Chapter 25
Inside the post office, the women comfort Blythe while Tommy is focused on his conversation with Hope. They get her a paper
towel to wipe her face, pat her shoulder, and murmur consolations to her. All the while, Blythe keeps a tight grip on the
package she fought to get back.
When Tommy ends the call and turns around to speak to the women, everyone already knows what he’s going to announce because
Sylvie told them. “They’re going to send pizzas in here,” he says, acting like it was all his idea. “And waters.”
Sylvie can’t help but wish Blythe would’ve gotten in a good, hard kick to his gonads while she was rolling around on the floor
with him.
“So what do you like on your pizza?” Tommy continues. “I’m supposed to find out and let the girl know.”
The girl, Sylvie thinks, has a name. Her name is Hope. But she doesn’t say that aloud. Instead, she says, “I really shouldn’t have pizza. It gives me acid indigestion.” She makes
a show of looking at her watch. “Especially if I eat it this late in the day.”
Tommy frowns at her. “That’s easy for you to say. You already had something to eat.” He points at the basket, still toppled
on its side.
“No one stopped you from doing the same,” Sylvie retorts.
Tommy waves his arm in the direction of the basket. “There’s nothing in there I want to eat. Not when I can have pizza.” He makes a dismissive motion in Sylvie’s direction. “If you don’t want it, you don’t have to eat it.”
Nadine speaks up. “Well, I’m not eating dairy.” She crosses her arm over her stomach. “It hasn’t been agreeing with me lately.”
Tommy looks at her quizzically. “Since when?”
“Since none of your beeswax, Tommy Harrell.”
“Well,” says Blythe, hurrying to interrupt lest a marital spat get them all off track. Her stomach is already rumbling at
the thought of pizza. She hasn’t eaten since her trainwreck of an engagement dinner last night, where she only picked at her
food. “I’m vegetarian,” she tells them. “So I can only do veggie toppings. If there’s, like, even the oil from a pepperoni
on the pizza, it’s a problem.”
Morrow speaks up. “I have to agree with the others. I’m on a diet. And pizza is definitely not on it.” They all nod in sympathy.
They have all been on a diet at one point or another.
“Perhaps they could send something else?” Morrow asks. “Something everyone could enjoy? There’s a good deli in Calabash.”
She gives a little laugh. “It’s called Calabash Deli, actually. They have lots of salads and sandwiches and—oh!—they make
the best soups.” She places a finger on her temple. “I need to think about what today’s soup special is.” She looks at the
other women, who all look riveted by the prospect of soup. “They change it every day,” she explains to them.
Tommy, who has been shaking his head since they all began speaking, has had enough. “It doesn’t matter what the soup special
for today is! This isn’t DoorDash! It’s the Sunset Beach Police Department offering to send in some pizzas! Geez!” He runs
both hands through his hair and closes his eyes.
As she watches him Sylvie thinks, If we asked him nicely right now, I bet he’d let us go.
She opens her mouth to do so, but before she can get the words out, he opens his eyes.
“I’m telling them cheese pizzas. No toppings.
” He looks at his wife. “You can pull the cheese off if you need to.” There is a gentleness underneath his words, a softening of his face as he speaks to her.
He says nothing, Sylvie notices, about anyone else’s aversions.
But then again, none of them are the wife he’s desperate not to lose.