Chapter 11 Lorna Now #2
Her smile got bigger. She could feel it crackle all the way to her toes and spark in her chest. “That is so sweet of you, Bean. But I’m not sure you’d like it. I’m kind of boring.”
“Yes, I would. Because I like you. That’s what friends are—people who like each other. Your eyes are leaking again.”
“Damn it,” she said, and reached for a tissue.
It was ridiculous that her eyes should well because of his offer to be her friend.
This kid would be friends with an alien from outer space, which, if she thought about it, was perfect for an eight-year-old boy.
Still, she was moved. Maybe because no one had offered her friendship in years.
This kid, man. “Thank you, Bean. I would really like that.”
“Okay.”
And just like that, the deal was done.
He continued mixing the batter, then looked at her again. “But did you ever have a best friend?”
Read the room, kid. She didn’t want to keep talking about it. She couldn’t help but think of Callie. The thought was still painful, like a hand squeezing her heart. After all these years, she still missed her. Still wanted to talk to her. “I did. When I was thirteen.”
“Did she die ?” Bean asked in a whisper.
“I don’t think so. I feel sure someone would have told me if she had.
” Maybe, but who? The thought of Callie being gone from this world squeezed her heart even more.
She remembered her so clearly: long red braids, blue eyes, and too many freckles for two young girls to count without laughing.
Free spirited and kind and so accepting of Lorna and her terrible homelife.
They were both outcasts from the popular circles at school, which made them a merry band of two.
She shook off the memory. “I’m sure she’s fine,” she said.
“Diego is funny. We play Interspace Zombies , and one time Diego blew up a space monster and it turned into marshmallows.”
“Sounds sticky.”
“And then the marshmallows swallowed all our chickens and made them glitch.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “Keep stirring until you don’t have any chunks.”
“I’m supposed to have a notebook,” he said.
“For what?”
“For field notes. That’s how you get a badge—you show them your field notes.”
“Hang on.” Lorna left him on his knees on a barstool, stirring the batter.
She went to her writing desk and opened a drawer.
She had several notebooks from various functions and stationery stores and found one from a sales conference a few years back.
It was emblazoned with Driskill Workflow Solutions above the company logo.
She returned to the kitchen with it. “Here you go—a notebook. It’s yours now. ”
“Thanks!” Bean said.
She found a pencil in her catchall drawer. “I’ll pour this batter into the pan while you make some notes.”
Bean picked up the pencil and bent over the notebook. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know what to write.”
“Write down Brownies . And then you can rank them on a scale to get a score.”
“Huh?”
“Like on a scale of one to ten, ten is the hardest, how easy are they to bake?”
Bean looked at the pan with the batter. “Um... a seven.”
A seven ? She would have gone with two. But as she was not trying to earn a badge, she said, “Okay, seven it is. When they’re baked, we’ll taste them and give them a score for taste.
And then another one for presentation, because that’s a big thing with desserts. You’ve seen decorated cakes, right?”
Bean blinked.
“We’ll take the scores and add them together, divide by three, and you’ll have an average score for your dessert.”
“Divide?” Bean repeated uncertainly.
It occurred to Lorna that she didn’t know what sort of math skills eight-year-olds possessed. “Why don’t you just give it a number between one and ten based on how much you enjoyed making and eating the brownies overall.” He would never make it at Driskill, where data was king.
“Diego is going to get his fishing badge. After my baking badge, I’m going to get one too. But Dad works a lot, and my grandpa had a stroke.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lorna said.
“Why?”
“I mean I’m sorry your grandpa is sick.”
“Do you know my grandpa?”
“Nope.”
“I’m going to visit him on the weekend. Grandma is going to cut my hair. Diego’s mom takes him to a barbershop, but Grandma cuts mine. What was your best friend’s name?”
He was not going to let it go. She could almost believe Peggy or Micah had put him up to this line of questioning. She averted her gaze. “Callie,” she said, and opened the oven door.
“Why did you stop being best friends?” he asked. “I would never stop being best friends with Diego.”
“Well... life kind of got in the way.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I might have done something stupid.”
“Like an orange cat,” Bean said.
“Exactly like that.”
