Fiction: I Am No Mountain, Part 2

–Page 3–

Outside the bank, I dawdled a bit, waiting for the drizzle to peter out again. The sun was shining too, and the town was in dire need of a facelift. The mishmash of buildings strung along the roadside made the place untidy. But it was quaint and the vibe was placating.

As much as I loved Port Antonio—the atmosphere, the food, my family—with the passing weeks, I found myself missing St. Andrew more and more. Not the divas, just St. Andrew. I was ready to live alone, for the rest of my life if I had to, start the next chapter, get therapy to force Jake out of my memory should it become unbearable, and maybe stop acting so testy and self-conscious.

“April.”

I glanced up to see him staring at me through his Jeep window. I ducked inside the nearest shop, too frightened to verify whether it was really him or my mind fooling me up. My eyebrows weren’t done; hairpins were all over my hair; and I hadn’t gotten around to shedding the ten pounds I’d gained (darn Mum and Ree-Ree).

I ordered three packs of sandwich cookies and a large bag of banana chips from the shopkeeper. She had her phone between her shoulder and ear and was taking a heck of a while to fetch the few items and bag them.

“Here, miss.” She passed them through a hole in the window and told me the amount, the phone still at her ear.

Before I could pull the money from my purse, a hand stretched over my shoulder. “Take it from this,” he said to the shopkeeper.

Jake’s cologne wobbled my knees as memories of our overcast wedding day, white-sand-beach honeymoon and lazy, movie Sundays in our pajamas spun through my mind. I could barely contain the tears. I steadied myself against the counter and waited for him to collect his change.

© Dionne Brown 2016

 

Acknowledgement:
Image “Man and Woman at Sunset” is courtesy of kongsky at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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