Page 101 of The Lookback
“I guess,” Emery says. “Or maybe he’s just taking time to think things over, but he still feels about you the same way he always has. That’s my guess.”
I shrug like I’m nonchalant, even though my mind is now spinning out. “Maybe.” That night at home, my traitorous fingers check my phone incessantly, hoping that she’s right.
But he never texts.
The next day, while I’m in the True Value shopping for more broccoli and green peas because my cardiologist insists I eat them daily, I glance down at my purse for one second, and when I look up again, I almost run into him. I expect him to ignore me, but he doesn’t.
“Mandy.”
He’s holding one of those pathetic little plastic baskets, and all he has in it are three sad-looking TV dinners.
“What are those?”
“I was worried I might run into you at Brownings or the Gorge,” he says.
That makes me laugh. “No chance of that. I’ve been hiding at home.”
He laughs, too. “I suppose fate had other plans this time around.”
“Listen,” I say. “The last thing I want to do is make your life miserable while you’re here. You are only here to help out my granddaughter.”
“But she’s not,” Tommy says. “She’s not related to you in any way.” He frowns. “She’s Jed’s great-niece, but you had nothing to do with him.”
“From the moment those two women came into town, they’ve been like daughters to me,” I say. “Sometimes the family we choose is dearer to us than the people we’re born to love.” Or at least, I like to think it’s true, since I don’t have any children of my own. Itfeelstrue.
“The gas station attendant tells me that youboughtAbigail and her son Jed’s ranch back. Did he really leave it to a charity?”
“Worse. That idiot left it to analienfoundation like a complete crackpot.” I suppress my urge to swear. It’s not especially ladylike, which is fine because I’m not much of a lady, but it doesn’t seem like the best time to advertise that fact. “I was just repairing his idiocy.”
“Some things really never change.” Tommy’s half-smiling.
“I’m so sorry.” The moment I say it, I know it’s a mistake.
Tommy’s face darkens like the rolling clouds of an impending storm. “I can’t, Mandy.”
“I waited two years for Jed to forgive me,” I say. “He never did.”
“I’m nothing like him.” Now he looks even more upset.
Nice work, Mandy. “I know you aren’t. So when the play is done, if you’re still upset, please go home. Don’t feel bad about it, either. No hard feelings from me.”
“It’s not that I—” He sighs. “I’m not angry, or not just angry, anyway.”
“Your TV dinners are going to melt and they’ll be even worse than they already are,” I say. “You don’t have to explain anything to me right now. Just go.” I step aside.
“Oh, well, now that I know you’re hiding at home, I don’t have to eat these.” He chucks them back into the bin. “Thanks for suffering so I don’t have to.”
I gesture at my mounds of broccoli. “Actually, it’s years of delicious bacon I have to thank for my suffering. I’m supposed to eat these blasted greens with every meal, which is fine during the summer when my garden’s in full bloom, but it’s really obnoxious over the winter, when I’m stuck eating wilty junk they bring up from Mexico.”
“At least it’s not all canned.” He pulls a face. “I hated canned pears the most, I think.”
“It’s just that they’re so good fresh. . .”
“And so mealy and stringy and gross canned.” Tommy’s smiling. “You know, I didn’t even know I like pears until I was an adult and tried a fresh one for the first time. Why did our moms use exclusively canned fruit?”
“I think transportation was harder,” I say, just a little proud of myself for making him smile about fruit. I can’t help being optimistic as I turn to march up the aisle and pay. My cause can’t be totally hopeless if he can smile during an awkward exchange in the grocery store.
Or maybe the fact that he’s already getting over his upset indicates he didn’t feel that strongly about me in the first place. I pause, thinking things through slowly. Should I be hoping it takes him a long time? Deep feelings are harder to sort out, right?
