She leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. “I’m waiting.”
There’s no doubt this is going to backfire. If I tell Miss Romantic here that I spent time with Neely, she’ll be planning our wedding before the spaghetti gets cold. I should make up some story and play it off, but for some reason I don’t understand, I want to tell her. I want to tell someone.
I brace myself for her reaction. “Neely went with Mia and me to Dad’s.”
Haley gasps. Her hands hit the table so hard the plates rattle. “You’re joking. Dane! This is amazing.”
“This is not amazing.” I scoff despite the grin plastered on my lips. “But it was nice, and Mia enjoyed it, I think.”
“And you,” she says, poking a finger my way. “You enjoyed it. I know you did, so don’t even try to lie to me.”
“Very funny.”
She wads up the napkin from her lap and places it next to her plate. “You know, ever since I found that picture of the two of you in your closet, I had a feeling this would come full circle.”
“Slow down,” I warn. “First of all, that picture was of me, her, Matt, and Claire. Second of all—”
“Her head was on your shoulder.”
“And Claire’s hand was on my ass. You just couldn’t see it,” I lie. “Second of all, she’s just visiting her mom. She’ll be back in New York by the end of the week.”
“You must think there’s the potential for something there.”
I shake my head. “I don’t. There is no potential for anything.”
“I’m going out on a limb and saying that’s a lie.”
I pick up my bowl and glass and flip her a warning look. Heading to the sink, I try to put some space between us, but it doesn’t work. Like a puppy that doesn’t get it, she follows on my heels. The way I swing the dishwasher open doesn’t dissuade her either.
“This is none of my business,” she starts, “but let me just point out that this is the first woman you’ve brought around since Sara.”
I don’t turn around. I rinse my plate and empty the remaining water from the glass and shove them in the dishwasher.
“That has to mean something.” Her voice is soft, and something about the way she says those words hits me. “You’ve never really talked about her before, but I’ve always gotten the impression she was special to you.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and lean against the counter. My stomach is a pit of acid, churning violently as I look at my friend. Talking about Neely, saying things out loud, is something I’ve avoided for the most part for a very long time. It makes me uncomfortable. It feels like a guard has been taken down and I’m exposed. Yet the longer I stand there exposed to Haley’s insights, the more comfortable it becomes.
“She was special to me,” I say slowly, testing the waters. “She’s a special person.”
“And so are you in your own way.” She flinches. “I can’t believe I just said that. Anyway, I love this love story.”
I reach down and yank up the dishwasher door. It latches with a pop, making Haley jump.
“It’s not a love story,” I say.
“Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, but I have hope.”
“You do that.”
She jabbers on while I clean off the rest of the table, telling me how second chances happen and she has a good feeling about Neely and me.
I can’t tell her I want to have a good feeling about us too. That would put the guard a little too far down to be safe. And would be stupid. It would be really stupid since she’s leaving us again anyway.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NEELY
You’re awfully quiet this morning.” Mom glances at me from the passenger’s seat. “Everything all right?”
“I’m fine. Just sleepy.”
The sun beats through the windshield as I pilot us to Calvary Church. Usually, the sunlight wakes me up and energizes me; I count on that as I head into the office every day. I’m too far gone for any rays to help me today.
Once I finally fell asleep, somewhere around two in the morning, my dreams were loaded with koi fish and green eyes and memories of sitting on the bluff and talking until our curfew hit. Images of dinners with smiling faces and visions of Mia tumbling along grass lawns invaded my dreams too. It was a compilation of the past, the present, and things that will never be. Each time I woke up, once an hour or so, the reality would hit me that none of those things were true, and it was tough getting back to sleep.
I slow the car and make a wide circle around Blue. He doesn’t bother to lift his head.
“It’s amazing no one has hit him,” I note.
“I said the same thing last week. The town ought to get a sign or something that warns people. Like a ‘Child Crossing’ sign or something.”
“Yeah, but really—how many people come down this street who don’t know to look for him? There’s nothing down here but a few houses, and all the families have lived here forever.”
“That’s true.”
I hit the brakes at the end of the street, and the dishes laid carefully on towels in the back jangle together.
“How many things are we taking to the potluck?” I look in the rearview mirror. “It smells like a kitchen in here.”
“It’s a carry-in, so I had to bring a covered dish.”
“You brought four? Five?”
“Well, I made green beans with bacon because no one ever brings vegetables to things like this. And everyone loves my green beans.”
I laugh. “Of course they do. You cook all the vitamins out and flavor them with bacon fat.”
“I don’t hear any complaints,” she says. “I whipped together a Seven Layer Salad and found the prettiest strawberries at Graber’s, so I made a strawberry pie for the kids.”
“Screw the kids. That’s mine.”
She shakes her head as we make the turn toward the church. “I also made a raisin pie.”
“Who likes raisin pie?” I curl my nose. “That’s old-people pie.”
Mom looks smug. “Mr. Rambis likes it.”
“Ooooh,” I tease. “Mr. Rambis likes it. What else does Mr. Rambis like, Mom?”
She swats my shoulder as I pull into the parking lot. “You knock it off. We’re at church, missy.”
