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  “Are you back for good, or just to mess with his head?” she asked.

  “What?” I said, crossing my arms. The nerve of this bitch. “I’m not messing with anything.”

  “So then why are you here, with the same broken-puppy look he had, acting all distraught?” she asked.

  “I’m—I’m not distraught, I’m just—”

  “You are,” she argued. “Because he’s out there somewhere still thinking you left, not knowing you’re back, and that’s eating you up.”

  My mouth dropped open. This woman, whom I’d barely said hello to before today, was reaming me out better than any opposing counsel ever had, without changing expressions or even breaking a sweat. I should hire her to be my attack dog. Especially since she was right.

  He looked like a broken puppy?

  I could convince myself for the next month that telling him I loved him was something positive, but the look on his face was burned into my retinas. Gifting him with that hadn’t been a gift at all, and now I couldn’t tell him how much I wanted him to stop me. That I was madly in love for the second time in my life, with the same damn man, and how I didn’t see the spotlight beam shining on what I should do till later. How I was stupid. How I needed him more than I needed air, and I would still return a million times even if he didn’t love me back. That I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I don’t know you well enough to have this conversation,” I said, turning to leave. “But assuming you were right—just so you know, I don’t get weepy-limp over anyone. If Sully Hart has done that to me, then that should tell you something about—” I stopped and swallowed hard before weepy-limp made another appearance. “He’s important.” My bottom lip quivered, and I stood tall and held up my chin to make it stop. “He’s everything.”

  I turned and opened the door, taking a step out into the sunshine.

  “Good,” she said behind me.

  * * *

  I stood behind four other people at the bank, waiting in Lanie’s line. When she saw me, it made my heart feel a little better to see her jaw drop and toes bounce. At least my being back in town mattered to someone.

  Maybe I was feeling a little sorry for myself. Justifiably—but still. I could probably only milk that a few more times.

  By the time I got up to her teller booth, she was beaming.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Did I miss a call or something?”

  “No, I wanted to surprise everyone,” I said.

  “Aw,” she said. “Is your mom excited? How long are you here?”

  “I haven’t seen her yet, she’s next,” I said. “And—I’m back.”

  Lanie’s eyebrows rose slowly. “Be… cause you missed local raw honey?”

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Seriously, what triggered this change of heart?” She narrowed one eye. “Or who?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “One that goes beyond standing in this line. But on that note, did you know Sully left?”

  The surprise on her face couldn’t have been faked.

  “Like—left left?”

  Please God, I hope not. “I don’t think so.” I tried to look more confident than I actually felt. “The pond project is still going on, so I doubt it. But no one knows for sure, not even Kia.”

  “Wow.”

  Yeah. Wow. I wished that’s all I felt about it.

  “So, we’ll catch up later,” I said. “Can I maybe crash at your house this weekend, till I get my utilities back on?”

  “Of course,” she said. “And Nick’s making spinach alfredo tonight, so you picked a good night to swoop in.”

  I smiled. “Then consider me swooping.”

  I left, knowing I had another stop to make and trying to muster up the energy for it. I’d been so damn wound up when I got there, all my battery life drained at once when I found out about Sully. And as much as it irritated me, Kia had nailed it. Sully could travel the world doing whatever errands he needed to and I’d be fine with that. Envious, but fine. Knowing that he was out there believing I was still gone, however, was the worst kind of torture.

  Chapter Eighteen

  My mother was not a hugger. Never had been. Affectionate, yes, and hugs on special occasions were fine, but she wasn’t one to tackle people in every greeting or farewell. So when she got up from her desk and hugged me for the sixth time, I knew my coming back was a big deal.

  “So you’ll stay in your old room till your A/C comes back on,” she said, ignoring the ringing phone.

  My teeny tiny room in the double-wide, versus the guest room with the queen-sized bed at Lanie’s house? Plus Lanie. And ice cream. And Nick’s cooking. Not a hard choice.

  “Actually, Lanie already asked me to—” The crestfallen look on her face was just too much to let me to finish that sentence. What the hell happened to my unshakable mother? Somehow while I was gone, she developed a sentimental streak. “Or my room is good, too,” I said. “But I’m having dinner over there tonight.”

  “Fair enough,” Mom said, perking up like she was planning a sleepover. “I’ll pick up some wine on the way home.”

  “On the way?” I said. “Is there a liquor store between this trailer and yours?”

  “Ha ha,” she said. “Okay, smartie, you pick up some wine on the way home from Lanie’s.”

  “Will do,” I said. I’d probably need it.

  “Have you seen him yet?” she asked.

  That answered my next question. And reminded me of another him that I’d never tell her about. It was a long shot and probably laughable, but even if it were the case, she didn’t need to know. And there I went. Doing what she did. But what happened with Mr. Bailey—that wasn’t going anywhere. I told Lanie because I was having a nervous breakdown at the time, but my mother didn’t need to know.

  “No, he’s… not here right now,” I said. I didn’t have it in me to explain it again.

  “I saw him a few weeks ago,” she said. My ears perked up. “He was coming out of the Blue Banana when I was going in.”

