Brooklyn Love (Crimson Romance) (32 page)

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to wait and see, eh?” Jacob laughed and gazed at his future, in Rachel’s eyes. Their wedding was still six weeks away but felt like an eternity.

She laughed too, and together they grabbed a shopping cart.

It was a typical fall day in Brooklyn, when Abby Miller wiped the sweat off her forehead as she ran through traffic and nearly collided with a white-haired lady crossing against the light.
The perfect way to start my birthday,
she thought.

Car horns beeped at Abby as she leaped over the sidewalk curb, but she drowned out the morning traffic by remaining focused on her goal:
Get bagels for the kids!

Swerving to avoid the older woman, Abby reached the bagel shop on Nostrand Avenue just as a crowd of Brooklyn’s finest emerged from the store. The police officers in their blue, button-down uniforms dunked doughnuts in their coffees as they discussed the latest Yankees scores. Firemen — taut muscles peeking out of their short-sleeved Ts — filed out of the shop holding paper bags filled with bagels while cradling cardboard four-packs of steaming hot coffee. Abby imagined what the men bought their wives or girlfriends for their birthdays. Jewelry? Perfume? Flowers? She’d left David a thousand clues that today was her birthday and wondered what her husband would surprise her with.

“What can I getcha?” The server behind the counter interrupted her thoughts. The fellow was the grandson of the original proprietor of Brooklyn’s Bagels, and as she stared at the photos on the wall behind him, she noted that every generation of bakers seemed to look exactly like the one before. They were all bald and round, and she briefly wondered if the job wore off on the servers or if it was merely a coincidence that they looked like bagels.

“Two Everything Bagels with egg salad, onion and lettuce, hold the tomato — don’t forget the sour pickles — and two poppy bagels with a
schmear
of cream cheese, please.” Abby smiled as the bagel man began working on her order.

Great,
she thought as she glanced at her watch.
Five more minutes. Should make it home in time. The kids will have their lunch, and David should have my birthday present ready. Maybe he bought that ring I showed him from the Home Shopping Network. That would be so romantic!

She heard the familiar tone of Barbra Streisand’s
The Way We Were
and reluctantly answered her cell phone.

“What, Ma?” Abby said as she waited for her order.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Besides Caller-ID? Nobody else would call me this early in the morning.”

“Happy Birthday, baby. The big three-oh.”

“You remembered!”

“How could I forget? I was there.”

Abby laughed. “Can’t wait to see David’s surprise!”

“Oh, you’ll be surprised, all right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He probably won’t remember — he’s so busy at work.”

“And I’m not busy?”

“Not busy like a medical resident,” Ma said. “You got the kids off to school?”

“Soon … ” Abby glanced at her watch. “We ran out of bread for their lunches, so I ran out for bagels.”

“But their school bus is coming!”

“That’s why I’m in a rush, Ma.” Abby knew she had to get Ma off the phone and thought of how to bow out without offending her. She quickly assessed that an insulted Ma was not worth the hassle and knowing their dynamics — it was easier to give in.

The bagel man finished the order and gave it to Abby as she paid. Abby flashed the man a smile, stuffed her change into her pocket and ran out of the store with her purchase.

“You didn’t get yourself a bagel, did you?” Ma said as Abby adjusted her phone. “You know how those pounds add up.”

“Ma!” Abby ran across the street, nearly bumping into a young mother on the way to her bus stop with two small children.

“I don’t mean to criticize you, baby, but as your mother — I worry for your health.”

Doesn’t mean to criticize?
“I gained ten pounds over the year, Ma. It’s not so terrible.”

“That’s true, but what if ten becomes twenty? Or fifty?”

Abby continued running down the street. “Okay, Ma, I hear you.”

“Yeah, right,” Ma said. “If you don’t want to take care of your health, at least think of David.”

“David?” Abby ran through a playground on Nostrand Avenue, a shortcut where she’d climb over the fence to her attached townhouse on the other side.

“It has to be hard for David to remain monogamous with all those fancy lady doctors he works with, the single ones — slim and attractive.”

Abby tried to catch her breath. She hated when Ma used the threat of “Other Women” as a way to get her to do what she wanted. “David loves me, Ma. And I don’t understand why you’re getting all worked up over one stupid bagel.”

“Love, shmove,” Ma sighed. “You just don’t want him wondering what he’s doing with a girl like you when he has all those capable, attractive women fawning over him.”

It was bad enough always trying to gage what David was thinking (how could she when he was rarely home?) Abby had enough of Ma’s accusations. “That’s hurtful.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

Abby moved through the playground and reached the fence. “How is telling me that David won’t want me being helpful?”

“I don’t want to see you alone, and my grandbabies without a father, because you aren’t keeping up.”

“You think I want to be alone?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore. Between the weight gain and escaping into the soaps and all those romance novels — you sure don’t behave like a woman who wants to keep her man.”

“How can you say that? My life revolves around taking care of David and the kids. I taste what I cook, so I gain weight. Is that a crime? Anyway, David doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Doesn’t seem to mind? You’re living in a dreamland, Abby! Like those romance novels you feel compelled to write — God knows why — or that stupid soap opera you’re addicted to.”

“
One Life to Lose
is not stupid. It’s about true love. And you know why I write.”

Ma sniffed. “Right. ’Cause Abby Miller, age thirty and mother of three, thinks she’s going to be a star. You’ll be famous, and everyone will want to read your romance novels.”

Abby stopped suddenly. “That’s exactly what I think, Ma.”

“You’re delusional, baby. But I love you, anyway. Lose the bagel, okay?”

“Later, Ma.” Abby shut the phone and heaved herself over the fence.
Not bad for a fat girl,
Abby thought, and landed with a thump.

A short, thin, red-haired man with a furry, beaver-shaped mole on his forehead crouched on the ground, shot to his feet at her sudden appearance and scurried away.

Two more minutes
, she noted, and then she stumbled, twisting her ankle. Shoot, she thought, as she smoothed her hair.
Can’t be late. What was that?
She bent down to see what had tripped her and let out a scream.

It was a severed human hand.

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