“Great seeing you, Miss Clara.” When I pull back, she brings her hands to my arms, squeezing my biceps.
“You, too, Weston dear. Really great to see you.” She drops her hold on me and pulls Julia in for a hug. “So wonderful to see your beautiful smile again, darling.” She holds her for another beat before releasing her, looking down at Imogene. “You behave for your mama and uncle. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Imogene answers politely.
“I’ll be seeing you around.” Miss Clara waves as she retreats through the crowd, sidestepping children carrying cotton candy and caramel apples. She looks back over her shoulder. “And nice to meet you, Londyn. I hope to see much more of you sometime soon.”
“Me, too,” Londyn replies as Miss Clara ducks back into her booth.
“Come on, Mama. Let’s play some games.” Imogene grabs Julia’s hand and tugs her toward the booths overflowing with stuffed animals of all sizes. Londyn and I follow.
“She seemed sweet,” she comments after a few silent moments as I toil over which bomb to address first. Do I start with how my grandparents died? Or should I discuss the fact I was once hours away from being married? Neither of them are events I enjoy talking about.
“She’s probably the kindest and most generous person in this town.”
“You can tell she holds your grandparents in very high esteem.”
Her hand brushes against mine, sending a rush of excitement through me. Needing to feel her skin, I link a pinky with hers to test the waters, unsure if she’s upset I hadn’t told her about my engagement. When she doesn’t pull away, I intertwine the rest of my fingers with hers.
“She’s one of the good ones. She’d always remain in the diner after it closed at night to prepare meals for some of the area children who didn’t get fed at home, especially during summer when school was out of session. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she still does it. It’s why she got along so well with my grandparents. She was a giver. Like them.”
“Like you, too,” Londyn offers.
I part my lips as I contemplate her statement. I’ve never considered myself a giver. Not like my grandparents, who devoted their entire lives to helping people. I do what I can, but it doesn’t come remotely close to what Gampy and Meemaw did during their lifetimes.
“Don’t even try to say you’re not,” she argues. “That day you helped me in the rain, I saw you with Omar. You gave him the coffee and pastry bag you’d had at the coffee shop. Which makes me think either you gave him your own coffee and danish, or you bought them specifically for him. I could be wrong, but I’m leaning toward it being the latter.”
“It’s not his fault he’s homeless. He’s a vet. Fought in Vietnam, for crying out loud. He deserves better than what he got.”
“Like I said.” She smiles up at me and squeezes my hand. “You’re a giver.”
“Can we play that game?” Imogene asks from up ahead.
I turn my attention forward, watching her dart toward a booth that’s framed by dozens of stuffed animals, many of them close replications of Disney characters. Along the back wall are several stations of milk bottles arranged in a pyramid. I remember this being popular when I was a kid. I’d assumed these games would have advanced with technology. I guess that’s the reason baseball is considered America’s pastime. It’s timeless. Just like this game of requiring someone to knock down the bottles with a baseball.
“Sure, sweetie.” Julia hands the man the requisite cash to cover the cost of six balls, then kneels, giving Imogene some tips on how to throw a baseball.
“So it’s true.”
I hear the voice from behind me, but I don’t immediately pay any attention, too immersed in watching Imogene wind up and throw the baseball with more heat than I thought she could at her age. Truth be told, her aim is pretty spot-on, too, only an inch shy of hitting the bottles. More proof that she is most certainly her mother’s daughter. Julia was always more interested in sports than makeup and fashion, much to my mother’s horror.
When I feel a tap on my shoulder, I drop my hold on Londyn’s hand and spin around, coming face-to-face with a ghost from my past. I’m surprised I even recognize Grady Stowe, an asshole whose nose I once broke when I overheard him talking about Julia in a way I didn’t think appropriate or respectful.