24. Michelle
Chapter 24
Michelle
M y sister’s umbrella blooms open like a flower, pink and beautiful, matching her massive grin.
“Shellfish!” Sara breaks out in a run. She bypasses going down the driveway or the cobblestone path, instead opting to slap through the muddy yard, kicking up patches of grass under her rain boots.
“Wait, get off the grass!” I call over the pounding rain.
Sara either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care because she runs the rest of the way, ducks under the porch awning, and tosses her open umbrella to the side before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.
“Oh, I missed you,” she exhales into me.
Sara is shorter than me—five-two to my five-nine—which is why she nuzzles closer, burying her face into my breasts like a burrowing rabbit.
“Stop,” I groan through an exhausted laugh.
“I didn’t realize this was a customary greeting,” Cliff says, leaning away with his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been saying hello wrong for months.”
I elbow him, and he gives a grinning oof .
“How was the drive?” I ask her.
“Terrible,” Sara groans. “Our rental car was seconds away from breaking down. I was scared the entire last hour .”
“Sometimes, I think they do it for fun,” Cliff comments. “Like a survival game. See who can cut it in the wild. Or on the highway.”
Sara’s eyes slowly swivel to Cliff, but they very quickly shadow over. I stiffen, following her gaze to him.
Cliff looks like he always does. He’s wearing his go-to flannel, double layered under a corded sweater. His boots are the rustic brown kind with little love marks from the bakery. Sara lifts one curious eyebrow as she scans from his grinning smile down to the defined wrists peeking out from his pants pockets.
I thought only I noticed his wrists.
Sara extends her hand out to him. “Hi. Sara.”
She shamelessly bites her lower lip, giving one stunning, dimpled smile.
Cliff untucks a hand from his pocket and shakes hers. Sara looks down to his large, veiny hand.
“Cliff. I live next door.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Have you now?” Holding her hand, Cliff swivels his eyes to me with a crooked grin before landing back on her.
Shake.
They aren’t letting go. It feels so similar to our handshakes. My stomach coils.
“Well, it’s great to finally meet you,” he says to her.
Shake.
Sara smiles, giving another shake of his hand as she bears her dimples at their full capacity. Adorable. “Pleasure is all mine, Cliff.”
Whoever said it was chilly rain today was a liar because, suddenly, I’m heating up from the inside out.
I clear my throat and walk off the porch without an umbrella. “I’ll go check on Dad.”
“Need help?” Cliff calls after me.
“I’m fine.”
I use my arms to shield myself from the rain until I reach the rental car. I tug the handle once, then twice, and the door finally pops open. I slide in on the squeaking brown leather and shut it behind me.
Dad sits in the driver’s seat, letting out a slow exhale. The only other sounds are plunking raindrops on the roof and the low hum of Bob Dylan on the radio.
“Hey, Dad.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hi, Shellfish.”
Dad looks better than he did months ago. He’s gained a bit of weight. He’s shampooed the few remaining wisps of hair on his bald head. But he hasn’t lost that distant, thousand-yard stare. I follow his gaze to the parked car at the end of the driveway. Mom’s car, covered in wet leaves.
“How was the drive?” I ask, changing the unspoken subject.
“Good. A little rainy.”
“The whole way?”
“The last half.”
“Cliff is here,” I offer. “He’s excited to see you. He’s staying for dinner, along with his daughters and Carol.”
“Oh, Cliff,” he says, finally looking over at me with a lopsided smile. “What a character. He’s a good boy though.”
“I’ve told him the same thing. Well, I called Rocket a good boy, and then Cliff thought—” I smile and wave my hands in the air. “You know what? Doesn’t matter.”
I feel so silly with my stories from this town, especially ones with Cliff that never sound quite as funny as they did during the moment.
The little time Dad spent thinking about happy things is slowly replaced with melancholy as he sees the baby angel statue near the porch—the one with tiny wings, thick ankles, and a mischievous smile.
“Your mom loved that guy,” he says. “Did you know his name is Stu?”
“I didn’t. Cliff calls him Chunky Charles.” One of too many inside jokes with Cliff.
Dad snorts out a laugh. It’s half-hearted, but I’ll take anything I can get. He sighs. I place a hand on his forearm.
“Are you okay, being here?” I ask.
He pats my knee. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else for Thanksgiving.”
