Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
DANNY
M y mind’s buzzing so hard trying to process what the heck just happened that I’m unusually quiet on the drive to Verity. It’s only when we pull up outside the sports store that I realize Frankie’s been quiet the whole way, too.
“You okay?” I ask her.
“Sure.” She gives me a quick smile. “It’s just been a weird afternoon.”
“Surreal,” I agree. “Do you think it was a dream? Am I actually asleep?”
She pinches me.
“Ow! Okay, not a dream.” I rub my arm. “Good to have that cleared up.”
The sports store, Ball’s, has taken the place of a men’s outfitter that I remember from my childhood. There are still old-fashioned mannequins in the windows, now wearing an array of sports attire, from fishing waders to tennis whites.
“Do you need special clothing for pickleball?” I ask Frankie.
“If you want to waste money,” she replies. “Shorts and a T-shirt are fine as long as you can move freely in them.”
“My old friend, nylon sports shorts,” I say. “We meet again.”
Frankie side-eyes me, amused. “Store closes in twenty. Let’s go shopping.”
I come out as the new owner of a pickleball paddle and a set of four yellow plastic balls with holes in them like spherical Swiss cheeses. I also got persuaded by Hank, the owner of Ball’s (whose last name is Peterson), to buy a T-shirt that says, “Big Dink Energy”. I have no idea what that means and am afraid to find out. I decided to stick with my running shorts, which are a merino-lyocell blend. Hank was dubious about their sweat-wicking capability, but I held fast to my no-nylon principle. Hank also complimented us on our coordinated outfits, which made Frankie immediately buy a pink-and-white argyle patterned golf shirt. It clashes with her yellow pants but looks amazing in all other respects. I had to fight down the urge to kiss her passionately right there in front of Hank. Much more reluctantly, Frankie also bought a pair of sturdy walking shoes. Hank urged her to break them in before attempting a hike.
We stow the goods in the BMW and walk down to The Silver Saddle. Frankie’s still kind of quiet and I am most certainly still over-stimulated. For half a second, I consider slapping the bar in front of Brendan and declaring, “Bartender! The drinks are on me!” But one look from him re-activates my common sense, and I let Frankie do the ordering. A beer each and curly fries for now, and four burgers and more curly fries to go. Extra spicy pickle for Shelby.
Brendan’s wearing his usual black T-shirt and jeans. The T-shirt is tight and emphasizes the bulge of his biceps and his pecs. He has multiple tattoos, including one down the inside of his right forearm of a skull with a sword through its mouth. When he hands me my beer, the skull judges me for wearing city-boy clothes. I’m tempted to say, “This city boy just scooped a cool forty-grand. How’s your afternoon been?” What I say is, “Thanks” and pass over enough cash to cover everything plus a hefty tip.
“Frankie! Danny!” A cheery voice hails us as we’re looking round for somewhere to sit.
“Okay,” murmurs Frankie. “Now I know how Chiara got back in Brendan’s good books.”
Shelby’s best friend, Jordan, is waving at us from a booth. Next to her is Chiara.
“Do you think we can run away?” I murmur to Frankie and am gratified to hear her laugh.
“They’d hunt us down,” she says, and starts walking their way.
“Oh my god, you guys look so cute !” says Jordan as we join them in the booth. “All retro preppy like a 1950s beach movie!”
Jordan herself is wearing a blue athletic tank top and a pair of very short shorts. Her curly blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail and she has no makeup on whatsoever. Her fresh outdoorsy look and sunny open personality couldn’t contrast more with Shelby’s other best friend, Chiara, who is polished to the max and about as sunny and open as a nuclear bunker. But who am I to judge what attracts people to each other? I thought Frankie hated me and now we’re a thing. Okay, not quite a thing. I might be feeling on top of the world right now, but I shouldn’t leap too eagerly ahead. That way danger lies.
“How was Ted?” says Chiara, because of course she knows exactly where we’ve been.
“Ted-like.” Frankie plays Chiara at her own game, and I am pettily delighted to see a hint of irritation in Chiara’s face.
“Ted is the best,” says Jordan. “You know, he donates money every year so we can run a summer camp for disadvantaged children?”
Her enthusiastic tribute coincides with Brendan’s arrival with curly fries.
“Least he can do,” says Brendan, dumping the plastic baskets on the table. “Got more money than God.”
“But he doesn’t have to spend it on us,” Jordan points out. “He could spend it on … on…”
“Luxury yachts? Private islands? Graff diamond watches?” suggests Chiara, thus revealing three of her personal life goals.
“Exactly!” says Jordan. “Ted really cares about our community. We’re so lucky to have him here.”
