Loralee’s skin felt tight, a surefire way to tell she’d been in the sun too long. Her mama had never believed in sunscreen, telling Loralee over and over that the only way to keep your skin wrinkle-free was to stay out of the sun altogether. She’d ignored her mama and had happily coated herself in baby oil throughout her teens and twenties, trying to get as dark as she could. It was only since she’d become a mother that she’d started using sunscreen and had become a convert—at least on her face. She let her limbs get as brown as they wanted, but she’d never allow a ray of sun to touch the skin on her face. That was what makeup was for.
But today she’d needed to feel the sun on her face and body. It had almost been as strong as the cravings she’d had for fried pickles and Krispy Kreme doughnuts when she was pregnant with Owen. It was as if the sun’s rays held healing properties that her body needed and that she couldn’t supply. She made a mental note to add to her journal later, Wear sunscreen every day. Except when you really need to feel the sun on your skin.
Loralee leaned against the edge of her bed and pointed past Gibbes to the closet. “Merritt said all of those boxes are yours, so take them if you want them. Anything to be recycled goes with the boxes over there.” She pointed toward the corner of her room.
After they’d dropped off Maris and returned home, Loralee had invited Gibbes to come inside and have a cool glass of sweet tea before heading back to his house. She’d felt Merritt’s hard stare on the back of her head but had just smiled at Gibbes when he’d said yes. Loralee knew everybody was hot and tired and in dire need of a shower, but she’d been reluctant to let the day end. It had been too long since Owen had had such a carefree day, one where he laughed out loud often and didn’t seem to be missing his daddy so much. Loralee wanted to make it last as long as she could, just so he’d always remember it.
Gibbes removed a box from one of the shelves, and she enjoyed the play of muscles under his shirt. If Merritt didn’t start noticing Gibbes’s fine assets soon, Loralee was going to drive her stepdaughter to the eye doctor herself.
He opened up the top of the box and leaned down, then lifted a boxed game. “Wow—I haven’t seen this in a while.”
Too tired to stand, Loralee craned her neck to see while Gibbes tilted the box toward her. “Battleship,” she read out loud. “I’ve heard of it but never played. Is it fun?”
“It can be—if your opponent doesn’t hate losing and get mad and throw pieces.” He studied the cover of the box, his index finger playing with a frayed piece of masking tape holding one of the corners together. “Cal and I played it a lot when I was a kid.”
He took out the box and put it aside before pulling out two more and showing them to her. “Stratego and Clue—both classics.” Looking up at Loralee, he said, “I was going to give these away, but I’m thinking maybe Owen might like them. Nice to have on rainy days.”
“Thank you, Gibbes—Owen will be thrilled. Maybe even Merritt might want to play with him.” She chewed on her lower lip, deciding whether to ask Gibbes, and then the words just forced their way out. “Do you think Merritt is getting along okay with Owen? Do you think she’s feeling a connection with him?”
A side of his mouth quirked up. “It would be hard not to—he’s a great kid. But, yeah, I think they’re getting along fine.”
He didn’t say anything else as he placed the games in a pile. “I’ll bring these and anything else I find that Owen might like to his room when I’m done.” He paused. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back later? You should probably rest.”
She shook her head. “Only if you want to. I was going to ask you to stay for dinner.” She tried to smile but managed only a slight lift of her lips.
“I’ll stay if you let me order pizza. You shouldn’t be making dinner.”
“Pizza!” Owen shouted from the hallway, his footsteps coming toward them at a run. “Did somebody say pizza?”
Gibbes gave her an apologetic shrug. “I guess it’s decided. Pizza for dinner.”
“Pizza?”