Matt whistles softly. “You look pretty this morning.”
“Why, thank you,” I tell him. “It’s my mother’s dress.” I pick at the oversize belt around my waist that’s partially an accessory and partially to make the thing fit. “How are you guys doing this morning?”
Before they can answer, Mia chimes in. “I’m going to go say hi to Keyarah and Madison. I’ll be back before the piano starts playing.” She darts to the back of the church, where her friends have just arrived.
Matt pulls at the collar of his shirt. “It’s hot in here. I’m going to get some water.”
Dane leans against the windowsill that looks over the back of the church. The view over his shoulder is almost as wonderful as he is. Foliage extends forever, dipping and rising with the hills. It’s the kind of view that’s inspired paintings for thousands of years.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” Dane says just loud enough for me to hear.
I pull my gaze away from the trees to him. “Mom didn’t give me much choice,” I admit. “But I probably would’ve come anyway. I’ve always liked this place.”
“Yeah. Me too. It’s why we don’t let Penn come. We don’t want it to burst into flames.”
Laughing, I feel my shoulders relax. “Are you staying for the potluck?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s the best Sunday in the month. These ladies know how to cook.”
The piano starts playing, alerting us to take our seats. Dane moves toward me. He hesitates, biting his lip before blowing out a breath. “Do you want to sit with us?”
My heart leaps in my chest as a clear indication I do. I want to sit with them. I want to sit with them so badly it actually hurts.
I want to hear them sing. Pass Mia a stick of gum when her daddy isn’t looking. Gaze around the church with Dane at my side and feel the peace this place gives me all at the same time.
But if I do, it will be one more memory I’ll have to deal with when I get back to New York.
“I better sit with Mom,” I say. “Thanks, though.”
His nod is subtle. So is the way his face falls.
The way my heart pulls isn’t so easy.
“See you after,” he says, turning toward his seat.
I watch him go and almost follow. As the pianist hits the second chorus, I get my bearings and head across the room toward my mom and Mr. Rambis.
“I can’t eat another bite.” I wave Lorene and her scoop of cobbler away. “It was amazing, but I’m going to pop if I eat any more.”
“You sure?” The ninety-year-old pianist’s hand shakes as she holds out another piece of dessert. “It’s the last one.”
“I’ll take it if she doesn’t want it.” Mr. Rambis comes up beside me. Lorene dumps the cobbler on his plate with a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome.” She teeters off toward a picnic table with a giant umbrella overhead.
The air is filled with scents of food and children’s laughter. The kids play a game of kickball in the field a few feet away. Amazingly, only one ball has intruded on the eating area, and I think Matt had something to do with that.
A woman walks by and asks to take my empty plate. I give it to her before turning back to my mother’s friend. “How’s the cobbler?” I ask before taking a sip of my sweet tea.
“Not as good as your mother’s pie.”
Choking so hard tea comes out of my nose, I cough in an attempt to clear my airways. Mr. Rambis pats me on the back.
“Are you all right?” he asks as I settle down.
“Yeah,” I say weakly. “I’ll be fine.” My eyes sting from the dramatics, and I blot them with the back of my hand. “Just got a little choked.”
“I was hoping we could have dinner one night before you leave,” he says. “I remember you as a child, but I’d like the chance to get to know you as an adult.”
I take another drink. This time, it goes down without any complications. “Are you serious about Mom?”
He considers this for a long time. By the fourth shifting of his weight from foot to foot, I start to worry. Finally, he speaks. “I’ve known your mother for years. It wasn’t until one day last fall, right before Thanksgiving, when I ran into her at the post office. She was mailing you a box of things because you couldn’t come home for the holiday, and I was sending the same kind of thing to my boy out in Idaho. We struck up a conversation, and I realized I never really knew her.”
“I remember that box. She sent me one of my grandmother’s quilts,” I tell him. A touch of guilt strikes through me. I spent that Thanksgiving alone in my apartment, eating takeout and working on a holiday piece for the magazine. It all made sense then, and I get why I did it even now. But for the first time, there’s a ball of pain in my soul that I wasn’t here. That I can never redo those things with my mom, with my friends, and I missed them for what?
