Chapter Twenty-Two
Alan
“It looks like your parents have company.”
“Yeah. Mr. Roberts mentioned yesterday that he was coming to dinner tonight. I thought they’d reschedule until Saturday when I’m off, since I guess I’m supposed to cook for him.” She sounded defeated and her eyes that had been full of light all day were suddenly dimmed.
It was like watching her shut down in front of my eyes.
And why the fuck is she supposed to cook for him?
I slowed the truck to a crawl.
“Hey, why don’t you and Ruthie come to dinner at Lainey’s tonight instead?”
She shook her head. “I don’t even have to ask to know the answer would be no.”
She has to ask?
“So, don’t ask. Just send them a text. I’ll drive right by, and we don’t even have to stop.”
“I can’t. My parents would be livid, and they’d probably make me quit my job.”
That’s the last thing I wanted.
Plus, I could tell the idea of upsetting her folks stressed her out.
Reluctantly, I turned into the drive with a sad smile and stopped behind the LaCrosse. “It was just a thought. I could tell you’re not looking forward to cooking dinner.”
“It’s not going to be anything amazing, I can tell you that.”
Good. Maybe heat up a can of soup for him.
I put the Silverado in park, and she clicked the seatbelt then held on to it so it slowly retracted. With her hand on the door handle, she turned to face me. “Thank you for the ride home, and for all your help with Ruthie today.”
“My pleasure. I really enjoyed spending time with both of you.” We sat in awkward silence, staring at each other. She hadn’t opened the door, and it felt like the perfect opportunity to lean over and kiss her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement on the farmhouse’s front porch. Her mom stood watching us, and I motioned to where Ruthie sat sleeping in the back.
“Can I help you with her?”
She glanced at the house then, replied “No,” with a sad smile as she opened the passenger door and jumped down.
I realized then just how small she was and how it’d be a lot easier for me to get Ruthie out of the backseat.
In one movement, I undid my seat belt, shut the truck off, and opened my door. She’d barely gotten the rear door open before I was around to the passenger side.
“I’ve got her,” I said, then reached inside and unbuckled the safety belt holding Ruthie’s seat in place.
I handed the diaper bag to her with a tender smile before I pulled the car seat out.
“Let me walk you in.”
“No,” she replied as she hastily grabbed the car seat handle from me. “I’ve got it.” She stole another glance at the house where her mom had come down the porch steps.
“Thank you again,” she blurted out before scurrying away.
It was painfully obvious she didn’t want to introduce me to her mom. Which was silly; parents loved me.
But judging by the look on Mrs. Bradbury’s face as she looked over at me, maybe not these parents.
****
Jessica
“Who is that?” Mama asked as she opened the creaky, ripped screen door for me.
I glanced back to find Alan in the driver’s seat of the truck watching me. It was clear he was waiting for me to go inside before leaving.
I offered him a small wave, and the Silverado’s reverse lights lit up. I told Mama as I walked through the door, “Alan Callahan.”
Papa was walking toward the living room with two glasses of lemonade in his hands and stopped to address my mom. “Alan Callahan… isn’t that the man Kevin told us about?”
“I think so.”
He then looked at me. “What about him?”
“He gave me and Ruthie a ride home from the bakery.”
Papa nodded, then asked, “Is he dating your boss?”
I knew in my dad’s eyes dating equaled fornicating.
My parents would lose their shit if they knew Lainey was actually living in sin with Alan’s brother.
“No. Nothing like that. He’s from Massachusetts but is in town visiting family.” Trying to steer the topic away from Lainey, I added, “And I think Chief O’Shaughnessy is trying to get him to come work for the police department.”
“Oh. Kevin said he was a baker.”
Well, Kevin sure has been chatty, hasn’t he?
“No, nothing like that.” I tried to sound nonchalant.
“I think he said he used to be in the Marines.” And even though he’d told me he was a homebuilder, telling Papa that would bring up a whole host of more questions.
I didn’t want to keep the conversation about Alan going, so I said, “I’m not sure what he does now.
What time do the Braves play tonight? How do you think Lopez is going to do against the Dodgers? ”
And just like that, we were talking about baseball.
My mother briefly narrowed her eyes at me, as if to convey she knew that trick.
Where did she think I’d learned it from?
She reached for the handle of Ruthie’s car seat and said, “Kevin’s here. Go take a shower before dinner.”
“And wear something pretty,” my father inserted before heading toward the living room where I assumed his guest was.
I grabbed my phone from the diaper bag and walked upstairs. The smells emanating from the kitchen told me that something was already in the oven, so at least I didn’t have to cook.
I came to a dead stop outside my bedroom door as a thought hit me.
Wait. Why do I need to “wear something pretty”?