Chapter 15
Dear July,
I don’t even know if you’ve gotten any of my letters yet. We don’t have a phone or computer here, and MF controls all the money, so that’s why I haven’t called. Do you have an email address? I don’t but I could get one…
Joe
“I think you should have a cooking channel. You’re better at explaining stuff than a lot of the people online.” Maisie slides a look of pure mischief my way. “And you’re cuter. You know. For an old guy.”
I shake my head, biting back a laugh. The kids came in after school and joined me in the booth where I had joined Sonya on her break an hour earlier. Maisie’s been pelting me with questions about spices and sauces and knife work.
“You should listen to her, Joe.” Sam glances up briefly from his newest sketch. “She watches all the cooking channels. She’d know.”
Interesting. “You want to be a chef, Maisie?”
“No. I just like to cook. I like seeing how Donna and July and Tina and the people online do things.” She watches Sam add shading to a curve in his drawing. Her mood has shifted but I’m not sure why.
The swinging door from the kitchen opens and July comes toward our booth. Falters just a second when she spots me, then keeps coming.
I haven’t seen her since her apartment Friday morning. I’ve purposely pushed back the memory of waking up inside her, making love to her. Nothing to celebrate there. It would have taken a goddamn saint to stop when I realized…and I have never been anything close to a saint.
I stayed away from the restaurant Sunday after Tina texted that they didn’t need me. Came by Monday, planning to eat at one of the outside tables, but Tina waved me in to eat with her during her break. Same Tuesday, only it was Donna instead of Tina. Today I just came on in without being asked. It feels more like home than my apartment, even though my apartment is starting to look pretty good. Finished the last of my painting yesterday.
So my last contact with July was that text Sunday afternoon. Still don’t know why I asked her to run with me or whether it was a mistake. It took her forever to text back a simple okay , followed by Give me a few days to stop coughing.
“Hey, y’all.” She stands beside us now, more awkward than I’ve ever seen her, a menu in her hand. Her forehead bruise has faded to the palest yellow, and some of the stitches seem to have fallen off already. She looks healthy again, her color good, her hands steady. Maybe just a hint of tiredness beneath her eyes, but she looks…good.
Not as good as when she was underneath me, her head tipped back, early morning light silver on her throat and on the breasts I’d obviously been sipping from, her warm pussy squeezing me, but…
Shit.
Less fantasizing, more acting like a running buddy. With manners. “Want to sit?” I slide over to the inside wall, hoping she won’t look down at my fly.
“Oh, um, okay, just for a sec.” She perches on the edge, a million miles away. “Just wanted to show you this, Maisie, but it’s good you’re here to see it too, Joe.” She lays the menu on the table and flips it open to display a new Daily Specials card clipped inside. “Check out Tuesday.”
Maisie, Sam, and I all lean in to look. I see it, blink, swallow, and blink again to get rid of the moisture in my eyes. The card says, among other things, Tuesdays: Smokin’ Joe’s Pepper Pasta.
“Aw!” Maisie’s voice holds a smile.
“Nice.” Sam’s nodding in my peripheral vision.
I’m having trouble speaking. Have to clear my throat.
“Donna suggested we add it. Tina named it.” July sounds surer now. “We all thought it was a good idea. Our way of saying thanks.”
Only time anybody’s ever done anything like this for me was when my Colorado staff named the skinny cartoon fox on our restaurant logo “Joey.”
“That’s real nice,” I say when I can finally speak. “Thanks.”
Her gaze rests on me, her gray eyes seeming to see everything the way they used to. “You’re welcome. Thank you .” And then, thank god, she changes the subject. “Tonight’s softball,” she says to the kids. “I’ll be gone for a couple of hours during supper, so watch for extra ways to help out, okay?”
Then she turns back to me. “If I don’t hack up a lung tonight, I’m ready to try running tomorrow.”
I nod.
She stands, scoops up the menu, and heads back to the kitchen, patting Sam’s shoulder in passing.
The kids watch her go, glance at each other and then at me.
I ignore the speculation in their eyes. I don’t really have any more idea of what’s going on with me and July than they do.
My dick can just chill the fuck out.
***
July was fine at softball last night. Only had one brief coughing spell, and that’s because she stretched her double into a triple. The woman can’t not hustle. She doesn’t go to Lindon’s with us afterward—says she needs to get back to work—but tells me she’s good to go for running.
So here I am, waiting in the kitchen for her as she finishes up with Devon and his guys in the dining room. She wouldn’t let me help with closing, so I just stand out of the way in the office till she pushes back through the swinging door.
“Okay. Give me one sec to change, and then I’m ready.” She tosses her apron in the laundry hamper by the door, disappears, and is back in a flash dressed in her running gear. Blue leggings, sneakers, and a pale gray tank. Her body looks powerful and graceful, and it’s impossible not to remember how she feels in my arms. In my mouth. Around my…
Goddammit.
I follow her to the alley, where we stretch. “We should circle this area. In case you start coughing or get worn out.” When her gray eyes flash at me, I add, “I mean because you’ve been sick.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and sighs. “That makes sense.”