“Getting back to your question,” he says, clearing his throat. “I am serious when I tell you I really enjoy spending time with her. I think she’s wonderful. And I really, really like her pie.”
All I can do is nod.
Someone motions for him across the lawn and he holds up a finger. Turning back to me, he places a hand on my shoulder. “If we can have dinner, the three of us, before you go, I’d love that.”
“I’ll try,” I say.
“That’s good enough for me.” With a final smile, he weaves through the tables to a group of men.
My hand glistens with the melted ice from my plastic cup. I have half a notion to rub it across my forehead to cool myself down but manage to remember my manners. I’m searching for my mom to see if she’s ready when I spy Mia running through the tables toward me.
“Neely! Come with us,” she shouts.
“Where are you going?” I laugh.
“To the creek. Dad is taking me, Keyarah, and Madison. Come with us.”
I look up to see Dane watching me from the lawn, holding the kickball. He grins.
“You sure?” I ask her, my heart fluttering like crazy.
“Uh, yeah.” She opens her palm. A little green-and-yellow bracelet, just like Dane’s, lies in her hand. “This is for you.”
“Mia,” I gasp. I look at her. Her eyes are sparkling, filled with such a pure kindness and affection it brings tears to my eyes. “Did you make this?”
“I did. I made Daddy one a long time ago, and he wears it all the time. Says it’s his lucky charm. And I have a pink one and so do Keyarah and Madison, but we don’t wear them always because of gymnastics.”
I lift the delicate strands from her hand. “Thank you.”
She helps me tie it in place and then inspects her work. With a bright smile, she takes my hand. “Come on.” She pulls me the way she came, through the tables and over a patch of sand. Once we’re almost to her friends, she drops my hand. “Let’s go!”
The girls traipse off toward the tree line that hides a little creek. Their dresses float behind them, their giggles swishing through the air.
“Don’t get near the water until I get there,” Dane warns them.
“Okay,” they shout in unison.
“To be young again.” I laugh, falling in step with Dane. We head down the slope toward the trees. Dandelions create little pops of yellow against the green, the sky a vivid blue with billowy white clouds overhead. “It’s so beautiful out here.”
“You look beautiful today.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks flush, and it has nothing to do with the sun. “You clean up pretty nice yourself.”
“I don’t love shirts like this. I feel like I’m getting strangled.” He picks at his collar.
“I don’t love dresses either. I wear them to work when I have to, but it’s much easier navigating New York in pants, I think.”
“What’s it like there? If you were walking around on a Sunday afternoon, what would it be like?”
I take in the lush green foliage in front of us, the high grass sprinkled with beautiful flowers, and laugh. “I’m not used to seeing pretty things when I walk outside. I usually get a bunch of buildings, a couple of rats, and a man telling me I have to get a new route because a movie is filming in front of me.”
He makes a face. “I don’t know how you live like that.”
“You get used to it.”
We get to the tree line. Dane goes first down the path to the creek. It doesn’t look as worn as it did when I was little, but it’s still clearly marked. The girls’ laughter echoes through the valley.
Birds call overhead and gnats buzz my face. It’s weirdly refreshing.
“Watch your step,” he says. “There’s a big hole up here, and I know you don’t look where you’re stepping.” He hops over a trench.
“That’s not a hole.” I laugh. “A hole is a dip. That’s a . . . cut.”
“Give me your hand.”
“I can make it.”
“Give me your hand,” he says again. His hand stretches toward me. Instinctively, my hand falls into his. “Oh, you got your bracelet.”
“I did.” I think I beam, but I don’t care. “I love it.”
“She worked on that for three nights.” He squeezes my hand. “Now jump.”
“You realize three little girls just did this without help, right?” I ask, enjoying the warmth of his palm.
“Country girls. You’re a city slicker now.”
“I am not.”
He wrinkles his face at the defiance in my tone. It takes me aback too. I don’t know why I took that as an almost-insult, but I did.
“Jump,” Dane says.
Determined to show him I’m not a city slicker, I leap across the trench with gusto. My toe catches on a tree root, and I crash into Dane’s arms.