“Hmmm,” he said and tapped his top lip. She saw how it curled up at the ridge like hers. “Stubborn. Secretive. All clammed up most of the time. Not pretty, but you couldn’t take your eyes off her.” He smiled. “What’s she like now?”
The question made her choke up a little. “Pretty much the same, I guess. She’s hard, in every way possible. Hard to be around, hard to please, hard to like. She’s not a happy person, that’s for sure. For my whole life, it’s just been the two of us, and when she gets on my nerves there’s no place to go. I got no one to talk to, not really.” It was nice to be able to tell someone who got it. There was so much she wanted him to decode for her. In another world, she would have loved to sit and chat with her mom like this, to tell her what was on her mind, to ask her questions about her life before. She longed for these little luxuries, but they felt as vague and remote as Cuba.
“That’s kind of how it was for us, too,” Manny said. “She never was a talker, was she? We just had each other. It was pretty great for a long time but . . .” He sniffed.
“What happened?” She was thirsty to know what had caused them to split. She was sure it had been her mom’s fault. He must have gotten sick of her strong-and-silent BS. Or maybe Kit had been the one to leave, allergic as she was to a good thing.
“Oh, that’s boring grown-up stuff,” he said. “Don’t you fret about such things.”
“Come on,” she pushed. “I can take it.”
“How old did you say you were again . . . ?” he said and squinted. “About nine?”
He was razzing her. “Thirteen and a half,” she said. “Going on Old Enough for Grown-up Stuff.” He laughed for real at that one.
“Ahh, I don’t know,” he said, a little more seriously. “The thing about your mama,” he went on, and looked off at the dome of an oak tree, searching. “She’s kind of like beef jerky. She’s tough and it takes a lot of work for a little reward, but for some reason you keep going back for more.”
Charlie rolled back laughing, giddy to know he understood.
“Hang on, I got one,” she said. “She’s kind of like a badger wearing Tony Lamas. She’s short, she’s mean, and she looks silly in boots.” She laughed so hard she snorted a globule of wet doughnut into her sinuses. She coughed and laughed and Manny whacked her across the back, laughing with her. She curled her legs up underneath her and tilted her head toward him. He lifted his arm to make room, and she rested her cheek against his ribs.
Manny pulled up to the house. She got out and leaned through his window. She smelled the wax in his hair, the lemon drops on his breath.
“Don’t you want to come back in?” she asked.
He took a deep breath and whistled it through his front teeth. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Let’s do this one step at a time.”
A pull at her throat. She realized she had expected him to stay around until she was ready for him to go.
“Okay.” She pushed back from the window, trying to look blasé, and walked toward the house. Without turning she shouted, “And thanks for the doughnuts!”
Manny tooted the horn at her in response and got out of the truck. Charlie turned around and watched him go, wishing she could follow.
Chapter Thirty-One
The next morning, Charlie woke up bright and happy. She went over the previous day like a dream, tracking each moment. The muddy truck, the doughnuts, Cuba. She plunked down the stairs like it was Christmas morning, ate some Fig Newtons, and ran back to her room to get dressed. She could barely contain the news that her father had come back to be with her. And while she was acutely aware that Pecan Hollow was not ready for this twist, she was anxious to talk about it with somebody, somebody other than Kit. Although she had never said a word to Dirk before two weeks ago, he was the first and only person she wanted to tell. She got a little light in the middle thinking of their time by the lake, a crackling joint between them. She left another, more detailed, note for Kit.
Out. Diner. DONT WORRY. —Ch.
She pedaled her bike as fast as she could into town. It would be too obvious of her to go poking around the trailers, but she was hoping he’d show up at the diner, or near it, soon enough.
With the breakfast rush done by nine, the place was nearly empty save for the cook, who was scraping and greasing the griddle in back, and Sandy, who was rolling place settings for the lunch crowd. Charlie became aware that in reuniting with her father, she had suddenly changed status. This ranking system was all but explicit in Pecan Hollow. At the top were the girls from intact homes; then there were the ones from divorced homes; lower still, the offspring of unmarried parents who stayed together; then girls from single mom homes where the father had run off; then, at the bottom, were the ones like Charlie, where the father had never been known at all. Sandy, with her loose ways and tragic mother, was often referenced in hushed tones as what could become of fatherless girls.
“Hey, Sandy, you seen Dirk around here?”
Sandy blushed like she’d been caught doing something wicked. “Dirk Dirkin? Huh.” She put her hand on her hip. “No, babe, don’t think I have . . . why, you two have a ron-day-voo?”
Sandy got busy making a peanut butter malt without being asked. She wiped the melting drip of malt from the side of the heavy glass, squirted a pile of whipped cream on top, and finished it with a straw. “This one’s on the house.”
Charlie thanked her and sipped it, sweet and frothy, her agenda briefly halted by the treat.
“I had a feeling there was a love connection between you two,” Sandy said, spidering her fingers across the counter toward Charlie. Charlie recoiled.
“Oh, don’t be shy. It’s fun to be in love. I do it all the time.”
“Don’t be weird, man, we’re just friends,” Charlie said, aware that even in the act of resisting the accusation she was confirming it.
Charlie tried to think where else she could wait around for Dirk to show up without getting interrogated by Sandy, but it was hot out and the malt was damn good.
“You’re getting so grown up. You know, I used to change your diapers,” Sandy said, like she was bragging.
Charlie gave a begrudging “You don’t say.”
“Sure did. You know I probably changed more than your mama did.” Sandy deftly rolled a fork, knife, and spoon in a paper napkin. “She didn’t bother herself much.”
Charlie was irritated at being reminded—by Sandy of all people—of her mother’s shortcomings.
“Yeah, well, we all know she’s not the motherly type, I guess.”
“It wasn’t her fault, bless her heart, she just didn’t know about those things.”
Something about Sandy’s tone made Charlie stop drinking and push the glass away. She dug in her pocket to pay. On the house or not, she didn’t want to owe Sandy for shit.
“Guess you must be pretty pissed at her,” Sandy said, slyly.
Charlie tossed three bucks on the counter. “Sandy Blanchet, are you deliberately trying to get under my skin?”