Page 40 of The Second Dance
I know not everyone had the same experience I did in school—I just didn’t realize Andy was one of those people who was having a hard time. She always seemed so energetic and cheerful. It kind of kills me to think that maybe she was having a good experience right up until she ran into me.
Her voice is soft when she speaks. “Is it nerdy that I’m so excited about the hackberry?”
“What?”
She turns in her seat, peering through the back window as though she can see in the dark. “These little plants are going to make a big difference. I can help you unload them when we get back.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow.” I turn off the highway. “I wasn’t going to stay at the home place very long tonight.”
“Where were you going to go?”
“Home?”
She turns to look at me. “You don’t live with your dad?”
It takes me a few seconds to recover. “I’m insulted.”
She laughs. “Bo, the whole town could live in that house.”
“There isn’t a house in America big enough for my old man and me. We already work together. We do not need to cohabitate.”
“Where do you live?”
“I bought my grandparents’ old place. That settles it. You’re coming by my house now.”
“Tonight?”
“You got other plans?”
She shrugs, a little smile curling her lips. “No. Let me get my car first, at least.”
I could and would drive her wherever she wants. She knows that, but she still wants her own ride. I don’t blame her. It’s smart, actually. But it also tells me she doesn’t quite trust me yet.
That’s okay. We’ve got nothing but time.
And I’m just getting started.
I drop her off at her car and get a little rush when I see her following behind me in her sedan. I don’t know what’s going through her mind, but I’m mentally retracing my steps, hoping I remembered to clean the kitchen this morning. Wondering if I made the bed.
She’s not going to see the bed, so that probably doesn’t matter.
But my blood starts heading south just at the mere thought of Andy and beds.
We turn off the county road and down the lane. In the summer and fall, the tall oaks on either side bend over the lane, so that you drive down a leafy tunnel. Right now, they’re a skeleton version. The trees slumber on, waiting for warmer weather.
I added landscaping lighting a few years back. You can make out the house, but not all the detail. My grandpa built this house for my grandma. She was a big romantic, obsessed with Europe and fairy tales. This house has her spirit in the shake shingle roof, the crisscrossed windows. The heavy, exposed beams.
Andy climbs out of her car and comes to stand next to me. “This reminds me of my grandma’s house.”
I look down at her, surprised. “Yourgrandma?”
“My mom’s mom.” She says. “She lived back in Germany. I only ever visited her a handful of times.”
I feel a little surge of pride on my grandpa’s behalf—seems like maybe he knew what he was doing.
Andy follows behind me as I lead her up to the door, but with each step, I start feeling more nervous.
I’ve never brought a woman back to the house, preferring to go to their place—that way I can leave whenever I want.
