20. DIANE
CHAPTER 20
DIANE
It’s ridiculous how much I miss Sam when he moves out, but it’s probably for the best. Not that I do what I really should and leave town, however. Telling myself that I have to stick around for one last chance to win trivia night with the Geezers, I spend two days running all over Fork Lick shooting background footage to cover the bases when I do the final edits.
Unfortunately, from the roadside stand selling locally made preserves to a tractor scaling a hill at sunrise, everything my camera records just makes me want to stay. Even Baabara stopping traffic when she escapes from her pen tugs at my heart.
Tuesday night, when I join the Geezers at their usual table and let them know Colleen won’t be joining us, Big John frowns. “Who’s going to answer all the pop music questions?”
“Yeah. And the Disney crap,” Little John adds.
I wince. “Sorry guys. I’ve got you on literature and history but?—”
Just then the door opens, letting in a gust of cold air, as well a s the man never far from my thoughts. “Don’t worry guys. I’ve got it.”
Rushing to meet him, it takes everything in me to keep my hands to myself. “Want to be on my team?”
Shucking his jacket, he tips his head to the side, grinning. “Do you want me for my pop culture knowledge or… did you miss me?”
“Both,” I say, unable to keep a silly grin off my face. “Colleen’s not here, so we need you.”
“Then I’m all yours.”
When we show up to the table, Tall Paul scowls. “What good is this guy? We need Colleen.”
“I’ve got you covered,” Sam says, hand over his heart. “As her twin, I was forced to watch every Disney movie and Nickelodeon show and memorize the words to every girl anthem right alongside her.”
“He doesn’t listen to country in his truck.” Lowering my voice, I add, “He listens to top forty instead.”
Small Paul shudders. “Top forty?”
Big John slaps the table. “You’re in.”
Sam is as good as his word, and we smash the Quick Picks. Even better, he never stops touching me the entire night. Whether it’s an arm across the back of my chair, his fingers playing with my hair, a squeeze of my hand when he gets excited about knowing an answer, or a full-on kiss to the mouth, I have to stop myself from climbing in his lap so I can feel even more of him.
Buzzing with giddiness and humming “New Romantics”—Sam’s encyclopedic knowledge of Swift lyrics never ceases to amaze me—I don’t even notice another human in the bathroom until I step out of the stall and up to the sink to wash my hands. Not until Ginny hands me a paper towel.
“Oh, hi, Ginny. And uh, thanks.” After drying my hands, I throw the balled-up paper away before turning back to her. “Good game tonight.”
She just rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her sparkly shirt. “I may be just a dumb hick who works at the Quick Lick, but I know fashion, Didi Mayer.”
“Wh-what did you say?”
“I knew it.” Her smile is so slow and smug, I almost expect her to twirl a mustache. “Your name isn’t really Diane McCarthy.”
“How? I mean?—”
“Come on. Nobody actually from this part of New York wears Fendi t-shirts and Vivienne Westwood jeans. We couldn’t even afford J. Crew or Madewell.” She rolls her eyes. “Like they carry those lines at Walmart. Uh-uh, only big city transplants drop cash on clothes the way you obviously have. I took one look at you and I knew: You’re trying to fit in somewhere you don’t belong. What I couldn’t figure out is why you’d want to.” Tapping her chin, she begins to pace the small space between the sinks and stalls. “Then I noticed that your face never shows up in your videos, which made me wonder, is she hiding something? Or from someone?”
She spins to face me and stops to wag a finger back and forth. “Too bad for you, I have a vested interest in finding out and a whole lotta time on my hands. Hardly anybody shops at the Quick Lick anymore, not since the damn Amazon fulfillment center opened up in Coxsackie and you ca n overnight anything you need. So I have plenty of time to search on the internet, and looky what I found.”
Like a detective in a cheesy movie, she whips out what looks like a Xerox of a newspaper photo and gazes back and forth between it and me.
“Didi and Hermann Mayer, Jr. Mm-mm-mmm.” She peruses the picture as she hums. “I still don’t know why you changed your name. Maybe you’re running from a messed-up marriage to this Hermann guy, but it won’t be long until I find out. And believe you me, whatever I dig up, I’ll tell the entire Bedd family, starting with your beloved Samuel, not to mention the whole damn hamlet. Not only do I have spies, I have ways of getting out the word, you see.”
Carefully refolding the photocopy, she tucks it away and pats her bag. “Unless you pack up your Gucci bags and get out of town before dawn, that is.”
I have no words, but just in case I did, she leans in, poking my breastbone with a pointy, pink-tipped fingernail.
“And before you try and tell me that you and Sam were made for each other, don’t forget that I have something you don’t have, no matter how much money you’ve got. I’ve got a centuries-old family farm, right down the road. One that he can help me run when we get married so he can move back home where he belongs.”
Stepping back, she wags that finger back and forth.
“And. You. Don’t.”