  “Oh?” I said, acting like that was just mildly interesting.

  My mother gave me a look that let me know she wasn’t born yesterday. “Oh?” she mimicked. “Yes, oh. He said hello, and we talked about the rent for a minute, and then he had to go. Nothing exciting.”

  “Okay.”

  “Nothing about you,” she added.

  I shrugged. “Didn’t think there would be.”

  “So what do you think about this girl, Kia?” she asked.

  “I think she’s banging Bash Anderson,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “Oh?” she said, sitting forward and taking off her glasses.

  “Yes, oh,” I said, all head-tilty and cocky. “More later. I gotta go take care of some things.”

  My “things” would take all of fifteen minutes, but my road trip had taught me to appreciate the power of aloneness. I needed some time by myself to process things. To go pick up wine (early), and snacks, and sit out on Lanie’s patio and ponder what came next. Because this day and what was coming next wasn’t what I anticipated it would be. What I had thought was a sure thing had been splintered into all these maybes wrapped in question marks. Good maybes—maybe—but question marks just the same.

  I hugged her again as I left and noticed a little extra linger. My heart stung a little as I realized the toll her confession and my month-long walkabout had taken on her. It had scared her—the thought that I might stay gone forever. The thought of losing me. And I knew how that felt.

  “So I’ll see you after dinner,” I said as I pulled back. “I’ll show you all the pictures I haven’t sent you yet.”

  She patted my cheek and smiled. At least that was one person I could fix things with.

  As I drove slowly down the trailer park aisle, I saw a familiar figure. She smiled as she reached her Jeep, and I lowered my window.

  “Hey, Allie,” I said.

  “Hey,” she said, coming over and tucking a stray
strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her hair was down in waves around her shoulders. I hadn’t seen her with her hair down and without her serious work-face on in ages. “I just heard you were back. And my dad was just talking about you, too.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “I just got here. Like an hour ago maybe.”

  She laughed and held up her palms. “News travels, my friend. You know Miss Mavis pulled that thing over and burned up her cell phone the second you drove down Main.”

  “True,” I said. “And your dad was probably telling you my car’s always parked wrong,” I added, scrunching my face. “There’s not much room at the office, but I swear he’s taking his walk every time I fudge it.”

  “No, he was having one of his moments,” she said, her face falling. “He’s not taking his medicine like he should, and then he gets ornery about it. Anyway, he woke up babbling about money in the trees and Carmen at the big house.”

  I laughed. “Uh oh,” I said. “Your dad used to be kind of spot-on with his dreams. Think I’m going to prison?”

  “I hope not!” she said, laughing with me. “Have you been bad?”

  Don’t go there.

  “I plead the Fifth,” I said.

  “Good choice, counselor,” she said. “But I think he was talking about Old Man Bailey’s house.”

  My mouth went dry.

  “He used to call that ‘The Big House’ when I was little. Which I never understood, because I saw it many times and it’s not big.”

  It certainly felt big on the inside.

  “Huh,” I said, blinking away the memory. “That’s weird. Have you ever met Bailey?”

  “I used to wave to him from the car, but I never formally met him,” she said.

  “Probably a good thing,” I said under my breath.

  “What?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.” I wasn’t going to explain what happened to someone who hadn’t experienced it. I didn’t need anyone else thinking I was off my rocker. “So is he doing any better?” I asked.

  “Not really,” she said, tugging on a lock of hair. “I pull my hair down when I come to see him because he tends to stay in the present more when I do. I’ll probably have to move him soon, but that will crush him and break Angel’s heart, so I’m holding off as long as I can.”

  “She’s driving now, right?” I asked.

  Allie crossed her arms. “She’s aiming,” she said. “At the road. I wouldn’t call it driving.”

  I was dying to ask her what she knew, and she knew it. Allie heard everything. Owning a diner was second only to hairstylists and bartenders on the gossip trail. The difference was that Allie only listened. She didn’t talk. Being the gossiped-about outcast at seventeen clipped not only her wings, but any urge to spread or repeat anything.

  “So, how’s your mom?” she asked, nodding toward the office trailer.

  “Nosy and into everyone’s business,” I said.

  Allie paused and slipped her hands into her jeans pockets.

  “So she’s taking over the park from Larry?” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Interesting, huh? And she’s excited about it. Well, except for the renting-from-Sully part.”

  Damn it, just saying his name out loud came full circle to punch me in the stomach. Kia was right. I was being a weepy-limp-whatever-she-called-it.

  “He has it bad for you, you know,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as if it were a secret someone might overhear.

  My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

  “Yeah?” I asked, my voice cracking a little. She nodded, and I blew out a slow breath. “I hope he remembers that.”

  * * *

  My room in my mother’s small trailer was a hybrid. It was partially still my room—there were traces of color and knick-knacks and a silk flower that used to be in a homecoming corsage still tucked into a corner of a band poster. Along with that now was a craft bench filled with paints and brushes and some weird little pencils. Canvases leaned up against one window, and a desk and computer had been moved in next to the small dresser.

