The Things We Leave Behind
opening excerpt
I am a sucker for blue eyes, a bit of a bad boy, and responsibility. Responsibility became part of my must-haves, to my surprise, some years back. I don’t remember what “responsibility” replaced, possibly a guy that can lift heavy stuff. But blue eyes, the hues of Irish sky, Scottish azure, Nova Scotia Benjamin Moore 796, pop my bubble gum.
I was a sucker. I sucked up every line of flattery a guy offered. It started with intriguing eye contact, a little dangerous fun and then it ended with quelling my self-esteem. Cheaters, controllers, or a few that just couldn’t keep a job.
I married Michael twenty years ago. He and his Halifax eyes. I think of him as I spot another blue-eyed man down my line-up. I forget about Michael and pretend not to have noticed this fit-looking creature. This isn’t the first time he’s come through my queue, flirting with hardihood. Why did that word occur to me? Appearance is military, something about the haircut and straight posture, usually garbed in workout gear. Calculate age difference, carry the one, carry the decade. Does he see my silver hair, is he curious about boobies and gravity, does my Covid-19 mask match my eyes? My current customer babbles and mumbles behind the plastic partition. I hope she isn’t asking if the cinnamon buns have mouse dung in them today because I answer, “yes” and “you are welcome.”
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