“You must think there’s the potential for something there.”
I shake my head. “I don’t. There is no potential for anything.”
“I’m going out on a limb and saying that’s a lie.”
I pick up my bowl and glass and flip her a warning look. Heading to the sink, I try to put some space between us, but it doesn’t work. Like a puppy that doesn’t get it, she follows on my heels. The way I swing the dishwasher open doesn’t dissuade her either.
“This is none of my business,” she starts, “but let me just point out that this is the first woman you’ve brought around since Sara.”
I don’t turn around. I rinse my plate and empty the remaining water from the glass and shove them in the dishwasher.
“That has to mean something.” Her voice is soft, and something about the way she says those words hits me. “You’ve never really talked about her before, but I’ve always gotten the impression she was special to you.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and lean against the counter. My stomach is a pit of acid, churning violently as I look at my friend. Talking about Neely, saying things out loud, is something I’ve avoided for the most part for a very long time. It makes me uncomfortable. It feels like a guard has been taken down and I’m exposed. Yet the longer I stand there exposed to Haley’s insights, the more comfortable it becomes.
“She was special to me,” I say slowly, testing the waters. “She’s a special person.”
“And so are you in your own way.” She flinches. “I can’t believe I just said that. Anyway, I love this love story.”
I reach down and yank up the dishwasher door. It latches with a pop, making Haley jump.
“It’s not a love story,” I say.
“Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, but I have hope.”
“You do that.”
She jabbers on while I clean off the rest of the table, telling me how second chances happen and she has a good feeling about Neely and me.
I can’t tell her I want to have a good feeling about us too. That would put the guard a little too far down to be safe. And would be stupid. It would be really stupid since she’s leaving us again anyway.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NEELY
You’re awfully quiet this morning.” Mom glances at me from the passenger’s seat. “Everything all right?”
“I’m fine. Just sleepy.”
The sun beats through the windshield as I pilot us to Calvary Church. Usually, the sunlight wakes me up and energizes me; I count on that as I head into the office every day. I’m too far gone for any rays to help me today.
Once I finally fell asleep, somewhere around two in the morning, my dreams were loaded with koi fish and green eyes and memories of sitting on the bluff and talking until our curfew hit. Images of dinners with smiling faces and visions of Mia tumbling along grass lawns invaded my dreams too. It was a compilation of the past, the present, and things that will never be. Each time I woke up, once an hour or so, the reality would hit me that none of those things were true, and it was tough getting back to sleep.
I slow the car and make a wide circle around Blue. He doesn’t bother to lift his head.
“It’s amazing no one has hit him,” I note.
“I said the same thing last week. The town ought to get a sign or something that warns people. Like a ‘Child Crossing’ sign or something.”
“Yeah, but really—how many people come down this street who don’t know to look for him? There’s nothing down here but a few houses, and all the families have lived here forever.”
“That’s true.”
I hit the brakes at the end of the street, and the dishes laid carefully on towels in the back jangle together.
“How many things are we taking to the potluck?” I look in the rearview mirror. “It smells like a kitchen in here.”
“It’s a carry-in, so I had to bring a covered dish.”
“You brought four? Five?”
“Well, I made green beans with bacon because no one ever brings vegetables to things like this. And everyone loves my green beans.”
I laugh. “Of course they do. You cook all the vitamins out and flavor them with bacon fat.”
“I don’t hear any complaints,” she says. “I whipped together a Seven Layer Salad and found the prettiest strawberries at Graber’s, so I made a strawberry pie for the kids.”
“Screw the kids. That’s mine.”
She shakes her head as we make the turn toward the church. “I also made a raisin pie.”
“Who likes raisin pie?” I curl my nose. “That’s old-people pie.”
Mom looks smug. “Mr. Rambis likes it.”
“Ooooh,” I tease. “Mr. Rambis likes it. What else does Mr. Rambis like, Mom?”
She swats my shoulder as I pull into the parking lot. “You knock it off. We’re at church, missy.”
“Like God doesn’t know all the unholy things you’re doing with Mr. Rambis. Ouch!” I say as she smacks me with her purse. “Kidding. I was kidding.”
