The Friends We Keep(98)

The Uber—it was clearly an Uber from the sticker in the window—took off, and the young man looked at Topher, who was about to tell him to call the car back immediately because he had been deposited in the wrong place. But there was something so familiar about this boy, Topher said nothing, just stared at him as the cogs in Topher’s brain clicked into place and he was swept back thirty years.

It made no sense whatsoever. For the boy standing in front of him was Evil Ben. Evil Ben just as he looked when they all met him.

“Ben?” Topher whispered, not understanding how this could possibly be. The boy frowned.

“What?” said the boy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He waited for Topher to say it again, but Topher said nothing, just stared at him, his eyes wide, his breath shallow.

“Okay.” Jack shrugged. “I guess it’s not important. Hi. I’m Jack. I’m looking for my mom? Evvie Thompson?”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” whispered Topher, the color draining from his face.





forty-five


- 2019 -



I don’t know,” said Maggie, peering through the dark spaces in the old butcher shop. “It’s pretty gloomy. I’m not sure I see this.”

“There are all sorts of things you could do,” said the agent. “Those walls could come down, and the windows could be replaced with bigger ones.”

“For a price,” said Evvie, who was as demoralized as Maggie. This was the second place they’d seen, and she had high hopes for this one, given that Topher was the one who found it. “I’m just not sure it feels right.”

“I think that’s it. I can’t see it. I don’t know,” she sighed, turning to Evvie. “Maybe we should think about it some more. I’m a bit hopeless when it comes to vision.”

“I’m not. I’ve got really good vision and I think this might just be too much money for us to get it right.”

“But it’s such a great location.”

“There will be others. We have to wait for the right one to come along.”

They were both a little blue as they left, but by the time they decided to stroll down Cheap Street, all had been forgotten, with Evvie gasping in delight at the medieval buildings—and excellent shopping.

She bought two bags from Amica, a homemade fig chutney (after trying a sample, which was one of the best things she had ever eaten), and, in Hunting Raven Books, a book for Topher on classic English gardens in the West Country.

All the while she had a smile on her face, looking up at the hanging upper balconies that lined the street, down at the crooked paving stones and the leat, the water feature that carried water from the stream beneath Saint John’s church.

“This is so charming!” she said. “I can’t believe this American gets to live here, among all this history.”

Maggie walked alongside her, delighted that Evvie was with her, that she loved it so much, that she was allowing Maggie to fall in love with Somerset all over again.

The disappointment of the butcher’s was forgotten as they stopped for smoothies in Café La Strada, and sampled pastries in the Old Bakehouse.

“If this were in America,” whispered Evvie as they stood in front of the glass cabinet admiring the cakes, “it would be Ye Olde Bakehouse.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Maggie whispered back. “There’s plenty of those to go around here.”

“If we open the café, we cannot call it Ye Olde anything, deal?”

“What do you mean ‘if’?” said Maggie indignantly. “Surely you mean ‘when.’”

“I did. Of course I did.”

By the time they pulled in the driveway, both were chattering excitedly about their dream vision of a café. An American-style diner, they had decided, with a twist. The twist being Evvie’s famous Jamaican breakfasts, naturally, and an updated, modern take on the classic diner—Evvie insisted on red vinyl stools in an homage.

Maggie opened the front door as Scout came clattering toward her.

“Hi, baby boy.” She squatted to pet him as Topher walked out of the hallway leading to the kitchen. He was with someone, but she couldn’t see who, the light from the kitchen rendering him in shadow, and she smiled.

“Hi, you. The place was a disaster. The only thing you got right was location. Is everything okay?” She noticed Topher’s face looked pained, and she stopped, looking first at Topher, then at the man behind him as he emerged out of the shadow.

Maggie stared, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing, but it made no sense. In front of her, in her house, was her late husband, as he was exactly when she first met him. He stood like a ghost in her hallway, his smile as wide as it always was, the dimples in the same place, his widow’s peak as pronounced as it always was.

Evvie walked in behind her, shrieking, but Maggie barely heard.

“Ben?” she whispered, before everything faded to black and she slipped quietly to the floor.





forty-six


- 2019 -



I can explain.” Evvie looked at Jack, then at Maggie, who was now lying on the sofa, unable to tear her gaze away from Jack.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “This is your son? But he’s . . . he’s the spitting image of . . .”