any dog treats, but maybe a cookie? For being so good?”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but working dogs shouldn’t be rewarded with food.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we often encounter food items during searches and we don’t want him to be distracted by wanting to eat instead of wanting to perform.”
“Oh, I see.” She sighed wistfully. “I suppose I’ll say goodnight, then, Deputy McCormick. Thank you very much for coming.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Jensen. Thanks for the sandwich.” I held up the bag as Renzo jumped back into the car.
“You’re welcome. I put a treat in there for you, too, dear. It’s not homemade, but my little grandkids always used to love them, and even though they’re mostly grown now and don’t come around as much, I can’t seem to stop buying them. Silly of me, isn’t it?”
“I understand.” I still talked to my dad during ball games, as if he was sitting in the recliner just a few feet away instead of buried in the Catholic cemetery up the road.
“You’re such a dear.” She smiled, as if inspiration just struck her. “You know what? I have a granddaughter almost your age that I think would be perfect for you. Why don’t I—”
“Bye, Mrs. Jensen.” Cutting her off, I went around the Explorer and got into the driver’s seat. The last thing I wanted was to suffer yet another one of this town’s wanna-be matchmakers. Seemed like every busybody within fifty miles of here was convinced she had “the perfect girl” for me to “settle down” with. No matter how many times I said I wasn’t looking, it never seemed to sink in.
“Aren’t you lonely?” they’d ask.
“Not at all,” I’d reply, and it was mostly true. There were times when I missed female company, a sympathetic smile at the end of a hard day. A soft, sexy body at night, somebody to please and play with. But my last breakup had soured me for good on relationships, and the few dates I’d gone on with “perfect” girls had only shown me how well some people could hide their crazy. My sex life was a bit depressing, but nobody ever said, Hey, Noah, I know this completely sane girl with a killer smile and a rockin’ bod just passing through town for a night. Can she come over and blow you?
Until that day, I’d have to deal with a dry spell here and there.
I entered a few notes about the call on my laptop, and then pulled away from the curb. On the road again, I dug out the sandwich and took a bite as I headed for the station. I hadn’t had a BLT in forever, and actually, it tasted pretty fucking good.
“She’s not so bad, is she?” I asked Renzo. “A little off her rocker, maybe, but I guess she’s earned it.”
By the time I pulled into the parking lot behind the sheriff’s department, I’d finished the sandwich, the chips, and the pickle. I remembered what she’d said about the little extra treat, and I dug around in the bag with my free hand.
I pulled out a Twinkie and laughed.
It reminded me of someone.
Two
Meg
For as long as I can remember, I have dealt with extreme stress by eating Twinkies.
Like, a ridiculous amount of Twinkies.
It is totally juvenile and absurdly unhealthy and my arteries are probably already clogged beyond repair with delicious golden sponge cake and fluffy sweet cream filling, but I can’t help it—there’s just something so comforting about them.
However, not even my favorite Hostess snack cakes were going to take the edge off coming home on a Friday night to find my boyfriend of three years packing his bags.
“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” I stared at Brooks in disbelief, watching from the bedroom doorway as he methodically stacked neatly folded, pristinely white undershirts in his suitcase.
“I took the job at that firm in Manhattan. My train leaves tonight.”
“Tonight!” I moved into the room, my stomach lurching. “You’re moving to Manhattan tonight?”
“Yes,” he said calmly.
“But . . . but what about us?”
“Come on, Meg. You know there’s no us anymore.” His voice held no emotion whatsoever.
Usually I appreciated his unflappable demeanor—it was a good, calm yin to my more excitable yang—but I couldn’t help feeling blindsided by this turn of events and a little annoyed he wasn’t displaying any feeling at all. Three years was a long time, even if the last one hadn’t been very good. “Can’t we talk about this?”
“We have talked about this, Meg.” Next to the undershirts, he added