We step into the parking lot. The large tree in the front still has the tire swing that my youth group put up forever ago hanging off a bottom limb. The front window has been changed, and a plain sheet of glass sits in place of the gorgeous stained glass I remember.
Mom catches me looking at it. “A limb fell off the tree a few summers back and went right through that window. Such a shame.”
“It is. It was so pretty,” I lament. “I used to sit through the sermons and count the different colors.”
It’s such a small thing, really, a tiny change in the grand scheme of things. But as I peer up to the spot that used to be so colorful and is now a sheet of plain old glass, I wonder what else I missed. The things I can’t see so easily.
There’s a part of me that suddenly feels vacant, like there’s an empty space that should’ve been filled with all this knowledge and these experiences—as silly as they are. I stand on the sidewalk trying to make sense of this until the church bell rings.
“Hey!” I call after Mom. “What are we doing with the food?”
“Leave the car unlocked, and someone will come out and get it in a bit.”
I stop in my tracks. “Leave it unlocked? Seriously? What if someone steals it?”
She’s unfazed, just laughs at my serious questions and heads up the stairs without me. Throwing my hands in the air, muttering that it’s her car, I follow.
The entry is full of parishioners. Everyone I pass stops to say hello, many asking how I’m doing and asking me to visit more often. I don’t expect the outpouring of love, and it catches me a little off guard.
I enter the sanctuary and spy my mother talking to Mr. Rambis and Lorene, the woman who’s played the piano here my entire life, near the front. Scanning the rest of the quaint little country church, my eyes fall on Dane and Mia near the piano. Gripping the end of a pew, I try to look away but can’t.
He’s in a pair of gray dress pants and a crisp white button-down. Mia is adorable in a yellow dress with pink lace at the edges. Matt stands next to them. He bends down and whispers something to Mia, making her laugh. I laugh, too, even though I have no idea what’s transpired.
“He cleans up pretty well, huh?” Claire comes up beside me.
“He’s not bad.” I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“Not bad? I don’t know what they look like up in New York, but around here, that’s the top of the food chain.”
“Food chain?” I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, Claire.”
She shrugs. “You sticking around for the potluck?”
“I’m with Mom and she made forty million things, so apparently. Are you?”
“No. A girl I’m going to school with is having a baby shower this afternoon, so I’m cutting out after the service. Wanna go?”
My gaze drifts back to Dane. He’s found me in the crowd and gives me a little wave. I wave back in the most “I haven’t been thinking about you all night” kind of way I can.
“I better stay with Mom,” I say, turning my attention back to Claire.
“Can I just say she and Mr. Rambis are adorable?”
“How long has this been going on? I mean, I’m happy she’s dating or whatever it is, but I can’t tell if it’s serious.”
“Well, they sit together every week. Have for a while now. Since Christmas, I’d say.”
“Wow.”
“He mows her lawn a lot. I know that. My brother used to do it, but she didn’t need help this year.”
I look at Claire. “She’s baking him pie.”
“Is that an innuendo, or she’s actually baking him dessert?”
Laughing, I try to cover my mouth with my hand. “Actual pie, Claire.”
“Well, we are in the South. You get a casserole for everything. I can’t help but think a pie might be some kind of moral woman’s subtle cue. Like, ‘Here, sir. Try my pie.’” Claire bursts into a fit of giggles. “I need to go find a seat before I buy myself a ticket to Hell.”
“Good to see you, Claire.”
“Back at ya.”
I start down the aisle toward my mother, my cheeks flushed as I think of her using dessert as a sexual invitation, when Mia runs up to me. “Hi, Neely! I didn’t know you would be here.”
“Hey,” I say. “You look pretty today.”
“Thanks. So do you.” She smiles sweetly. “Want to sit with me and Dad?”
“Well . . .” I look up at her father. He and Matt are still talking, but both are watching me. There’s a pull across the church that draws me to the other side. I give in. “Let’s go say hello and then I’ll see. Sound good?”
“Yup.” She leads the way across the front of the church, past the piano, and to her family.