I turn away, toward Jake. Toward the one person I know would never mess with my emotions. He’s staring at me, his eyes soft.
“I’m so sorry, Elle.”
“Let’s just get outta here, okay? Before we have reporters camped out on the doorstep.”
“Good call,” Jake says. “You still up for a stop at Jelly’s? We don’t have to, if you’d rather not.”
“No, let’s. I haven’t had a single cup of bad coffee today. I’m due.”
Jake and I have this Sunday morning tradition. It’s silly, really, and it started as kind of a joke. When Kaylee realized that Jake was a churchgoer and that he’d “dragged me into the Jesus stuff”—please note the air quotes—she gave him a hard time. Nothing awful, just Kaylee being Kaylee in her awkward, clumsy, goofing-on-everybody kind of way.
But Jake wasn’t fazed by her good-natured contempt. Instead, he went out of his way to invite her to church. Almost daily. Slipping it into conversations. Texting her. Sending her Evites. He even signed her yearbook, “See you at church!”
Her excuse, as always, was that she works on Sundays.
So we stop by Jelly’s.
Every Sunday.
And Jake comes up with new ways to torment her. And even though Delia’s tried to shove her out the door with us a few times, we still haven’t gotten Kaylee into a pew.
But it’s a lot of fun trying.
I shake my hair out. This morning I could use a little fun.
“So what’s the plan today?” I ask, forcing my mind away from Dad, away from what he’s probably seeing right now—or not seeing, as the case may be.
“Doughnuts.”
“No, I mean for Kaylee.”
“So do I.”
Jake waggles his eyebrows but says nothing more.
I squint at him, but this is a secret I can let him keep. For now.
Jelly’s is packed. We park across the street in front of the theatre, and I start toward the diner.
“The Donut Factory first,” Jake says, taking my hand and leading me across the street. “You look gorgeous today, by the way.”
I’m wearing a pale green slip dress and three-inch heels that make me nearly as tall as he is. But the real stunner, I’m sure, is that I’ve actually done my hair—I mean, beyond a simple braid or a knot on top of my head. I got the blow-dryer out and everything. It’s silky and shiny because I feel a fraction better about the world when I’m all dressed up.
“Thought a good scrubbing was in order,” I say. “I think I’ve rolled around in the mud enough for a while.”
“You don’t look half bad caked in mud either,” he says.
“Yes, well. I’d rather not repeat last night if it can be avoided.”
The back of his hand grazes my cheek. “Point taken.”
The ever-present trio of old men are holding court in front of The Donut Factory as we approach. Custard-filled long johns and the upcoming elections seem to be on the agenda for today. Based on what I pick up as we close in, Bob’s throwing his name into the ring for president.
Woody—short, square, hobbitish—whistles as I step onto the curb. I give him a slight curtsy.
“Donut, Jake?” Bob says.
Jake slaps Bob on the shoulder, throwing his aviator cap forward.
“Thanks, but I’ve got an order waiting for me inside. Rain check?”
“Depends. Who you voting for?”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve got my Bob Cobb for President T-shirt on order, and take a look at my bumper.”
We all turn. Sure enough, the Karmann Ghia’s dented bumper sports a red, white, and blue sticker with the words Bobb Cobb for President printed on it.
How did I not notice that before?
“Does Bobb really have two Bs?”
Jake shushes me.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, but Bob’s oblivious—to both my question and the typo.
“Good man,” he says. “You can share my table anytime.”
Woody whistles once again, and I give him a little wink. We leave them to their politics and step into The Donut Factory where you don’t breathe oxygen—you breathe coffee and sugar. Two things that will forever remind me of Jake.
“You have doughnuts on order?” I ask.
Another eyebrow waggle.
“Thanks, Lizzie,” Jake says, bypassing the line of customers and taking a pink box from the girl behind the counter.
“Sure, Jake.”
“Don’t you have to pay her?” I ask as we step back onto the sidewalk.
“Nah. She’ll just put it on my tab.”
“You have an open tab at The Donut Factory?”
“Better than having one at Beers and Bikes, right?”