LOGISTICS.
How does one broker an expensive watch? The best option would be privately, through some sort of watch dealer to the extravagantly rich. She would need an introduction. When she ran through a list of all the wealthiest people she knew, they were hardly the people she could ask—Mindy, Helen, Carole.
She was still mulling the question when she drove to the farm stand the next day to pick up Jem. Joe Bloom cruised the aisles.
She could ask Joe. Discreetly. If he didn’t run at the sight of her. She collided with the fact that living in a small town had enormous disadvantages if you turned into the kind of person who humiliated herself at parties.
She owed him an apology. A graceful one. If she could somehow be the kind of person who could deliver a short apology, a crisp, heartfelt sentiment. She must not overexplain, she must not dribble, she must not abase herself.
She spied on him as he examined the eggplants and peppers. Maybe it was a sign of something beyond caponata; she knew he liked Italian food. Surrounded by local tomatoes, he would be in a tolerant mood.
She caught up as he stood palming two small cantaloupes. She came from behind, hoping to catch him by surprise; she needed the advantage. “You need either a handbasket or a brassiere.”
“A handbasket,” he said. “Isn’t that what you go to hell in?”
She lifted one out of his hands and sniffed it, then the other. “These aren’t ripe.”
“Actually, I was looking for cherries. I got waylaid by a cantaloupe.”
“You can’t trust a melon.”
“A most untrustworthy fruit.”
“Those aren’t local, either. Local is usually to the right.”
Joe looked over. “Zucchini, cherries, and lavender.”
“In California, they’d put it on a pizza.”
“But we’re New Yorkers, so we stick with mozzarella.”
They were lobbing the ball back and forth, but there was no glee in it, only a desperate need to be genial. “Speaking of hell…um, the other night. All that. I didn’t mean to be a rude bitch. Or yell at nice people. Which would include you. I’m sorry. I…”
“I get it. You just found out about your ex and Adeline. Totally normal behavior.”
“I chopped down a tree.”
He shrugged. “You did a little landscaping.”
“Here’s the thing.” Hands clasped, shoulders up around her ears. “I’m not usually a maniac. I don’t really get angry. I just get sort of circular. Thinking, oh God, this is probably my fault for not doing whatever, and then, I don’t know, I talk myself out of anger because it rarely gets the right results, does it? So it just sort of dissipates instead of getting expelled. I mean, not expelled in a school way, in a purgative way.” She was dribbling. “Anyway, I’m sorry for making fun of you with the gorgeous Sancerre thing.”
“You used to get angry,” Joe said, and she remembered again dumping wine on his lap. “Look, I think everybody understood. Adeline felt terrible.”
“Yes, I’m sure her suffering is worse than mine. Dinner party disruptions can be so tiresome.”
“She’s used to getting her way, but that’s not entirely her fault,” Joe said in a gentle way that almost—but not quite—felt like a rebuke. “The world works for people like Adeline. They all get their way all the time. I would imagine it’s difficult not to get used to that. Anyway, the point is, you don’t owe anyone an apology. Just show me the cherries.”
He ambled behind her as she snapped open a paper bag and began to pick through the cherries. Because she was still apologetic, she examined each one.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for bruises.”
“Let’s live dangerously.” He took a handful and dumped them in the bag. “Are we allowed to cheat?” He held one out to her, ready to slip it into her mouth.
“I have an in, so yeah,” she said. “That’s my daughter at the counter.”
“She’s beautiful,” Joe said. “She looks like you.”
Oh, shit, she thought, that tumbling sensation, as though she were falling, somersaulting into Joe. In the middle of all this muddle, here she was. Maybe pain could make you reckless. It was a new feeling; she’d never been reckless in her life. Except, maybe, years ago, with him.
The moment was there; all she had to do was seize it. Open her mouth, let him slide the fruit past her teeth. Let him yank the stem. Not drop her gaze. Do that, and then follow her body along. It’s hot. Shall we get a beer? Sure.
She took the cherry and popped it into her mouth.
“Cheater. I knew it.” He held out his hand, and she spit the pit in his palm.
“I feel so close to you right now,” he said.
“It’s those fleeting moments that mean so much.”
“Maybe we should share a cigarette. Or go to dinner.”
There was a pause while he just stood, and she just stood, and he cocked his head.
“Well?” he asked.
“What?”
“I just asked you to dinner.”
“No, you didn’t. You suggested it as a possibility.”
He shook his head and looked up. “I forgot what a pain in the ass you were,” he said to the sky.
“Actually, I lied,” she said. “I am turning into a rude bitch. So you see, I can’t have dinner like a normal person.”
“How about a crazy person, then?” He took the bag of cherries. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a woman who parses my sentences. Have dinner with me, Ruthie. You parser, you.”