“Like God doesn’t know all the unholy things you’re doing with Mr. Rambis. Ouch!” I say as she smacks me with her purse. “Kidding. I was kidding.”
We step into the parking lot. The large tree in the front still has the tire swing that my youth group put up forever ago hanging off a bottom limb. The front window has been changed, and a plain sheet of glass sits in place of the gorgeous stained glass I remember.
Mom catches me looking at it. “A limb fell off the tree a few summers back and went right through that window. Such a shame.”
“It is. It was so pretty,” I lament. “I used to sit through the sermons and count the different colors.”
It’s such a small thing, really, a tiny change in the grand scheme of things. But as I peer up to the spot that used to be so colorful and is now a sheet of plain old glass, I wonder what else I missed. The things I can’t see so easily.
There’s a part of me that suddenly feels vacant, like there’s an empty space that should’ve been filled with all this knowledge and these experiences—as silly as they are. I stand on the sidewalk trying to make sense of this until the church bell rings.
“Hey!” I call after Mom. “What are we doing with the food?”
“Leave the car unlocked, and someone will come out and get it in a bit.”
I stop in my tracks. “Leave it unlocked? Seriously? What if someone steals it?”
She’s unfazed, just laughs at my serious questions and heads up the stairs without me. Throwing my hands in the air, muttering that it’s her car, I follow.
The entry is full of parishioners. Everyone I pass stops to say hello, many asking how I’m doing and asking me to visit more often. I don’t expect the outpouring of love, and i
t catches me a little off guard.
I enter the sanctuary and spy my mother talking to Mr. Rambis and Lorene, the woman who’s played the piano here my entire life, near the front. Scanning the rest of the quaint little country church, my eyes fall on Dane and Mia near the piano. Gripping the end of a pew, I try to look away but can’t.
He’s in a pair of gray dress pants and a crisp white button-down. Mia is adorable in a yellow dress with pink lace at the edges. Matt stands next to them. He bends down and whispers something to Mia, making her laugh. I laugh, too, even though I have no idea what’s transpired.
“He cleans up pretty well, huh?” Claire comes up beside me.
“He’s not bad.” I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“Not bad? I don’t know what they look like up in New York, but around here, that’s the top of the food chain.”
“Food chain?” I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, Claire.”
She shrugs. “You sticking around for the potluck?”
“I’m with Mom and she made forty million things, so apparently. Are you?”
“No. A girl I’m going to school with is having a baby shower this afternoon, so I’m cutting out after the service. Wanna go?”
My gaze drifts back to Dane. He’s found me in the crowd and gives me a little wave. I wave back in the most “I haven’t been thinking about you all night” kind of way I can.
“I better stay with Mom,” I say, turning my attention back to Claire.
“Can I just say she and Mr. Rambis are adorable?”
“How long has this been going on? I mean, I’m happy she’s dating or whatever it is, but I can’t tell if it’s serious.”
“Well, they sit together every week. Have for a while now. Since Christmas, I’d say.”
“Wow.”
“He mows her lawn a lot. I know that. My brother used to do it, but she didn’t need help this year.”
I look at Claire. “She’s baking him pie.”
“Is that an innuendo, or she’s actually baking him dessert?”
Laughing, I try to cover my mouth with my hand. “Actual pie, Claire.”
“Well, we are in the South. You get a casserole for everything. I can’t help but think a pie might be some kind of moral woman’s subtle cue. Like, ‘Here, sir. Try my pie.’” Claire bursts into a fit of giggles. “I need to go find a seat before I buy myself a ticket to Hell.”
“Good to see you, Claire.”
“Back at ya.”
I start down the aisle toward my mother, my cheeks flushed as I think of her using dessert as a sexual invitation, when Mia runs up to me. “Hi, Neely! I didn’t know you would be here.”
“Hey,” I say. “You look pretty today.”
“Thanks. So do you.” She smiles sweetly. “Want to sit with me and Dad?”
“Well . . .” I look up at her father. He and Matt are still talking, but both are watching me. There’s a pull across the church that draws me to the other side. I give in. “Let’s go say hello and then I’ll see. Sound good?”
“Yup.” She leads the way across the front of the church, past the piano, and to her family.
Matt whistles softly. “You look pretty this morning.”
“Why, thank you,” I tell him. “It’s my mother’s dress.” I pick at the oversize belt around my waist that’s partially an accessory and partially to make the thing fit. “How are you guys doing this morning?”
Before they can answer, Mia chimes in. “I’m going to go say hi to Keyarah and Madison. I’ll be back before the piano starts playing.” She darts to the back of the church, where her friends have just arrived.
Matt pulls at the collar of his shirt. “It’s hot in here. I’m going to get some water.”
Dane leans against the windowsill that looks over the back of the church. The view over his shoulder is almost as wonderful as he is. Foliage extends forever, dipping and rising with the hills. It’s the kind of view that’s inspired paintings for thousands of years.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” Dane says just loud enough for me to hear.
I pull my gaze away from the trees to him. “Mom didn’t give me much choice,” I admit. “But I probably would’ve come anyway. I’ve always liked this place.”
