Julie handed the other bag to CJ, and he peeked inside, then took a long sniff, his nose disappearing into the bag.
“Bacon double cheeseburger and onion rings,” he said, and then looked up. “You remembered.”
“Well, it is a pretty basic order.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
CJ removed the items from the bag and began to eat, using the counter as a tabletop.
“To what do I owe the free lunch?” he asked even as an errant onion stuck out from between his lips.
“No reason,” Julie said. “Just thought I’d do something nice for family.” She used her toe to tap a line of trim that Dennis had pulled down earlier that morning—a detail the previous contractors had missed.
At her response, CJ’s chewing slowed. There was something that seemed wrong about hearing an old flame talking about being a member of his family. Of course, he knew that was the case. Still . . .
His response was cut off by the sound of a drill coming from the other room, and this time it was Julie who jumped.
“He did that on purpose,” she said.
CJ shook his head. “Probably not. He just likes to play with power tools.”
CJ ate in silence for a while, and Julie let him, and what might have been an uncomfortable silence wasn’t.
Finally, Julie said, “Have you seen your family since the funeral?”
“Nope.”
Julie frowned, apparently at the glibness of his answer. But without saying anything else, she rose, crossed to him, and reached for the Wendy’s bag. From it she pulled a napkin and gestured for him to take care of the line of ketchup on his chin.
CJ reached for the napkin, and his hand touched hers, where it lingered for longer than it should have. She pulled away and retreated to the other side of the room.
“So have you enrolled in veterinary school yet?” he asked, just to break the tension.
“Sadly, no. It was either do that today or bring you lunch and then go see Jack’s game.”
“Well, I suppose you made the wise choice then,” CJ said, holding up the last bit of his sandwich, which brought the smile he’d intended. But it didn’t last, replaced by a puzzled frown.
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
CJ’s mouth was full, so he answered with a headshake.
Julie leaned back against the kitchen counter and made a gesture that took in the surrounding house. “What are you doing here?” Once she’d said it, her cheeks colored, as if realizing the question sounded more abrupt than she’d intended.
CJ didn’t answer right away. He slowly chewed the food in his mouth as if deep in thought, then swallowed, looked up at her, and shrugged. “A man’s got to pay the bills, doesn’t he?”
It didn’t take long for that comment to earn him an exasperated look from his ex-girlfriend, and it came as a minor epiphany that he’d seen that expression on the face of every woman with whom he’d had any kind of meaningful relationship. It was an uncomfortable thought. Yet how could he sum up everything that was happening in his life in a way that fit their current surroundings, as well as the odd nature of their relationship? Discussing the deterioration of his marriage, the damage to his professional reputation, his sudden poverty, the scab ripped from the old family wound, and his newfound faith in God with a woman he hadn’t realized he still cared about until he walked into the house on Lyn-dale and saw her just wasn’t something he could do right now.
Fortunately there was still a boon he could throw out.
“The Atlantic has asked me to write an article about Graham,” he said. “So I need to spend some time here and do research.”
Julie took that in, then said, “What kind of article?”
That was a question that CJ couldn’t answer as well as he might have liked.
“What kind of article indeed,” he said.
Thankfully Dennis chose that moment to fire up the Sawzall, and this time there was an accompanying sound of splintering wood. CJ’s eyes widened, and after a frozen moment, he made for the door.
Behind him, Julie called out, “I don’t think he’s just playing this time.”
“Memory is a funny thing,” CJ said, and it wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, but Dennis, being the only one within earshot, apparently felt the need to nod his acknowledgment.
“Think about it,” CJ went on. “There are people who can remember what they had for breakfast on Friday, July 7, 1972, but can’t describe the plot for the movie they