There were times when mothers needed to be allowed the last word, and Zona obviously sensed this was one of them. “All right. I’ll see you later.”
“Have fun,” Louise said.
Darling had assumed he’d be going, too. “Not you,” Zona said. “We’ll go out after I get back.”
Walking around so late at night with a dog who wouldprobably lick an attacker rather than bite him? Louise didn’t like the sound of that. She was definitely going to buy a Taser for her daughter.
“Do you want me to leave?” Martin asked after the front door had closed.
“No, of course not. I’m wide awake. That dark chocolate we had earlier plus my late afternoon iced coffee have taken effect and I feel like an owl.”
“Well, night owl. We could play some cards.”
“An excellent idea,” Louise approved. “But first, would you mind doing me a favor?”
“Name it,” he said.
“Would you take Darling for a walk? I really don’t like the idea of Zona being out late at night all by herself.”
He nodded. “I understand. Happy to.”
Darling was happy that he was happy, jumping with excitement as Martin took his leash from where it hung on the coat closet doorknob.
“Be back in a few,” Martin said. “Lock the door after me.”
Louise swung herself over to the door and locked it. She texted Zona that Martin was walking Darling and there was no need to hurry home. Then she got the cards from the kitchen junk drawer, put them in her sweater pocket along with a pen and a folded piece of paper, and set everything out on the kitchen table. There. She wasn’t totally helpless.
But if they wanted anything to drink, Martin would have to fetch the glasses. Sigh.
She frowned. She wasn’t helpless, but she wasn’t independent, either. She couldn’t take her own dog for a walk. She couldn’t trust herself with a pitcher of lemonade or a cup of tea. This was not how her summer should have been going.
By the time Martin and Darling returned from their walk, she had a list of complaints waiting to be shared.
“I know. It’s no fun hobbling around,” he said. “But comeSeptember it will be off. Meanwhile, you’re finding time to write your novel.”
Finding time and making progress were two different things. She hadn’t written a word since those first two pages. Maybe Louise was meant to be a reader rather than a writer. Maybe she should become an influencer and talk about books instead.
“You know, I thought it would be so much fun to write a book, but I had no idea it was so hard.”
Martin shrugged. “Most things turn out to be harder than we think.”
“Like getting a glass of lemonade,” she complained.
“That’s what you’ve got me for,” he said with a smile.
“You are a good friend. Thank you,” she said.
He bit off a corner of that smile and went to fetch the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator.
“I’ll make this up to you when I’m walking again,” she said.
“I’m not keeping score.” He returned to the kitchen table with the pitcher, then fetched their glasses.
“I know. But I am. I hate being a pain in the neck.”
“No one thinks that, especially not me. Louise, you must know how much I care for you.”
She knew. She’d hoped he wouldn’t ever bring it up. “I do. And I care for you, too, but only in a platonic way.”
