Cold Comfort Read Free

derriere.
    “…It looks good. Becoming on you,” he said, scrambling. “So tell me. How are you?”
    “I’m good. Good.” My heart was pounding so fast, I suddenly felt woozy and unwell. I ran a hand over my mouth, praying that I didn’t have traces of powdered sugar from the sfogliatelle pastry still dotting my lips.
    In truth, this chance meeting had thrown me totally off kilter. The spontaneous part of me, the part dictated by my heart, was truly glad to see Jack. But my mind overruled my heart and unearthed a whole hodgepodge of feelings for Jack from a very long time ago.
    Jack was a guy—really, the guy—who broke my heart in college. Although I don’t think he knew how deep and profound a wound he’d left in me. At the time, the slow dissolution of our relationship was all-consuming. Thankfully, the years had dulled the sting. He, and the thought of him, had ultimately been reduced to an every-now-and-then passing flash—the what-could-have-been-but-wasn’t-meant-to-be —that burned brightly in my mind only to dim just as quickly.
    “It’s been a long time,” he said, studying me as if checking to see whether I had retained my youth any better than he’d retained his.
    “Yes, it has been a while,” I agreed. “Hard to believe we graduated college what…is it eleven years ago?”
    Jack nodded. “I was really hoping to see you at the reunion last year.”
    “Oh, I couldn’t make it,” I told him. “I was on assignment.”
    “On assignment? Sounds important… What do you do?”
    “I travel a lot. Work as a photojournalist for the Associated Press.”
    “Wow! You’re still there… That’s great.”
    “And what about you?” I asked.
    “Me? I work here.” He gestured with his hands, motioning around the fish store.
    “Really?” I narrowed my sights on him. “Since when?”
    “Since…” he hesitated. “Since I couldn’t feed my family on what I was earning as a starving artist.”
    I quickly read between the lines of what he’d told me, but was unsure how to respond.
    Okay, sounds like he couldn’t make a go of an art career… He’s married…has a family — outside of me, who doesn’t?
    “So, I guess that means, you’re not in graphic arts anymore?”
    He shook his head. “Unless you count my artwork for the Fresh Catch of the Day .” He pointed to a chalkboard mounted on the wall over the bubbles that ascended inside the lobster tanks. There were colorful sketch images of lovable looking squid and octopi with a price per pound printed beneath the gangly legs of the doodles.
    “Some things never change. You always were gifted and talented.”
    He laughed. “And I could always count on you for compliments.”
    “How’s business?” I asked, swiveling my sights around the shop.
    “I’m afraid if I say, good , the echo in here is bound to make you think I’m a liar. Come back on Christmas Eve and ask me the same question.”
    The bell on the front door of the store jangled, and it served to dispel the beat of awkwardness that lingered between us.
    “So, tell me,” he asked. “What are you doing on Federal Hill, anyway? Do you have a photo assignment in this neck of the woods?”
    “No. Have the weekend off. I’m here to visit my aunt…Minnie LaRusa.”
    “ She’s your aunt?”
    “Yes, my great-aunt. You know her?”
    “Of course, I do. I’ve known her for years. She’s a great lady, a good customer.”
    At his comment, my Smartphone chimed to alert me that a new text message had just been delivered. I rummaged through my purse and by the time I pulled out the phone, my pulse rose when I read the characters: Where R U? Getting late...
    “Bad news?” Jack asked.
    “No, I’m just kicking myself for teaching Aunt Minnie how to text.” When I looked up, I spied the wall clock hanging above the fish counter. It was official. I was now three minutes late in getting back to fetch Aunt Minnie. “She’s probably the only 96-year-old in the whole world who