Wanting Something More. Kathy Love

See you soon.”

      Marty hung up the phone, and she was struck with another wave of guilt, this time for her sisters. Neither Ellie nor Abby had pressured her any further about why she had just shown up out of the blue. Or why she insisted on staying at Grammy’s house, alone. Just like with Diana, she owed them an explanation.

      At least Diana already knew most of the story about Rod. What a jerk he was. But she didn’t even know where to begin with her sisters. Her sisters who had their lives together. Jobs they loved. Wonderful husbands—maybe the only two truly good men out there. How was she supposed tell them that her life was a complete mess?

      She sighed. She might not be ready to talk yet. But she did want to be with Ellie. To be surrounded by the smells of the holidays, cookies and spices and pine. She wanted to lick the beaters that Ellie used to make the cream-cheese frosting for the carrot cake. She wanted to feel safe and loved.

      She wanted to go back and appreciate the things she had once taken for granted.

      She glanced at the clock. It was a little after two. Maybe she’d just get her clothes together and get ready for the party over at Ellie’s house.

      After looking through her minimal clothing, she finally decided on a green, ribbed turtleneck sweater and black jeans. She suspected other people would be dressed up more, but she was so tired of dressy. After wearing hundreds of evening gowns, crazy fad fashions, and spike-heeled, pointy-toed shoes, she was much happier dressing for comfort.

      She had mixed feelings about the party tonight. On one hand, a big crowd would be a welcome distraction, but only if they didn’t ask her about her career, her life in New York, or her romantic life. Now, what were the chances of that?

      She sighed and looked at the clock. It was 2:30 p.m. She’d have plenty of time to get to the store, grab a quick lunch, and then head over to Ellie’s.

      That way she could also get a couple of hours to play with Emily before her little niece went off to spend the night with Mason’s folks. Emily was still wary of her. But Marty was making headway; she’d gotten a few shy smiles and a few “wasdats?” Emily was already full of questions. At least those questions, Aunt Marty could handle.

      She shoved her clothes into her tote bag, along with a pair of chunky-soled, black shoes, and headed back downstairs.

      She tugged on a worn parka that she’d found in the front hall closet. The coat was huge and a sort of olive green color, but she really liked it. It was comfy and warm. She guessed it must have belonged to Ellie, although it had to have been enormous on her too. But Marty suspected Ellie had been going for warmth, not fashion. Marty could relate to that. It was darn cold outside. Fashion wasn’t worth frostbite.

      She put on a pair of bright red earmuffs and a rainbow-colored scarf that had matching mittens, all of which she also found in the front closet. She knew it wasn’t a great look, but who was going to be looking at her anyway.

      The grocery store parking lot was full, but since it was the Saturday before Christmas, it only made sense.

      Marty parked her car next to a beat-up station wagon loaded to the brim with shopping bags, wrapping paper, and bows. It certainly looked like someone was going to have a good Christmas.

      She smiled and hummed “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas.” And it did, the fresh snow from a small storm last night, the garland and red bows across the storefronts.

      Some of Marty’s uneasiness started to subside. She hadn’t been fair to Diana, but that was the first time she had ever left her agent in a lurch. Hell, she’d posed for the cover of one fashion magazine with pneumonia. She never shirked her responsibilities—too bad she might be shirking them for good.

      Grabbing a shopping cart, she wheeled inside the store. Beckham’s was a New England chain of grocery stores, but this one didn’t feel like part of a chain. There was an old-fashioned market feel to the place. The floors were polished hardwood and the shelves were also finished wood. But Beckham’s had more produce and specialty items than even the store where she shopped in Manhattan. And despite the smaller feel, it was actually a rather large place.

      She wove her cart through the produce section, smiling at how fresh and beautiful all the different fruits and vegetables looked heaped in their respective bins and bushel baskets.

      She picked up a huge orange and sniffed it, thinking of how the citrus scent seemed Christmasy too. Then she noticed a woman across the aisle watching her, a slight frown creasing her brow.

      Marty immediately felt silly. Smelling fruit. She started to place it back on top of the others, then thought better of it and put the orange in her cart. Maybe people got weirded out about buying presniffed produce.

      She pushed her cart along. What did she want for lunch? Maybe something light, since she’d be undoubtedly eating tons tonight. She loved Ellie’s cooking.

      Hmm. She headed over to the deli counter. They had premade sandwiches, several soups, and salads. She considered the choices for a moment, then looked up to get one of the deli staff’s attention. But she already had it.

      One woman with a net on her head watched her, her expression rather dour. Another younger woman, who looked much more pleasant than the first woman, appeared quite intrigued by Marty. But she looked away when she realized that Marty saw she was staring.

      The two men behind the counter didn’t look away, however. One smiled. The other looked like he was trying to visualize her naked.

      “I’d like one of the turkey wraps, please,” Marty said, trying to keep her voice friendly even though she actually felt a bit bothered by the attention. Which wasn’t really fair, she knew. She couldn’t truly expect people not to recognize her. This was a small town, and the locals did know her.

      But she had, probably naively, imagined coming home and just falling back into anonymity. Another fantasy, obviously.

      The dour woman snatched up the sandwich from behind the glass counter and moved to another counter to wrap it in foil, all the while looking very put out.

      Marty sighed, then decided to ignore the woman.

      The young woman offered Marty a tentative smile, which Marty returned readily. That made her feel better, until she noticed the two men speaking quietly and throwing her sidelong glances. One of them made a gesture with his hands in front of his chest—the universal sigh for breasts. Both men laughed. And Marty’s temper flared again.

      The dour woman slapped the wrapped sandwich down in front of her, eyeing Marty coldly.

      Marty thanked the woman and placed her wrap in the cart. She started away, telling herself that the woman was obviously just a grouch.

      Then she heard someone, and she had no doubt it was the grouch, say, “I’ve seen prettier.”

      One of the men, undoubtedly the one proficient in sign language, said, “Well, you ain’t seen her in them sexy little nighties and whatnot. She looks some sweet.”

      “Hmmpf,” the grouch said, obviously dubious.

      Marty kept walking, pretending she didn’t hear, but inside she was seething. Not that she hadn’t experienced this reaction before; she had. For some reason, people thought they could talk about her as if she were an object. Just a face on a magazine, not a real person. And it hurt. And she hadn’t expected it to happen here.

      She wasn’t going to let a few thoughtless people ruin her good mood. Determinedly, she continued to browse the aisles for a few peaceful minutes before she overheard a hushed voice saying, “You’d never know that was her.”

      Marty didn’t pause in reaching for a box of tea, choosing to believe that the stranger’s observation wasn’t about her. But when she turned to toss the tea into her cart, there was no ignoring who the woman was talking about. The whispering lady and her friend were staring directly at Marty, although they did have the good grace to glance away when Marty stared back.

      Rather