The Secret of You and Me - Melissa Lenhardt Page 0,18
sounds more like it. How long will you be there?”
“Not sure. I have an appointment with Charlie to talk about the will this afternoon.”
“The Charlie?”
“Yes. He’s gone bald, but he’s still pretty good-looking.”
“Hmm. And Sophie? Have you seen her?”
I glanced at Sophie, who shifted her head in a way that told me she’d been watching me.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“About what you would expect.”
“What I expected and you expected are two different things.”
“I can’t talk right now.”
“She’s there, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And, how does that make you feel?”
She didn’t want to know. “I’m giving you a dramatic eye roll right now.”
“No doubt.”
Alima was silent for a while, waiting for me to continue, to answer the question. I didn’t—couldn’t—and was surprised when she broke first. “Let me know if you need me to come down, help clean out his house, or whatever.”
“I wouldn’t wish that on my enemy, let alone my best friend.”
The thought of Alima seeing where I came from mortified me. She lived in an exquisitely decorated house in Chevy Chase with her husband. She’d never set foot in Texas, let alone small-town America. No, I preferred Alima to know the DC version of me, the real version, instead of the small-town me I’d outgrown years ago.
“Hmm. Hurry back. It’s boring here without you. Davoud is out of town, remember?”
I grimaced. I’d forgotten. “Montreal.”
“Oh, you do remember.”
It was one of Alima’s favorite cities, and she was excited to show me all of her favorite spots. With her husband away in Asia on a ten-day business trip, it seemed like the perfect weekend. And I’d completely forgotten about it.
“You aren’t coming,” she said.
“I didn’t say that. You know I want to come. I’ll know more this afternoon.”
“We’ve been planning this for months.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but I can’t help it that my father died.”
“Nora, that’s not the point, and you know it. I’ll cancel the reservation because you obviously have other priorities right now.”
“Alima...”
“I’ll let you get back to your friend.” She hung up.
I tapped the phone against my forehead. Damn it. I should have called her last night, but I was too busy wallowing in a six-pack of Shiner.
I sat back down at the table and laid my phone down on its face.
“Everything okay?” Sophie asked, keeping her eyes on the court.
“Work stuff.”
Sophie nodded slowly, and called out to her daughter, “Nice shot, Lo.” Logan ignored her. “One more year, one more year,” Sophie chanted.
“That bad?”
She nodded toward Logan and the boy. “They’re having sex.”
I watched the teens, glad to have something to think about besides my fight with Alima, though teenage sex wasn’t high on my list of interesting subjects. They were on the side of the court now, talking and laughing as if they’d known each other forever. “How do you know?”
Sophie side eyed me. “I was the master at sneaking around, remember?”
“Good point. Is Logan on birth control?”
“She will be soon.”
I meant the question to rattle Sophie, to put her on the defensive, to see if she’d turned into an ultraconservative protégé of her mother. It would have been understandable, living in Lynchfield where churches outnumbered gas stations by a four-to-one margin. In my youth, there had been two types of people: those who went to church and the heathens. Was there a middle ground in Lynchfield, finally? Or was Sophie playing the small-town game of pious in public, godless in private?
“What will Brenda think?”
“Mother won’t know. And neither will Charlie. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Why would I tell him?”
“I imagine you’ll be spending lots of time together while dealing with Ray’s estate.”
“You make it sound impressive when all it is is a bunch of back issues of The Cattleman and Guns and Ammo stacked in every closet in the house. Oh, and chickens. Which I guess I need to check to see if they have eggs. Like I need any more food.”
Logan and the boy walked across the court. The boy was tall, dark and not very handsome, with a nose too large for his face. But, he had an open smile and kind eyes. “Hello, Mrs. Wyatt,” he said.
“Joaquin.”
The boy’s gaze moved to me, and Sophie took the hint. “Joaquin, this is Nora Noakes. Nora, Joaquin Rodriguez.”
I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m never sure how to respond to that.”
Joaquin laughed. “All good things, I promise. I wondered if I could talk to you about the military.”