“You set the pace.”
She nods and sets out, her stride smooth, slow, and easy at first and then gaining speed as she finds herself able. I’m a bit taller but we’re a good match, running-wise.
We don’t speak for a couple of blocks, but finally I have to say something. “I saw Jen the other day. She looks…different. Good.”
July glances over at me and laughs. “Yeah. She didn’t look nearly so pregnant when she was twelve, huh?”
That opens a crack in the ice. I ask about her folks—retired early and moved to a condo in Florida—and her brother, Brendan, some kind of project manager consulting whiz.
“I’m glad they’re all doing okay.” I mean it. I really liked them back in the day.
She flashes me another glance. “They were glad to hear you were okay too. They missed you when you went away. We all missed you.”
We go another block in silence while I wonder whether to bring up that period or not. The few times I’ve tried asking her about it, she was pretty evasive.
But I have to know. “Was that time as hard for you as it was for me?”
She doesn’t look my way, but her brow furrows. “I don’t see how it could have been, Joe. I wasn’t the one suddenly dropped in a strange place where I didn’t know anybody and couldn’t speak the language.” Her voice grows quieter. “And I had a really supportive family around me.”
True, but…still an evasion? I try again. “So you didn’t have a hard time, then?”
That gets her. Her eyes widen as she turns them on me for a second. “I didn’t say that.”
I count four strides before she speaks again, and then I can barely hear her.
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.”
There’s a story there. An important one, I’m sure of it. But she doesn’t elaborate, and after another half a block, she changes the subject. Thanks me for being so good to Maisie and Sam. “They think you’re pretty great.” She flashes me a half-strength July grin. “I’m getting a little sick of hearing about it.”
That makes me laugh. “Now that’s funny. Because to me they went on and on about how you’re the town mom, always taking care of everybody. They’re crazy about you. Everybody is.”
She fixes her eyes on something up the street. “Not everybody.”
And we’re back to silence. Back to me wondering what we’re really talking about.
***
July
“Ms. Tate? July?” Sam corrects himself as I give him the evil eye from my position halfway under my desk.
I retrieve the pencil I dropped and straighten, turning to face him where he stands in the office doorway. “What’s up, Sam?”
He casts a fast glance toward the door to the dining room.
What’s that in his expression—worry? “You wanna come in and shut the door?”
“I can’t stay long.” He steps into the office but leaves the door open. “I just wanted to ask if you could schedule me and Maisie so that we have the same days and hours? Or real close to the same hours?” He glances at the doorway again. “I mean, we’re usually pretty close to the same anyway, but…”
“What’s this about, Sam?” I’ve never detected any hint of romance between Sam and Maisie, despite their obvious closeness, but maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe Sam has a crush on her.
He takes another step in. His words come out in a quiet rush. “There’s this dude at school—kind of a bully. He’s…interested in Maisie, but she’s not interested in him. She told him so but…he showed up at the cabin, at Maisie’s cabin, yesterday. Scared her. Grabbed her arm. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there. She didn’t want to say anything to you, but I don’t want her home alone.”
I know I’m frowning because the last of the liquid stitches tugs at my skin. “Her mom know about this?”
“She… I don’t think Maisie told her. Her mom…has to travel a lot for work.”
“But you’re around a lot?”
Sam nods. “Yeah. Almost anytime we’re not at work or school.”
Well, this is frustrating. “Why didn’t Maisie want to tell me or her mom? This guy sounds like trouble. Has she considered talking to the principal or somebody at school? Or calling the police?”
He shakes his head and casts another anguished glance toward the dining room. “She doesn’t want anybody to know. She thinks it would cause more trouble. She’ll be really mad if she knows I talked to you.”
“But you think you can keep her safe if I schedule you two the same? You can be around her that much, and she’d be okay with that?”
“I think so. I…practically live there as it is.” He studies his hands as I study him.
“Sam, please forgive me for asking this, but if I arrange your schedule like you asked, I’m not going to be helping you stalk Maisie, am I?”
His round, blue eyes find mine. “No, ma’am! Maisie’s like my sister. My best friend. Both, I guess.” He glances at the door again, then leans a little closer and says almost inaudibly, “Ms. Tate—July—I’m gay. Maisie’s got nothin’ to fear from me.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks for trusting me with that, Sam.” I frown down at the scheduling sheet I’ve been using, trying to work in the three new employees I hired this morning. “Lemme play around with the hours and see what I can do. I’m going to have to sound her out on this a little. But I won’t let on that you said anything.”
He nods. “Okay. She’s on break right now. I’m supposed to be out there too, so…”
I wave him away. “Go.”
He exits the kitchen via the door to the restroom hallway so he’ll be approaching the dining room from that direction. Smart boy.
Before I have time to think better, I pull out my phone and text Joe: You nearby? You hungry? Need your opinion on something here. Subtly. Then I get myself a glass of iced tea, tell Donna I’m on break, grab some fruit and a piece of quiche, and head out to the dining room. My phone buzzes on the way out—Joe saying he’ll be over in a minute.