“I’m sure Lisa and George will be thrilled that you’re in town too.”
“How are they doing?”
“They’re good. Nosy, as always,” I say with a light smile. “But good.”
“And the inn?” he asks, his tone changing with worry. “It’s doing well?”
“It’s doing great,” I say confidently. “In fact, I made cinnamon rolls. They’re fresh. I’ve been told they’re divine .”
Dad nods. “Good, Shells. Good.”
“Let’s head inside, all right?”
But before I get out of the car, Dad reaches out to stop me.
I look to his hand on my forearm and back up. “Are you all right?” I ask.
“I like that you’re smiling again.”
My heart skips a beat, and I choke out a laugh. “Well, it’s hard not to when you and Sara are here.”
“It’s not me,” he says, giving me a pointed stare. “You’ve caught the bug of this town. I can tell.”
For some reason, a lump catches in my throat.
“Come on,” I respond with a weak smile. “Let’s get inside.”
That night, the Bird it’s another to do it when he’s not around.
“Hmm …” She clicks her tongue in thought. “Then, … I don’t know … do you think you could set me up with him?”
It’s like my heart stops, starts again, then takes an Olympic leap into my throat. I keep emptying wine from the bottle into her glass, but my fist is tightened around the neck of the bottle. I swear I can hear my blood pressure in my ears.
“Aren’t you a bit young for him?” I ask.
She snorts again, though I’m not sure if it’s from derision or too much wine. “No way. I’ve dated older.”
“You have?” I ask with wide eyes.
She grins, placing her index finger in front of her plush lips with a, “Shh.”
“How old?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Forties.”
“Sara!”
She giggles. “Don’t tell Dad.”
“That could basically be one of Dad’s friends.”
“Whatever,” Sara says, pushing my arm. “Anyway, Cliff’s into blondes, right?”
“Is he?”
“You’re the one who said that.” She laughs. “Oh my God, Shells, are you trying to get me drunk?”
I notice I’ve nearly filled her wineglass to the rim.
“Sorry.” I got distracted. “Anyway, when did I say he was into blondes?”
I slowly hand her the glass, and the wine sloshes dangerously close to the lip.
“Oh, Cliff! Right. Yeah, over the phone. You said we’d get along and that blondes are his thing and thank God because he’s so cute.”
I did say that, didn’t I? But that was before Halloween. That was before … well, nothing, I guess. According to both me and Cliff, nothing happened or would happen again. And that’s a good thing. That’s how it should be.
“So, think you could talk to him for me?” Sara asks. “Please, please, please?”
Sara and Cliff. Cliff and Sara. My sister and my charming neighbor. My best friend and my sister.
Sara narrows her eyes. “Unless … you are into him,” she says, setting down her glass and holding up both hands. “I’m not gonna step on your toes.”
I realize too late that my brow is furrowed.
“No,” I say quickly, blowing out air and shaking my head as I pour myself wine. “God, no. No, it’s Cliff. He’s … no.”
She squints more. “You two seem close.”
I set the wine bottle on the counter with a definitive plunk. “I’m honestly closer with his daughters,” I lie.
“Hmm. Well … think you could …” Her words fade off as she playfully chews her bottom lip and knocks the toe of her shoe against mine.
I should hook them up. It makes sense. I’m not going to date Cliff, so why would I steal potential happiness from both of them? After all, Sara will be his neighbor after the new year, and I won’t. If it works out, then my two favorite people will be happy.
She’s sunshine. Cliff deserves sunshine after all he’s been through.
I squeak the cork back into the bottle. “If you really like him, I’ll talk to him for you.”
She gasps, hopping toward me. “Really?”
“Sure.”
Sara grabs my hands between her palms. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you!”
I force a smile and push her toward the dining room. She grabs her glass and slyly snatches the entire bottle of wine before disappearing through the swinging door.
The moment she leaves the kitchen, I slump against the counter. From the floor, I hear a low woof. I lean my head on my own shoulder to glare at Rocket.
“Yes?” I ask.
He blinks slowly, darting his eyes to the door, then back. Do you really want her with Funny Guy?
“He’s not that funny,” I grumble.
I’ve laughed once or twice.
“Oh, what do you know about humor?” I scoff, sipping my own wine and pushing through the door and back to the dining room.