  Gerry had a new hobby, apparently. Or a new idea to sell something. Most likely the latter. My mother rarely took the time to do a project if there wasn’t a gain in it.

  I laid on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, remembering many many nights like this, studying the pattern in the ceiling tiles and wondering if I’d ever get out of this place. Look at me now. That young me would never believe I’d come back here looking to settle. No, not settle. Settle down. With Sullivan Hart, no less, now business owner renting a house in Charmed.

  I glanced over at my dresser and wondered if it was all still there. I sat up and pulled it forward, chuckling when I saw the back panel. Filled with poems, decorative doodles, phone numbers my mom didn’t want me to have, and Sully’s name written in decorative lettering. It was my private place, my sounding board, my expression. I ran my fingers along the large bubble letters.

  Oh, what that naïve girl had yet to know, to learn, to figure out. I used to lay here and either dream about the next time I’d see him, the next time I’d kiss him… then later wonder what went so terribly wrong that he could leave me behind.

  Fifteen years later, and the scenario wasn’t very different. The “terribly wrong” part was different—I hoped. God, I hoped. But I had to get my head straight. Coming back was spurred by making a decision about Sully, yes, but it needed to be about more than that. I needed to be back for myself, or I had no business being there. I needed to get my ass organized and set up. Work on my house. Start living like someone who planned to stick around a while. Take my job more seriously. Maybe even get involved in the community.

  Good Lord, did I just really think that?

  But it was true. Regardless of whether Sully ever came back, I had to start living my life, and not waiting for it.

  * * *

  I had a flat tire, fought with a judge, and came damn near to cussing out two teenage boys in a courthouse hallway for being idiots. All in one day. That wasn’t counting the fun week I’d had with the electric company debacle getting my house back on the grid, losing my favorite shoes, and twisting my ankle walking down my front steps. How was that for living my life grandly?

  I topped it off by tripping over the rug in my office trying to get to my buzzing phone, nearly face planting with a lamp. I hit the button while my butt was still in the air.

  “Lanie, you just about killed me, so I hope this call has purpose.”

  “All my calls have purpose,” Lanie said.

  “You’re right, Your Highness,” I said, kicking off the deadly shoes and sinking onto the couch. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Please proceed.”

  “Just seeing what you’re doing tonight,” she asked.

  “Well, it’s Friday,” I said. “Which means I either can go hit my mom up for a Scrabble game, hang out at Rojo’s by myself and gorge on chips, or stay home and watch Netflix.”

  “Ugh, don’t even mention Scrabble,” she said. “Nick and I used to play it all the time when we were trying not to have sex. I got so burned out.”

  “Yeah, rub it in that you’re having sex with a god,” I said.

  “Well, not tonight,” she said. “He’s playing poker with Bash tonight. They needed a sub and he needs some guy friends, so I told him to play nice with the other boys.”

  “Alan’s not in on it, is he?”

  “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t send him into a den like that. So that means I’m free. If there were only a girls night or something in my future.”

  “No shit,” I said. “Where can we find one of those?”

  Lanie giggled. “A grocery run after work for bad food and adult beverages?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. Just what the doctor ordered to pull me out of my funk. “Meet me at my house, and I have the perfect idea on what to make.”

  “Make?” she asked. “No, no. No make.”

  “Believe me, you want this.”

 
“I’m talking about eating things out of tubs and packages,” she said. “No work.”

  “It’s called Sex in a Pan.”

  “I’m in.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I have Oreos,” Lanie said, dropping them into the basket. She stopped short. “I should make the baked apples.”

  I thought about it for half a second. “Nah, that’s comfort food. We don’t need comfort. We’re kick-ass women just looking for a good time tonight.”

  Of course, right as I said that, we passed two teenagers, a mom and her preschooler, and an older man who may have been a pastor.

  And Dean. My mouth dropped open.

  “Hey Dean,” Lanie said, glancing up from studying a package of shortbread cookies. She did the same double-take. “Damn.”

  Dean had a lumberjack thing going on, and not in a good way. A full beard, baseball cap over scraggly hair, a polo shirt oddly out of place with the mountain-man head, and dirty sneakers. He stood in the produce section squeezing peaches.

  “Dean?” I said.

  He looked up, then back down, as if those peaches were the answers to all of life’s questions.

  “Holy hell, Dean, what happened to you?”

  “You happened to me,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, hell no,” I said. “I have enough issues without adding you to the roster. You can’t blame me for going off your rocker.”

  “Sure I can,” he said, selecting a peach and putting it in his bag. “I can do anything I want. I’m unemployed and have lots of free time.”

  “Let’s walk away from Grizzly Adams,” Lanie whispered, looping her arm through mine.

  “I heard that,” he said as we walked away.

  “God, that’s sad,” I said. It was more than sad, it was depressing. He was still pining over me, and I had pined over Sully for years. No one had ever pined over him. And if he didn’t shave off all that shit, take a shower, and stop fondling peaches and committing larceny, no one ever would.

  “So, ice cream?” Lanie asked.

  I chuckled. “No sympathy for the insane?”

  “We can eat it in his honor,” she said. “Unless ice cream counts as comfort food.”