
“We’ll see,” she sighed, “I’m hoping that his senior year goes better than last year. Kids can be so mean.”
“It’s supposed to be a very good year,” I said lightly, thinking about the psychic’s prediction.
We pulled into the parking lot of the high school. The adjacent field was transformed into an open air bazaar with several rows of pop-up tents and awnings. Abby handed me a canvas bag and hopped out of the car eagerly.
“Let’s go see what looks good!”
We took our time wandering through the rows of booths, stopping to look at each and every display. Several flower stands perfumed the air with the competing scents of all sorts of glorious blooms standing at attention in giant buckets. A woman sitting in a chair was stitching together sachets and selling handmade lavender soap. There was a cart with an espresso maker filling the air with delicious aromas, parked conveniently next to a vendor with an elaborate display of baked goods.
A beekeeper had multiple flavors of honey to sample; Abby and I lingered to taste them all.
We couldn’t choose a favorite, and ended up picking out three little bear shaped containers to take home. I looked at the beeswax candles and sniffed the honey scented body lotion, picking up one of those as well. We admired some herbal wreaths, hanging alongside strings of red and green peppers drying on racks. There were rows of fat strands of braided garlic, beautifully decorated with dried flowers tucked between each silvery clove.
Abby grinned at me, “Isn’t this place great?”
I nodded, returning her smile. It reminded me of outdoor markets I’d been to all over the world. I was feeling lighthearted and relaxed, right at home wandering through the booths and looking at all the beautiful things the earth had to offer.
I ducked over to a flower stand and bought Abby a bouquet with some of the spending money Dad had given me, stopping to look at a fishmonger’s display of sparkling whole salmon and sea-bass on ice. A small crowd was gathered around a rotund man shucking fresh oysters, slurping them down for breakfast.
Piles of shiny fruit in every shape and color imaginable were stacked in crates alongside dusty looking tubers. I stopped to look over an array of exotic Asian greens and vegetables, recognizing some of them from the time I spent in Thailand