to buy a sundae.”
“You interrupted my wash day for that? Why would I care? If she steals something, drop her off at the sheriff’s office and tell her not to bother coming home.” And she hangs up.
I stare at my phone in distaste, as if it’s the phone’s fault, then drop it back into my purse. “Well, she’s a barrel of laughs.”
She shrugs. “Told you.” But she follows me to the ice cream shop with only a couple of backward glances at the alley she wanted to deface.
I order a small sundae. She asks for an extra-large banana split.
We take our sugary concoctions outside and sit at one of the small round tables on the sidewalk.
“That sundae must weigh more than you do. Are you going to barf?” I ask her.
“Probably,” she says cheerfully. She takes an enormous bite and swallows it quickly. “Why did you get a small sundae? Are you anorexic? You don’t make yourself barf, do you? Is that why you’re asking about barfing?”
“Good lord, Fiona. You can’t ask questions like that.”
“Of course I can. You’re my mentor. I thought you were supposed to teach me valuable life lessons and stuff.”
I roll my eyes. “People who make themselves barf are bulimic. And I’m not. I’m just not that hungry. I already ate lunch—and dessert—half an hour ago. I’m stress-eating because of a man.”
“Men,” Fiona says, shaking her head knowingly as if she were forty instead of fourteen. “Can’t live with them, can’t find a good place to hide the body. Amirite?”
I stifle a laugh. “Unfortunately. Oh, and can you not tell anyone why I’m hoovering down my own bodyweight in desserts, please?”
Her eyes widen. “Like a secret?”
“Exactly like that.”
“Why would you trust me? I mean, you hardly know me.”
“I just have a good feeling about you.”
She shrugs, but I think I see a tiny hint of a smile on her sullen face. Then it vanishes. “It’s probably just the sugar high.”
“There you are!” Gramma Mae’s voice rings out from across the room. She grabs a chair from a nearby table and drags it over. Then she plops down next to me, looking at my sundae. “I barely even see you these days. Herman said you had four desserts already, and you’re eating another one? You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Gramma Mae!” My face flames red with embarrassment. I am so glad I didn’t bail her out when she got arrested last week. Also, I guess I don’t have to worry that Bitter End is losing its small-town character anytime soon. I should have known that varying my eating pattern would set everyone a-twitter.
“Are you?” Fiona stares at my stomach in fascination. “You’re not married. That’s okay, though. No judgement. When you have it, I could babysit. Oh wait, I won’t be here anymore. Bummer.”
“I am not pregnant!” I hiss. “And it was two desserts! And one small sundae. Gramma Mae, keep your voice down. I swear to God…”
“And who’s this sour-faced little miscreant?”
“Fiona Duffy. She’s staying with her aunt for the summer. They paired me up with her through the Sisters Together program.”
“Maybe.” Fiona’s tone is bored. She shovels another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.
“Look, you’re going to be here all summer, you might as well enjoy yourself. There’s a huge fair coming up in August, for the whole month. There’ll be rides and food and games and music. It’s going to be amazing.”
She takes another bite of sundae and answers in a mouth-full mumble. “Doubt it. Fairs are stupid.”
“Well, you’re just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Gramma Mae observes dryly.
Fiona looks at her narrow-eyed. “Careful. I’m a juvenile delinquent.”
Gramma Mae smiles, flashing big white dentures. “Careful. I’m a senile delinquent, which means I’ve had a lot more practice than you.”
“I’ve been in juvie,” Fiona informs her.
Gramma Mae nods thoughtfully. “Juvie has some fun people, but the food’s terrible there and it smells like butt.”
“Gramma Mae!”
“What?” she looks at me wide-eyed. “What did I do wrong? I didn’t say ‘ass’, since we have a young person in our presence. Where was I? Oh yes, juvie. Bad food. Now our county jail, they serve gourmet meals. I keep telling the sheriff to stop that. Sometimes people get arrested just for the food.”
Fiona perks up. “I like food. What do they serve for breakfast? Do they have pancakes?”
“Arrgh!” I slam my hands down on the table. “You’re encouraging her to go to jail! Gramma Mae, you are now forbidden to associate with Fiona. You’re a bad