Page 11 of Something Reckless

EASTON

“ H ow about a bunch of these?” Mom asks, holding up a few family-sized packets of seasoned veggies in my face. “You’ll be able to toss them into the air fryer for a quick, healthy meal.”

“Sounds good. Load me up. Now that I’m back doing some physical training, I need to watch my diet.”

Yesterday’s doctor’s appointment went well. It feels good to finally be off those damn crutches. That means I’m making progress. Now it’s time for the real healing work to begin.

I wander the aisles of the grocery store with my mom pushing the cart. After the pandemonium at the coffee shop yesterday, I keep my baseball cap pulled low now to avoid attracting too much attention.

While Mom’s stocking the cart full of vegetables and protein, I drift down the nearby candy section, in search of something sweet. A conversation at the end of the aisle catches my attention.

They’re too far down for me to see them well, but it sounds like a grandmother talking to a young child. A child who really seems to want a candy bar.

The older woman sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, Bud. We can’t get it this time. See? It’s not on sale.”

The kid’s shoulders fall.

“How about we leave it right here until next week? Then we can check it again. Maybe it will be on sale then,” the grandmother suggests.

“Okay, Grandma.”

I watch as the boy reaches for his grandmother’s hand and they start to walk away.

The whole scene takes me back about twenty years.

I remember having similar conversations with my own mom as a child.

Money was too tight to ever buy candy. And candy bars rarely ever made it into the food boxes they’d hand out at the church.

I wasn’t much older than that kid when I finally gave up asking for frivolous things.

My chest aches at the memory. It aches for this kid I don’t even know.

Without a second thought, I’m hobbling down the aisle and discreetly picking up the discarded candy bar, placing it in their basket. “I’ll pay for your groceries, ma’am. If you don’t mind, of course.”

The older woman turns to look at me, and I recognize her instantly. But before I can even say hello to Alba’s mom, the little boy beside her peers up at me and gasps.

“It's Easton Raines!” he squeals. “See, Grandma? I told you I met Easton Raines!”

It’s the little boy I met at the library. Alba’s son .

I nod at the kid, a smile spreading across my face. “Jagger! Twice in one week? Good to see you again, little man.”

Mrs. Anderson blinks in surprise. “Oh my goodness. Easton! What a treat it is to see you! ”

“Good to see you, too, ma’am.” It really is. Alba’s mom, Patty, always seemed to go out of her way to help my family back when we lived in town. Sometimes, she would even throw a few extra cans of soup into our weekly food box.

I lean in for a polite hug and I’m surprised at how frail she feels. And is it just me, or are her pants inside out?

“Alba mentioned running into you. Welcome back to town,” she says to me.

“I just got in yesterday,” I tell her. “The plan is to spend the summer here.”

She offers a little nod. “Well, that’s lovely. How have you been enjoying being back home so far?”

I blow out a breath. “Let’s just say that a lot has changed around here since I’ve been gone.”

Her eyes dim a little. Shit. I wasn’t implying anything about her husband, but I wonder if that’s where her mind went. I can imagine it’s a sore subject for her, whatever it is that happened with all that.

“Did you see that the old diner changed hands again?” she says with a chuckle.

“Jeesh. Again?” I laugh.

“And Miss Anna’s bakery closed down. But I’ve heard rumors that we’re getting a Jittery Joe’s franchise sometime over the summer.”

When my mom appears at the other end of the aisle, I wave her over to join us, and we all catch up a little bit right here in the middle of the grocery store aisle. My mom and Mrs.—er, Ms.—Anderson were friendly back when we used to live here, and they both seem thrilled to see each other again.

“We should get together and catch up,” my mom is saying to Patty .

“Will you be staying in town a while too?” the woman asks my mother.

Mom nods. “I’ll be in town with Easton for the summer as he heals up from this ankle injury.”

The little boy taps me on the arm. “I’m glad you’re staying in my town.” He grins up at me.

“I’m glad, too,” I say, and it’s not entirely a lie. I’m starting to feel like a summer away from my chaotic life might be good for me.

“Wanna hear a joke?” Jagger asks me.

“Sure,” I give him a nod and his eyes brighten instantly.

“Knock, knock!” he shouts, bouncing on his toes.

“Oh! Uh...” How does it go? Right . “Who's there?” I play along.

“ Penalty!” he responds.

I frown, trying to figure it out. “Penalty who ?”

“ Penalty for tripping on this joke!” he exclaims and then giggles.

