35. Tilley A Little Bit of a Mess
TILLEY A Little Bit of a Mess
Sure, Tilley might have taken the curve a little too fast. But she couldn’t help herself.
She had forgotten how much fun driving could be.
Why had she quit doing this? Had her parents taken her license once she had hidden away for too long from the real world?
Or had Elizabeth been the one to make that call after they died?
Or had Tilley simply stopped driving with no real thought to the matter?
She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that, with the top down in Mason’s vintage Bronco, she was addicted to driving. This was freedom. This was fun.
“Aunt Tilley!” Mason scolded, white-knuckling the dashboard. “You have got to slow down around the curves!”
“No, no, no,” she said. “The saying is, ‘Accelerate through the apex.’ ”
“Sure!” Mason said. “When you aren’t already going fifteen over the speed limit, which, I hate to tell you, you are.”
Ah. Well then. No wonder it was so much fun. Tilley reached over and patted Mason’s hand, which was still clutching the dash. “All right, all right. You can relax. I’ll slow down.”
Mason exhaled deeply and leaned back in the seat as Tilley chuckled. He rubbed his forehead. “Tilley, I’ve lived through a lot of scary things, but this one takes the cake.”
“Oh, the dramatics,” she said. She glanced at him and grinned. “So what will your official report be to my sister?”
He sighed. “Officially, you are a terrific driver, and the independence will do you good.”
“You doll.”
He turned to look at her. “To be clear, I will be lying.”
“Well, sure, honey.”
Tilley could think of several specific instances when she’d helped cover for Mason when he came in past curfew but she’d sworn she had seen him—or she’d claimed that he had slept at Dogwood when, in fact, she had never laid eyes on him.
Mason smiled at her. “You always have my back, Til. You’re the best fake aunt a guy could have.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
“Hey!” he protested. “What about me?”
“Oh, honey. As fake nephews go, you are the tops. Who else would drive with me?”
“Parker sure as hell wouldn’t,” he said under his breath.
“He had a good trip?” Tilley asked.
“Oh, the best,” Mason said. “They think they’ve died and gone to heaven with Daisy right down the street, but the foster mom thing could be a complication for their overnight sitter dreams.”
“Oh!” Tilley said. “Let’s go see Daisy and Maisy on our way home!”
“I don’t know…” Mason said. “Maisy just got there. Daisy might want a little time to get settled.”
Tilley winked at him. “You, my darling, are not overwhelming to that girl. I can just tell you.”
He laughed. “She’s something special, Aunt Tilley.”
Tilley squeezed his hand, thinking of Easter, thinking of George, wondering if she could potentially ever make him feel that same way. Did she still have it in her? A woman never knew unless she tried, right?
“Oh, if I had to bet, I think she feels the same way.”
He smiled and leaned back in the seat again. “So do I text her to see if we can come? Or do we surprise her?”
The tires squealed as Tilley made a last-minute turn and zoomed into the parking lot of the Maritime Market. “We surprise her with dinner,” Tilley said. “I’d prefer to make it myself, but we don’t have that kind of time. Run in and get a chicken potpie and a bouquet of daisies.”
Mason looked at her for a long moment.
“Go on. I’m not getting any younger.”
As Mason walked into the store, Tilley leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face.
Something about the smell of the vintage car and the gasoline and the feeling of the sun thrust her back to one of her early dates with Robert, to the first time he had ever kissed her.
She could slip right back into—No! She opened her eyes and snapped herself out of it.
For some, it might be a memory. For Tilley, it could lead to losing herself.
She wouldn’t leave. It made her proud, the willpower to fight to stay in today.
Mason hopped back into the car and smiled at Tilley.
He was such a bright, capable, handsome man, she mused.
He had a warm tan and sandy hair and dimples that had broken a million hearts.
She loved him like her very own, even during the tough parts, even when people said he was good for nothing, even during the stints when he was drinking too much and working too little.
Well, she loved him even more then because Tilley knew what it was like to be the outcast, the black sheep, the talk of the town.
She defended him when she could. But even when she could not, she loved him a little extra so he would know he was okay.
They weren’t related, but living on that same spit of sand Mason’s entire life and two-thirds of Tilley’s had bonded them deeper, she thought.
She smiled at him. “I love you, little boy,” she said. “And I’m so proud of you.”
He eyed her warily.
“I’m here!” She laughed. “It’s me. I know you’re a grown man who has made mistakes, but you know I’ve always been in your corner, right?”
He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Well, I love you too, and I’ve always been in your corner.” He shrugged. “Frankly, I like you more when you’re crazy.”
She leaned her head back and cackled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked at him seriously. “But I’m working really hard. You know that, right?”
He nodded. “Me too.”
“Okay,” she said resolutely. “Well, we will just keep each other on the straight and narrow.”
As Tilley pulled out of the parking lot, Mason said, “Do you think she’ll leave me when she really gets to know me? When she figures out that she’s the perfect woman, and I’m kind of a mess?”
Tilley thought of George again. Was it the same with them? Was he the perfect man and she the mess? “Honey, we’re all a little bit of a mess.”
She pulled into Daisy’s driveway and, getting out of the car, stretched her legs. “Wow. Driving will really take it out of you. I believe I’ll walk home.”
“Don’t you want to see the baby first?”
Glee welled up in Tilley. “I really do, if you don’t mind an old lady crashing your grand gesture.”
Mason knocked on the door. “Frozen pot pie does not a grand gesture make, Tilley. You should raise your standards.”
“You know, Mason, I think I will. That’s an excellent plan.”
Daisy opened the door, looking surprised, holding Maisy. Tilley stood back a step or two, but her heart positively pulsed when Mason kissed Daisy and then Maisy. He rubbed the baby’s forehead. “Hey there, little girl. Is she taking good care of you?”
Tilley walked up and smiled, and Daisy gestured for them to follow her inside. Already, her small kitchen was a mess of bottles and towels that made Tilley’s stomach clench. They reminded her. But, no, nope. She wouldn’t go back there.
“Do you want to hold her?” Daisy asked Tilley.
Tilley was touched that Daisy would bestow such an honor on her.
“Well, I would be delighted,” Tilley said.
She moved over to the couch. She could certainly hold a baby standing up.
She’d done plenty of baby duty with Greer and George.
But she knew that it felt a little nicer for the parent—or, well, foster parent—if one was sitting down while holding their brand-new baby.
Daisy handed Tilley the baby, being careful of her head, and Tilley arranged her on her lap so that her head was at Tilley’s knees and her feet were at Tilley’s stomach.
Mason said, “I wanted to check that painting in the nursery. Make sure it’s double hung and can’t fall in the crib.”
Maisy moved her face just a little, and Tilley knew she was too young to technically smile. It was just gas or whatever they said, but, still, it took Tilley’s breath away. This was her baby, wasn’t it? Didn’t she remember that smile, that smell?
Oh, she had done so well. But this was one break with reality that Tilley simply could not fight or resist. She could feel herself going back. For the first time in days, she let herself. She told herself it was okay. She had to go. Just for a little while.