I join the kids in their booth. They’re talking about the school year ending next week. “I can give you both full-time hours once school’s out, if you’re up for it,” I’m telling them when Joe slides in beside me. “Hey, Joe.”
“Hey.” His smile isn’t just for me the way it used to be.
I don’t know why it feels so awful to have him treat me like just a normal person. It’s not like he’s not nice to normal people.
It just doesn’t seem fair for him to be able to do that when his nearness, his scent, his face, everything about him makes every tiny hair and assorted other bits of my body stand up and say, “Hey.”
Maisie and Sam greet him with their usual enthusiasm. Sonya bustles over to give him a hard time and take his order.
“How’s it going?” he asks us when Sonya heads back to the kitchen.
“School’s almost out!” Maisie sounds excited.
Sam adds, “July’s gonna put us on full-time for summer.”
Joe looks around, taking in the nearly full dining room and patio. “I can see why. Almost full at three thirty on a weekday. Business is good.” He gives me a half smile that makes my stupid insides flutter. Makes me want to forget the past twenty years and scoot closer so he can put an arm around me. Kiss and touch me the way he used to when we were young and he loved me.
Focus, July. There’s important grown-up stuff to pay attention to here. “What’s the bruise, Maisie?” I nod at her wrist as she raises a forkful of salad to her mouth. “We need to fill out a worker’s comp form?”
Her eyes widen and she gestures at her mouth, making a big production of carefully chewing her food. She’s stalling for time, I know it. Sam looks at Maisie until she finally swallows and says, “No. Just some dumb boy.”
Joe stiffens beside me. We’re not touching, and it’s nearly imperceptible, but I can tell his attention has sharpened on her. “What dumb boy?”
Maisie looks to Sam, who gazes back at her without saying anything. She sighs. “Just a dumb boy from school.”
“What’d he do?” Joe’s voice is casual. He doesn’t look at her as he asks. Instead he points to a slice of strawberry on my plate, then to his own mouth, and makes a pitiful begging face.
I roll my eyes, spear the strawberry, and hand him the fork.
“He showed up uninvited.” Maisie shudders.
Joe stops chewing and swallows. “He showed up at your house?”
She nods, looking equally miserable about the situation and about having to talk about it.
To give Joe time to process this, I ask, “Maisie, does your mom know?”
She shakes her head, eyes on her plate. “She…was out of town for work.” She darts a glance at me and adds, “But Sam was there, so nothing happened, really. I’m fine.”
“What’d he do, Maisie?” Joe has dropped the casual tone.
“Nothing, really.” But at a nudge from Sam, she admits, “He was trying to get me in his car.”
I look at Sam for the first time since this conversation started. “But you stopped him?”
Sam nods. “Yeah. I don’t think he expected to see me. He let go of her and drove away.”
Joe’s expression is murderous. “He put a hand on you, Maisie?”
Maisie squirms, lowers her eyes, poking at her salad. “Just my wrist.”
“Okay.” I’m all business now that it’s out. “Maisie, you tell your mom, okay? I think she should take you to the police station to talk to somebody, see what they recommend. And maybe talk to somebody at school about it too. Let me know if you want me to give you some names, or if y’all want me to go with you, okay?”
Maisie nods, but her misery is palpable.
“How often are you home alone?” Joe has calmed himself, gotten the deadly note out of his voice.
“Only when Sam and I are on different work schedules.” Maisie adds quickly, “He stays with me most of the time when Mom’s not there.”
Damn, girl, perfect opening. “So if I give y’all matching schedules for a while, until this jerk learns to leave you alone, would that help?”
Maisie and Sam look at each other and nod.
Joe thinks ahead. “What about overnight? Is your mom ever gone overnight?”
“Sam stays with me when she’s gone overnight.”
Joe’s still frowning. “You got phones?”
“Sam doesn’t, but I do.” Maisie pats her purse.
Joe leans back so Sonya can place his meal in front of him. He thanks her, and then pulls his own phone out of his pocket and slides it across the table to Maisie. “Dial your number from my phone, and then save my number. That creep comes back, you call 9-1-1, and then you call me, okay? I’ll come right away, anytime. Tell me how to get to your place.”
Maisie gives him directions, and Joe looks at me. “That’s on the lake right near the place we used to go.” He turns to Maisie and Sam. “I run up that way a lot.”
Sam straightens in his seat. He and Joe exchange a look I don’t understand, but I don’t want to change the subject by asking.
I turn to Maisie again. “You and your mom go get some official advice as soon as you can, okay? Let me know if you need help.”
Maisie looks at me with her big, solemn eyes and hands Joe his phone back.
He saves her contact information and slips the phone into his pocket.
Under the table, I find his hand and give it a quick thank-you squeeze. He squeezes back for just a second before letting go.
No matter how sad I am about things between Joe and me—and no matter how hard it is to hide that—I made the right call to pull him in on this situation with the kids. He’s freaking great with them.