“Dad says you have to make sure you’re being a good friend. But I don’t have to try with Diego. We like all the same things. Red is my favorite color and it’s his, too, and we both like cars, and we both play Interspace Zombies . Did you and Callie have the same favorite color?”
Lorna and Callie had been close like that and had shared everything. Until Lorna blew it. “I don’t remember.”
“You could ask her if she’s not dead,” Bean suggested.
Lorna stuck the pan of brownies into the oven. She felt kind of sick. Like she’d lost something all over again. Like a laser beam was scoring her heart.
She set the timer for the brownies to bake.
While they waited, they took turns with two spoons, scraping the last of the batter from the bowl.
Then, at Bean’s insistence, they perused her Precious Moments figurines.
He arranged his favorites in a village of sorts on the hearth while Aggie slept under the desk.
But then he noticed the stacks of pink and white envelopes.
“What’s that? Are you having a party?”
He reached for one, but Lorna caught him before he could pick them up. “They’re just some letters.”
“But why—?”
Lorna was saved from any interrogation about them by a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it!” Bean shouted, racing to yank open the door. His father was standing on the other side.
“Something smells good,” Seth said.
“We’re making brownies,” Bean said. “And Lorna gave me a notebook for my field notes.”
“Ah. Did you say thank you?”
Bean whipped around to Lorna. “Thank you,” he said dutifully.
“You’re very welcome.” Lorna couldn’t quite make eye contact with Seth.
Had he noticed her apartment? Her fixation with Precious Moments?
Had he picked up on the lonely spinster life she was living in here?
Because she really didn’t want him to see her that way.
She wanted him to see her as a capable professional, a normal woman, someone worthy of his attention.
And that desire was a little discombobulating.
It made her feel anxious near him. “The brownies are almost done. I can bring him home when they’re finished. ”
“No, Dad, come in,” Bean said. “Remember all the little people I told you about? I want to show you my favorites.”
Lorna noticed Seth’s gaze slide past her and into her living area, and she felt shame creeping up her neck as he took in her figurines.
Bean had already grabbed some to show his dad—the one depicting the dog and a boy, and one of a boy with a fishing pole.
“Wait,” she said weakly, but it was too late.
“These are my favorites,” Bean said, holding them up for Seth to see.
“Yeah, I can see why those would be your favorites,” Seth said, but his gaze strayed to the hundreds more. He looked at Lorna curiously. “Are you an art collector?”
Sweet of him to pretend this was art. She was more of an emotions collector.
“Sort of.” She wanted to die. All she really knew about this man was that he cried a lot and slept through Gunsmoke , that he was handsome and kind to her, and that she didn’t want him to think she was pathetic.
Now she felt entirely conspicuous, like a troll living under a bridge with her stupid collection.
Thank heaven for the oven, which beeped and saved her the utter humiliation of explaining her collection.
It’s like I try to find scenes that I wish I’d had in my life but didn’t because I’m a stone-cold loser with a wildly dysfunctional family.
Hope you don’t mind that your son and I are hanging out, because of course, there’s nothing weird about that.
“Excuse me.” She hurried into the kitchen before Seth noticed the flame in her cheeks.
What had ever made her buy so many of the damn things?
“Look!” she heard Bean say. “This is my notebook.”
“That’s a good one,” Seth said.
Lorna took the brownies out of the oven and put them on a rack. Please hurry the hell up and cool , she silently begged them. Then she could stuff a brownie in their hands and send Bean and Seth on their way. Probably she’d stuff the rest into her mouth to bury her shame.
“I’m really sorry,” Seth said.
Her head snapped up. “What?” She braced herself, expecting him to tell her that his son couldn’t be in this weird apartment wearing an apron, surrounded by her obsession with happy little scenes from life. “I’m supposed to get off work at three, but we’ve been having some issues lately.”
Thank goodness. “Oh. Yeah, it seems like you’re late a lot.” Her brain tried to claw back the words her mouth had issued, but it was too late. “Not... not that I... I noticed, that’s all. Not because I know when you work or anything, but...”
“But because Bean is always with your dog,” he said, helping her out.
“Yes,” she said, grateful to him for that small kindness.
“I know. I had a babysitter lined up, but she flaked on me. I’m trying to find after-school care for Bean.”
Lorna looked at the kid. His tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth as he made notes in his new notebook.