“Yeah. Me too. It’s why we don’t let Penn come. We don’t want it to burst into flames.”
Laughing, I feel my shoulders relax. “Are you staying for the potluck?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s the best Sunday in the month. These ladies know how to cook.”
The piano starts playing, alerting us to take our seats. Dane moves toward me. He hesitates, biting his lip before blowing out a breath. “Do you want to sit with us?”
My heart leaps in my chest as a clear indication I do. I want to sit with them. I want to sit with them so badly it actually hurts.
I want to hear them sing. Pass Mia a stick of gum when her daddy isn’t looking. Gaze around the church with Dane at my side and feel the peace this place gives me all at the same time.
But if I do, it will be one more memory I’ll have to deal with when I get back to New York.
“I better sit with Mom,” I say. “Thanks, though.”
His nod is subtle. So is the way his face falls.
The way my heart pulls isn’t so easy.
“See you after,” he says, turning toward his seat.
I watch him go and almost follow. As the pianist hits the second chorus, I get my bearings and head across the room toward my mom and Mr. Rambis.
“I can’t eat another bite.” I wave Lorene and her scoop of cobbler away. “It was amazing, but I’m going to pop if I eat any more.”
“You sure?” The ninety-year-old pianist’s hand shakes as she holds out another piece of dessert. “It’s the last one.”
“I’ll take it if she doesn’t want it.” Mr. Rambis comes up beside me. Lorene dumps the cobbler on his plate with a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome.” She teeters off toward a picnic table with a giant umbrella overhead.
The air is filled with scents of food and children’s laughter. The kids play a game of kickball in the field a few feet away. Amazingly, only one ball has intruded on the eating area, and I think Matt had something to do with that.
A woman walks by and asks to take my empty plate. I give it to her before turning back to my mother’s friend. “How’s the cobbler?” I ask before taking a sip of my sweet tea.
“Not as good as your mother’s pie.”
Choking so hard tea comes out of my nose, I cough in an attempt to clear my airways. Mr. Rambis pats me on the back.
“Are you all right?” he asks as I settle down.
“Yeah,” I say weakly. “I’ll be fine.” My eyes sting from the dramatics, and I blot them with the back of my hand. “Just got a little choked.”
“I was hoping we could have dinner one night before you leave,” he says. “I remember you as a child, but I’d like the chance to get to know you as an adult.”
I take another drink. This time, it goes down without any complications. “Are you serious about Mom?”
He considers this for a long time. By the fourth shifting of his weight from foot to foot, I start to worry. Finally, he speaks. “I’ve known your mother for years. It wasn’t until one day last fall, right before Thanksgiving, when I ran into her at the post office. She was mailing you a box of things because you couldn’t come home for the holiday, and I was sending the same kind of thing to my boy out in Idaho. We struck up a conversation, and I realized I never really knew her.”
“I remember that box. She sent me one of my grandmother’s quilts,” I tell him. A touch of guilt strikes through me. I spent that Thanksgiving alone in my apartment, eating takeout and working on a holiday piece for the magazine. It all made sense then, and I get why I did it even now. But for the first time, there’s a ball of pain in my soul that I wasn’t here. That I can never redo those things with my mom, with my fri
ends, and I missed them for what?
“Getting back to your question,” he says, clearing his throat. “I am serious when I tell you I really enjoy spending time with her. I think she’s wonderful. And I really, really like her pie.”
All I can do is nod.
Someone motions for him across the lawn and he holds up a finger. Turning back to me, he places a hand on my shoulder. “If we can have dinner, the three of us, before you go, I’d love that.”
“I’ll try,” I say.
“That’s good enough for me.” With a final smile, he weaves through the tables to a group of men.
My hand glistens with the melted ice from my plastic cup. I have half a notion to rub it across my forehead to cool myself down but manage to remember my manners. I’m searching for my mom to see if she’s ready when I spy Mia running through the tables toward me.
“Neely! Come with us,” she shouts.
“Where are you going?” I laugh.
“To the creek. Dad is taking me, Keyarah, and Madison. Come with us.”
I look up to see Dane watching me from the lawn, holding the kickball. He grins.
“You sure?” I ask her, my heart fluttering like crazy.
“Uh, yeah.” She opens her palm. A little green-and-yellow bracelet, just like Dane’s, lies in her hand. “This is for you.”
“Mia,” I gasp. I look at her. Her eyes are sparkling, filled with such a pure kindness and affection it brings tears to my eyes. “Did you make this?”
“I did. I made Daddy one a long time ago, and he wears it all the time. Says it’s his lucky charm. And I have a pink one and so do Keyarah and Madison, but we don’t wear them always because of gymnastics.”
I lift the delicate strands from her hand. “Thank you.”
She helps me tie it in place and then inspects her work. With a bright smile, she takes my hand. “Come on.” She pulls me the way she came, through the tables and over a patch of sand. Once we’re almost to her friends, she drops my hand. “Let’s go!”
The girls traipse off toward the tree line that hides a little creek. Their dresses float behind them, their giggles swishing through the air.
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