I stopped the rocker short at the idea, then started up again, whispering swear words every time I pushed off the asphalt. I had no business becoming a moonshiner. None at all.
Anderson must’ve spotted me out there, sweating and mumbling to myself like a mad hatter, because he came outside and took a seat in the spare chair. He didn’t say anything, just picked at the splintering paint on his rocker. I felt the vibe coming from him, though: an honest desire to check on my general well-being.
I’m fine, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t speak these words with any amount of authenticity. I was out of my depth and knew it. I had a view of the shore and one of the open sea, and I had it in my mind to swim out farther.
“Am I in your spot?” I asked after a while, since he spent his breaks out here, typing on his pocket phone.
He chucked a paint chip onto the sidewalk. “No. I came to see if you were joining us for lunch. It’s not like you to miss a meal.”
I patted my paunch. “Day’s gotten away from me. Been busy around here.”
“I made chicken noodle soup.”
“Low-sodium?”
He smiled, that bastard, his teeth bleach white and all accounted for. “What else is there,” he said.
I tipped my head to the dining hall windows. “Josie and Carl in there?”
He turned and stared at the glass for some time, though you couldn’t see inside. The afternoon sun glared off the panes, and they gave away nothing, besides our vague reflections. We were shrunken and warped in them—so really, I looked about the same as I did in real life.
“They’re in there.” He turned back and squinted at me. “Is that why you’re out here?”
“Hmm?”
He shook his head, because he knew better. “What’s going on?”
Ode to the question of the day. I shrugged. “I’m just making sure Carl has some time with her, is all.”
“That’s nice of you . . .” A sly smile crept across his face. “Do you want to make sure I have some time with her too?”
I snorted. “Oh, God help us.”
“What? She’s good-looking. You don’t think?”
“I am not in a position to make a determination like that on a girl more than sixty years my junior who is also my best friend’s granddaughter.”
He held one brow high, waiting, insinuating that my lack of frankness was out of character. Which it was.
“I’m not saying one way or the other, Anderson.”
“Objectively,” he urged.
“No.”
“Man to man.”
“Knock it off.”
“She’s hot, though, right?”
“I guess,” I grumbled, to shut him up. He pumped his fist in victory, so I added, “You’re a miserable human being.”
“Bullshit. I made you lunch. In fact, you owe me, and you can pay me back by putting a good word in.”
“No can do,” I said without hesitation. That was all I needed to be doing with my time—helping their fledgling acquaintance become a bona fide relationship.
“Come on. I’ll bring a saltshaker to your table.”
“You are on your own, sir. Plus, I don’t know what you like about this girl besides her looks, and if you can’t articulate that, I think you should probably stay away.”
Thoughtful, he crossed his arms, his tattoos arching with his biceps.
“This isn’t just some random dolly, you realize,” I added, hoping he gathered the implication. She was Carl’s and she was young and she was vulnerable, and after everything was said and done, she was going.
“Duffy,” he said, “do you seriously think I’d play her?”
“Well.” I thought of all the things Anderson had ever told me. Happenings at bars and parties, plus a one-time romp with one of his friends’ mothers. But then I thought of all the things I’d actually seen him do, the least of which included rubbing Valencia’s foul bunion-covered feet just because she’d asked him to.