I’m pettily delighted a second time to see the conflict in Brendan’s face. It’s clear he disagrees with every fiber of his being but does not want to upset Jordan. Last time he did that, Shelby told us, she shunned him for weeks.
“Another beer?” he says. Playing it safe.
“No, thanks,” says Jordan, cheerfully. “Next kids’ camp starts tomorrow and I’ve got to get up early and drive. But I’m glad Chiara made me come back here in between. It’s been so nice to see you all!”
She says, “all” but she’s smiling only at Brendan, who freezes for a moment like a deer in headlights before muttering, “Yup” and walking back to the bar at a pace a petty person might describe as hurried.
“God, his rear is delicious,” says Jordan. “I can’t wait for winter, when I can come here and ogle it all the time.”
“Call me crazy,” says Frankie. “But wouldn’t it move things along faster if you told Brendan how you feel?
Chiara emits a disapproving tut-tut sound. Jordan gazes at Frankie as if she is crazy. I have no idea what’s going on here.
“I don’t want a relationship,” says Jordan. “Not yet. I’m too busy. I’m happy to leave things as they are.”
Frankie nods, apparently accepting that as an answer. I’m none the wiser but it seems the subject is now closed.
“What’s next with you two?” says Chiara. “I hear the dancing was a success.”
Yes, she does put subtle air quotes around “dancing”. Shelby has spilled the tea.
“Oh, cute,” says Jordan. “I can just imagine you two on the dance floor.”
Okay, so Shelby hasn’t spilled to everyone. Yet.
“Go karting,” I say, and with a glance at Frankie, add, “Maybe a game of pickleball?”
“Fun!” says Jordan, who no doubt thinks every sport in the world is fun, including that old English one where they put ferrets down their trousers.
Frankie doesn’t appear to be listening. Her perfect forehead is creased in a frown. Chiara says what I’m thinking. “Something on your mind, Frankie?”
“Um – yeah…”
Because it’s so unusual for Frankie to be hesitant, we all stare at her. She quickly gathers herself and addresses Chiara and Jordan.
“How would you two feel if I took over the organization of the crush party?”
Hello? News to me. Was this what was preoccupying Frankie on the drive from Ted’s?
Jordan gives Chiara a worried look. “Babe, when Ava said she’d help, I was going to ask you whether I could bow out. I just have no time .”
Chiara taps her fingernails on the tabletop. “It is a big commitment,” she says. “And a potential conflict of interest. If Shelby goes into labor that day, I won’t be leaving the hospital until we break out the cigars.”
“How about you and Ava organize it, Frankie?” says Jordan. “Although isn’t she supposed to still be taking it easy?”
Frankie’s attention’s now on me, and suddenly, I think I get it.
“How about us two do it?” I suggest. “It’ll take the heat off everyone else. And it’s not like the baby’s going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight if it does come the same day. It’ll still be a tiny red wrinkled thing the next morning.”
“Sounds good,” says Frankie, with a quick smile.
“So, who’s going to break it to Ava?” Chiara’s smile lasts longer and is ten times more evil.
I’m still pumped full of deal-fueled confidence, so of course I say, “I’ll do it.”
“Burgers up,” Brendan calls from the bar. His tone implies that you better grab them right now or you’ll never get takeout in this joint again. I swig the last of my beer and slide out of the booth. Frankie follows suit.
“Nice to see you, Jordan,” I say, with a smile. Chiara gets a nod because I’m not a big fat liar.
“Nice to see you ,” says Jordan. “Shelby’s so happy you two are here, and she’s thrilled that you’re together. Such a cute couple!”
I glance at Frankie but she’s walking towards the bar. Probably checking Brendan hasn’t rescinded our order.
When I catch up to her, I touch her elbow and she jumps a little, but then smiles at me.
“Care to join us in a Gilmore Girls binge?” she says.
“Tempting,” I reply. “But I’ve got sales admin to complete. My accountant gets shitty if I don’t keep my records up to date.”
“Your accountant, huh,” says Frankie.
I can’t quite read her tone, but Brendan’s holding out the takeout bags, so I’d better not keep him waiting.
“Thanks,” I say, after taking the bags. He nods, which I suppose is a step up from overt hostility. Maybe Jordan’s presence has mellowed him. Chiara certainly knows how to win friends and influence people, though “manipulation” might be a more accurate choice of words.
Frankie’s already out the door, so I follow. There’s still something on her mind, I can tell. My worry is that she’s re-thinking how she feels about being with me. I liked the thought of us as a cute couple, “together”, but though I had some luck today, I don’t want to push it by asking her outright. Better to go with the flow and hope it doesn’t carry me over a waterfall.