Page 54 of Found in Wild Sage

Leaving Evie and Charlie at my house on a sunny morning feels wrong. But I do it.

If I learned anything last week, it’s that Evie’s going to need space. If I can give that to her, especially now that we’re sharing a home, then I need to.

So I keep my usual every-other-Sunday commitment and meet May after church to help distribute items from the community food pantry. It’s run by the several denominations that use the church’s space, and the town is very supportive.

When my sister told me about it, I caught myself thinking there shouldn’t be anyone in Juniper View who needs food assistance. But I know better than that—I’ve seen food insecurity all over the world and frequently in the military. It’s certainly possible in a small town with major fluctuations in seasonal tourism.

“Shouldn’t you be home with your wife?” May winks, her long red hair wavy down her back. She’s wearing a bright blue sundress that matches her eyes, and she looks both like the lovely grown woman she is and like the little toddler I remember from childhood, too. We’re six years apart, and she was the consummate baby of the family.

Even before she got sick.

We quickly set up folding tables and lay out the produce she manages to get donated every other week while other volunteers haul over the boxes of pantry staples. She’s got a recipe sheet and ingredient list, so then we line up each item.

“I like how you have different options here.” I nod to the peanut butter section where there are creamy, crunchy, and the abomination that has both peanut butter and jelly in the same jar.

She smiles. “There should be choices here. I like to make sure there are at least a few places where preference instead of need can lead the way.”

I nod, my heart squeezing for her soft, thoughtful way. In another twenty minutes, the distribution begins. People make their way from the check-in down the line. May mans the last part, where she pulls out frozen chicken thighs or wings and ground beef or pork, depending on the person’s preference.

Clementine comes through as we’re wrapping up. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s not meeting eyes. Admittedly, a small jolt of surprise hits me, but I’m not about to let on.

“Hey, Clementine. Do you prefer Gala or Pink Lady apples?”

Her eyes meet mine finally.

“Pink Lady, if you have them.” Her nerves are on full display as she grips the canvas tote where she’s tucked the other items.

“We do.” I hand her the bag of apples, give her a smile, and May takes over.

May has the gift that makes people instantly comfortable and un-self-conscious, and she works her magic now. She cracks a joke about the weather while she pulls out Clementine’s options, tucks them in a plastic bag, then hands them over.

“We’re back here in two weeks, but you know where to find me if anything pops up.” She winks at Clementine, who grins, though her smile ripples in a way that feels like she might be holding back tears.

“Thank you,” she says, then turns to leave.

And runs directly into Finn.

“Clementine? What are you⁠—”

“You okay, Clementine? Good grief, just like a man to railroad a woman on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, am I right?”

May has somehow rounded the table and ushered her away from Finn, who’s still standing there as though stunned.

May keeps walking with Clementine, all the way to her car in the lot.

Finn’s frown is full-body as he continues over to me. “Why the hell is Clementine McClain getting food here?”

I shoot him a glare. “You need to lock that up until this is over, or better yet, forget you saw her.”

“He’s right.” May’s voice has an edge. “And if I hear you talked to her about this, you’re going to find more than a few things you love ruined.”

We all share a beat of silence, likely all remembering the various vengeances May has wreaked on Finn and whatever it was he loved at the time. Her many hobbies led to different outcomes—when she dove deep into a chocolatier phase, she dipped his flip phone in chocolate while he took a shower after he refused to help her with something. When she was considering cosmetology, she bleached his hair while he slept after he embarrassed her at school. Lucky for her, somehow everyone loved the look on him, so he actually had the win. The list goes on, and Finn knows not to ignore her warning.

He holds his hands up. “I wouldn’t. I just…” He exhales, eyes tracking to where Clementine’s car was parked but is now long gone. “I didn’t realize.”

May literally slaps him upside the head. “Don’t think about it. This is none of your business. I love you, but you can be a busybody, and no one here needs that. That’s why I don’t normally ask you.” She says this last sentence through her teeth.

He scowls. “Rude. Just because I’m social doesn’t make me a busybody. You’ve got your finger in every pot in town, so⁠—”