The Secret of You and Me - Melissa Lenhardt Page 0,42
She held on to the back of a kitchen chair to steady herself, then slowly lowered into it. Dormer pulled a clean cup from the cabinet, poured Emmadean a coffee and placed it on the table in front of her.
“Thanks, darlin’.”
I’d been around my aunt and uncle long enough to know when they were keeping something from me. Neither had a poker face, and their tell was not looking at each other. As a child, I learned there were subjects kids didn’t need to talk about, and as a teenager, I didn’t care about anyone else’s secrets but my own. I knew I’d never draw it out of Emmadean, but Dormer was another matter. I just needed to get him alone.
“Mind if I use your kitchen to bake a cake?”
“Course not. What’re you baking a cake for?” Her hand trembled as she raised her cup, and I noticed Dormer had only filled it halfway.
“Dinner at Sophie’s.”
“Y’all made up.”
I spent a sleepless night going over and over the conversation, and there was only one explanation: I’ve been a bitch. Sophie was right. We’d been on a roller coaster all week, and it was all my fault. Every time she reached out, I pushed her away. I didn’t want to leave well enough alone. First and foremost, I wanted my friend back. If anything happened... No. I wouldn’t think about that. Get ahead of myself. Friendship. I wanted her friendship first, and to regain that, I needed to make amends.
“We’re getting there.”
“That makes me right proud.”
“What kinda cake you makin’?”
“Five-flavor pound cake.”
Dormer hummed his approval.
“Want me to make an extra, Dormer?”
“I do, but we got stuff in the freezer still. Thanks all the same.”
“How’s the cleaning going?” Emmadean asked.
“It’s not yet. I could barely get out of bed this morning.”
“Still having problems sleeping?”
“Always.” Insomnia had been a problem since I’d returned from Iraq, and sleeping pills only nominally helped. It was the one PTSD symptom meditation, yoga, and boxing hadn’t helped. None of them were gone completely, but I managed them pretty well. The one thing that helped was sleeping next to Alima, but that happened rarely, and so the insomnia persisted.
“I played tennis with Sophie last night.” I rotated my right arm and grimaced. “I’m sore in places I haven’t been in years.”
“Who won?” Dormer looked at me over the rim of his coffee cup.
“She did. Barely.”
My aunt and uncle glanced at each other with amused expressions. They knew how competitive I was.
“I’m going to see if she wants to play again tonight.”
“Go easy on her, Bug.” Dormer winked at me.
“So you haven’t started cleaning, yet?”
“No. I stood in the middle of the den for ten minutes this morning, wondering where to start.”
“Sorry I haven’t been able to help you,” Emmadean said.
I waved my hand at the suggestion. “I left a message for Mary this morning. Told her I was renting a Dumpster and everything was going inside. If she wants something, she better come claim it.”
“Oh, Nora. You don’t mean it.” Emmadean looked horrified.
“I don’t want any of it.”
“What about the photos? The mementos?”
“I haven’t found either, so far. Speaking of, have any idea what Ray did with the stuff I left in my bedroom? My photos and mementos?”
Dormer and Emmadean pointedly didn’t look at each other again.
“That’s what I thought,” I said. Still, disappointment stabbed me in the gut. “Why would I give a rat’s ass about Ray’s stuff if he didn’t care about mine?”
“I asked him for them a few weeks after you left. He regretted what he did, I could tell.”
“Which part? Throwing me out or throwing out all my stuff?” I held up my hand. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Either way, he was a son of a bitch.”
“Nora, now look here. He was my brother, and for all his faults, I loved him. I won’t have you talking about him like that.”
“And I won’t have you defending him in front of me.”
Dormer’s quiet voice broke in. “We’ve had this argument before. Ain’t nothing changed.”
“If I find any photos, I’ll bring ’em over.”
I finished my coffee and realized I might be performing the same tasks with Emmadean and Dormer’s things in the next decade. I turned my back to them and poured another cup of coffee, hoping to hide the shudder of dread that went through me at the thought. “Dormer, think I’m going to shred the pasture today. Can you come over and help me get the tractor started this morning?”