shakes his head. “No, I went back. Got a few more staples. For tonight. In case Mitchell gets hungry.”
More like in case he gets hungry and I don’t know him well enough to know what to feed him. I hope he had the presence of mind to call his mother for advice on that.
“That was a good idea. Did you wash the sheets and set up his bed?”
He nods. “I did. It’s all ready.”
I grin at him. “Except for you.” I let my eyes wander around on his face. “You are so not ready.”
“I’m ready for him. I’m not ready for the rest of them.” He blows out a breath.
“Well, get ready, because it’s happening.” I motion for him to put the truck in gear. “Let’s do this thing”
He backs out, shifts all the way through the upper gears as we gain speed, and then he reaches over and takes my hand in his. He gives it a squeeze as he stares at the road in front of us. I squeeze back, and he looks over at me and grins. “I really like you,” he says.
“I really like you too,” I reply, my heart beating faster in my chest. And it’s true. I do like him. I like him a lot. I think I like him more than I should, and that’s the part that scares me.
His old truck rattles as we pull into the parking lot. It’s a gravel lot next to a recreational league ball field, with bleachers at the two top corners of the field. The bleachers are metal, and they don’t look like they’ll seat that many people.
We both get out and I say, “I’m going to go change my shirt.” I point toward the field restroom and don’t wait for him to acknowledge that I’m leaving. As I walk across to the restroom, I get some stares and see people whispering behind their hands to one another. I go into the stall and I pull my shirt off over my head. As I get ready to pull the new one on, I hear two voices as more women walk into the bathroom.
“I can’t believe he has the nerve to show up here after what he did,” one of them says. The voice is nasally and high. “And he brought a woman with him. Like he just wants to shove her in Imogene and Derrick’s faces.”
Who are Imogene and Derrick?
Another voice chimes in. “He thinks he can just walk right in here and be forgiven.”
The first speaker gives a very unladylike snort. “Last time I checked, murder wasn’t a forgivable offense.”
Murder?
The second voice chuckles. I pull my new shirt on and tuck it into my jeans. Then I flush the toilet to announce my presence and walk out into the sink area so I can see who has been speaking so vilely about Ethan. I find two women, both of whom are probably about my age. They freeze when they see me.
“Hello,” I say, and I wash my hands.
They say nothing. They just stare at me.
I reach for a paper towel. “Enjoy the game.” Still they say nothing.
I walk back to Ethan’s truck and toss my old shirt through the open window, still reeling over what I’d just heard. Then I stoop in front of the truck’s side-view mirror and try to tame my curls.
“You never could keep all that hair under control,” a voice calls out.
I turn and find a man who looks like he’s about my age standing there wearing a broad grin. There’s something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t place him.
He mimes sticking himself in the heart with a knife. “You wound me, Abigail,” he says. “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten me.”
Suddenly, the playful glint in his eyes tips me off. “Little Robbie? Is that really you?” A grin I can’t begin to control contorts my face. I walk toward him and he sweeps me into a hug.
“Thank God,” he says. “I thought I was going to have to pull my pants down and show you the birthmark on my ass that looks like Texas before you’d remember me.”
I shove his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here?” I can’t pull the grin on my face down, even though I try.
“My boy is on the same team,” he says.
Then I realize that he’s wearing a state trooper uniform, all the way down to the mirrored glasses that he has pushed on top of his head. I motion to this outfit.