spoken to him make more sense than anything he’s heard in years. “I think I want to pray on it,” he tells me, looking astonished at his own words.
Then there’s Margaret Sims, a young slip of a woman who works as a secretary for old Doc Heward. Cal spoke with her as she sat out in the spring sunshine, taking a break. He told her that he sure was happy that he wasn’t alone anymore, that it had been a long time since he’d had anyone to talk to. “But then Benji found me,” he supposedly said, even before he’d told her his name. “Or I found him. I’m not quite sure yet. Maybe we found each other at the same time. I don’t know that it matters.” He sat with her, in the sun, and told her that he didn’t want anyone to be alone again. She confessed to him that she missed her grandmother since she’d passed away last year, and that she felt alone too. “She wouldn’t want you to feel that way, I don’t think,” Cal had told her. “Life is for the living. It’s time for you to live.” He’d then kissed her on the forehead and stood and waved as he walked away.
Life is for the living.
And others:
Terry Moore, who says she could see kindness in his eyes, but that they looked sad.
Larry Roberts, who says Cal shook his hand and told him about the sunrise he’d seen this morning, and how the colors had been so alive.
Janice Evans, who is at a loss to explain what he’d said to her, just that she’s been able to see through a fog of despair for the first time since her daughter died last year.
Rosie Duncan, of Rosie’s Diner fame, calls to tell me Cal stopped in and asked for a bowl of the green things from Lucky Charms. When she told him she didn’t have any, he smiled at her and told her that was okay. She was so taken by him that she’d sent one of her waiters down to Clark’s to buy a box and then Cal sat at the counter while he picked out the green clovers.
And still more. So many more, in all a total of forty-three people I count over the space of four hours. But it’s the last one that almost causes me to break.
My mother walks into the store.
“Hey,” I say, glancing out the front windows for the tenth time in a minute, trying to see if Cal is on his way back.
“Benji,” she says in greeting. She makes her way back to the cooler and grabs a bottle of water before coming back to stand in front of the counter. She studies me, though I’m not sure what she’s hoping to find. “So,” she says.
“So,” I say, playing her game, hoping it isn’t going to be what I think it is.
“I was in town making a delivery to Rosie’s,” she says. “Also picked up an order for the Jump Into Summer Fest.”
“Oh?”
“Yep.”
“Big order?”
She shrugs. “I guess. The coordinators want pies. Lots of pies. More than last year. Apparently summer means pie.”
“That’s good,” I say, glancing out the window again, craning my neck to see down the street further.
“Looking for something?” she asks. “Or someone?”
I eye her warily. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m pretty sure you do.”
I groan. “Did he get you too?”
She shakes her head. “No, but he’s made quite the splash. It’s all anyone would talk about. And imagine my surprise when everyone started asking me questions. Questions I had no idea how to answer. How did Benji and Cal meet? How long is Cal staying? Are they serious?”
“Mom, it’s not like—”
She interrupts me. “Do you care for him?”
“Well… yeah, I guess. He’s my friend.” My weird, weird friend who fell out of the sky.
“Friend?” There’s too much emphasis on that word. I know what she means.
I blush. “It’s not like that,” I try again.
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Does he know that?”
“Cal’s just… really friendly.”
“Friendly isn’t going around telling people that you belong to him,” she points out.
I wince. “He has a tendency to speak like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“And he was out… what? Shopping for clothes that you told him he needed to get?”
I hate small towns. “Mom, it’s not what you think.” Then I stop and think about it for a moment and allow myself to get angry. “And even if it was, what business is it of yours? I’m