I turn back to the Vinings. “Now, where were we?”
For the next few minutes, I fill them in on everything Gretchen: college in New York, my degree and my job prospects back in the city.
“Tell us how you and Connor ended up in Arizona together,” Andrea says, circling back to her earlier question.
“Well, it actually is a long story,” I say as Connor returns with fresh drinks and takes his seat beside me. “The shortened version is that Drew was supposed to come with me, but he had something come up at the last minute, so Connor came instead.”
Connor tilts his head into the frame. “And that’s the end of the story, Mom.”
Andrea hums thoughtfully.
“Mom,” Connor says, drawing out the word.
“Oh, wipe that scowl off your pretty little face,” she quips.
I press a finger between his brows, smoothing out the crease. “Funny. I thought that scowl was just his face.”
Patrick, Andrea and I team up in laughter. Connor’s twinkly eyes promise shenanigans a moment before he rips the phone frommy grip with one hand, his other disappearing into the pool bag. Before I realize what’s happening, he announces, “Hey Mom, guess what Gretchen still has?”
An arrogant, son-of-a-bitch grin splits his face as he lifts my copy ofLittle Womeninto the frame. My head rears back, mouth agape. He meets my gaze off screen and I mouth the words“you bastard.”
“What is that? Connor, honey, I can’t see it.”
His face softens. “Remember that weekend you drove with me into the city and I bought that book from Gene?”
Andrea inhales sharply and I ease back into the frame. “Who’s Gene?” I ask.
Connor looks to me, searching my face like his parents aren’t mere inches away to witness it. “He’s that book collector I told you about.”
Memories click into place. A sad sort of smile tilts one corner of my mouth. I see it in the heavy bob of his throat, the moment he realizes that his timing, however playful he intended it to be, wasn’t ideal.
“Gretchen,” Andrea’s lively voice chimes into the void, “have you met Gene yet?”
I almost did…once.
I paste on a smile before answering, “No, I haven’t.”
“Oh, you must. Connor, you take her to see him when you get back. And be sure you thank him for letting us use his Carova house.”
Connor’s voice is thick and resigned as he says, “I always do, Mom.”
After we disconnect the call a few minutes later, Connor tosses the phone aside. “Sorry about that.” He shakes his head. “I overstepped with the book.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him.
Before he or I can say more, his phone pings with a text. He snickers as he reads the message.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“It’s my mom telling me I have some explaining to do.”
His phone pings again. “And that one?”
Connor looks at the screen. He rubs his thumb and forefinger over his eyes and groans. “She said ‘and for the record, we love her.’” A tired shrug pulls at his shoulders with an inconceivable weight that I feel in my bones.
“I love your parents. We used to sit together at your football games. Your mom would draw with me sometimes and your dad always had bubble gum for me in his pocket.” I grin at the memory.
“They always wanted a daughter. I bet you felt like a breath of fresh air for them.”