I find myself laughing, too, even though the joke’s punchline didn’t hit quite right. The kid is funny, I’ll give him that.But it’s not the joke itself that has me laughing. It’s the pure innocence beaming off him and the amusement in his eyes. His happiness tickles something inside my chest.

As I watch him leaned forward, red-faced and belly-laughing, I can’t shake the feeling that I know this little boy. I’m sure of it. I mean, I’ve never put much thought into reincarnation or living multiple lives, but what else would explain this strange feeling?

“My aunt Alba helped me put your autograph in a picture frame. Thank you for not signing my forehead. My head’s too big for a frame.”

He has me chuckling again.

Growing up, I was one heck of a goofball. Telling silly jokes was my love language. But laughter has become a rarity in my world ever since my recent injury. Yet this kid seems to have a way of pulling the laughs right out of me.

“You’re welcome, little man. Though I think your head is the perfect size.” But something he just said sticks out to me. “Alba is your aunt ?”

His grandmother steps in, hugging the child from behind, ruffling his brown curls. “Yes, Jagger is Raya’s son. You remember Raya?”

Raya? I blink. Of course I remember Raya.

I especially remember when she showed up at my house on one of my last nights here in Fairy Bush.

We were alone. I was drunk. She was drunk. And we ended up making some regrettable—naked—decisions that night.

I don’t like this nauseous feeling that’s suddenly starting to brew in my gut.

I look to Jagger. “How old are you, buddy?” I’m guessing he’s probably six? Maybe seven? That would put me in the clear, because I left town nine years ago and never came back.

But then Jagger flashes a toothy grin and declares, “Eight! I’m eight years old!” And I nearly drop to my fucking knees.

Meanwhile, Patty is still talking obliviously. “Alba has been so wonderful about taking care of him while her sister is… away .”

A shadow comes over the woman’s eyes and this growing sense of uneasiness strangulates me. I don’t get a chance to question her before she pulls out her phone.

“How about I get a picture of you two together?” she suggests, motioning between Jagger and me. “Then we could add that to your frame, too. ”

My mom claps. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

“Yeah. Sure thing,” I say.

My thoughts are reeling as the kid and I move to stand in front of a row of potato chips. I kneel down so we can squeeze in together side by side.

But as we hold our pose, waiting for Jagger’s grandmother to snap the picture on her phone, her eyes widen slowly as they bounce between me and the little boy. “Oh my…”

My mom stares at us, too, her jaw dropping wide open. “I…you two look…”

“Identical,” Patty supplies.

As the two women trade a weird look, I stand back up and take the phone from Patty, peering over at the picture she just took.

What? What in the…?

Me and the kid…we have the same dimples. The same smile. The same hair. The same…everything.

When I look at my mom again, she’s as white as a sheet. I open my mouth, not knowing what to say. But right then, Alba rounds the corner.

Her green eyes quickly assess the situation. The two older women, gaping in shock. Jagger standing there, grinning in innocent oblivion. And me? I can’t even imagine the look on my face.

Alba seems to quickly figure out what’s happening. Then, panic sets in.

In a rush, she darts toward Jagger. “Oh my gosh. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She grabs his hand and tries to hustle her nephew and her mother away. “We’ve gotta get home and start dinner before my class tonight.”

“Alba. Hi,” my mother tries to interject .

“Ms. Raines, hi. It’s so wonderful to see you.” She pushes out a smile. “Sorry, we have to run.”

Without thinking, I reach out and grab Alba’s wrist. She turns to face me. When I see the fear in her eyes, I immediately drop her hand.

Still, I lean into her ear, whispering, “You can’t just walk away, Alba. I just had a bombshell dropped on my head. You can not just walk away.”

Some nosy person squeezes behind Alba to grab some candy off the shelf, forcing her closer to me.

Tears blur her eyes. She is slowly shaking her head. “Please. Please, let’s not do this here. Not in front of him.” Her chin motions to Jagger.

“Alba, what is going on?” I’m desperate for answers.

Her frantic eyes dart around. “Give me your phone number.”

My brows dip low. “So you can never call me? I don’t think so.”

“Fine.” Alba momentarily squeezes her eyes shut. “Here’s mine.”

She rattles it off, and I call the number immediately. When her purse starts ringing, I’m sure she’s given me the correct number.

“I’m calling you tonight,” I say and my words sound like a warning.

Alba sighs. “I…I know…”

Then she leaves me in the grocery aisle, walking away as a little curly-haired stranger who shares my entire face waves frantically at me.