The men turned to look at me. “Julia laughed?” Walt repeated. “Well, I’ll be.”
“Yes, I laugh,” I said. “I laugh at a lot of things.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Walt said.
“I’ve never heard you laugh,” Lloyd said. “Hell, I’m not sure I’ve even seen you smile!”
I grinned hugely, then relaxed my face again.
Lloyd nodded approvingly and eyed his tablemates. “Very nice,” he said. “You have good teeth too. You should do that more often.”
Just then, Miriam came over with coffee cups and saucers. She set them down in front of Sophie and me and filled our cups. “Anything to eat, girls?”
“Try the lemon meringue pie,” Walt said. “Jimmy and I just had a piece. It’ll knock you out.”
Sophie looked over at Jimmy. He nodded. “Okay,” Sophie said. “I’ll have a piece of the lemon pie, Miriam. Jules, you want anything?”
“They have strawberry shortcake,” Walt said. “With real biscuits. Miriam’ll heat it for you too, if you want. I don’t know about you, but I gotta have my biscuit warmed all the way through when I have shortcake.”
“For crying out loud, Walt.” Miriam put a hand on her hip. “Why don’t you just rewrite the menu?”
I ordered the shortcake. Miriam brought it over a few minutes later, along with Sophie’s pie and fresh coffee. Walt was right. It was delicious. I dug in, spooning up mouthful after mouthful of strawberries, whipped cream, and biscuit until my plate was clean.
“You thought at all about what color you’re gonna paint that kitchen?” Lloyd asked. “Or you just gonna leave it bare?”
Sophie licked the back of her fork and then set it down against her empty pie plate. “Funny you should ask. I was actually hoping we could talk about it together. I’d like to paint three of the walls a very light yellow. And I was hoping that Julia would do something to the last one.”
I looked up from my plate. “Do something?” I repeated.
Sophie grinned. “Yeah. Draw something. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. You know, maybe a little mural. Of anything.”
“You an artist, Julia?” Lloyd asked. Next to him, Walt stuck his thumbs behind his suspenders and looked at me.
I sighed. “Sophie likes to think I can draw because I used to doodle when I was younger.”
Sophie sat forward eagerly. “Oh, you should have seen the little pictures she created. Miniature fruit and vegetable people with tiny hats and striped legs.” She stopped talking, her eyes getting wide. “Oh my God! That’s what I want you to draw! On the wall in the kitchen. You can do a whole scene with the fruit and vegetable people.” She bounced up and down a little in her seat. “Will you do it, Jules? Will you, will you, will you?”
“You want fruit and vegetable people on your kitchen wall?” Lloyd asked. “You sure about that, Sophie?”
I stared at my sister, not sure if what I was feeling was embarrassment, anxiety, or pride. She nodded her head eagerly at Lloyd, still looking at me. “I’m one hundred percent sure,” she said. “I’d love it. I would totally, totally love it.”
The men turned in my direction now. Sophie was still staring expectantly at me, eyebrows high on her forehead, lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Okay,” I said. “If you want me to.”
Sophie’s face split open into an enormous grin. “Fantastic! Thank you.”
“A produce-people mural,” Walt mused, draining his cup of coffee. “Now this I gotta see.”
chapter
37
Alone in my room afterward, I withdrew my phone from under my pillow and dialed Milo. The sound of his voice in my ear made me warm all over.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Good. Bored. There’s not much to do around this crappy little town, in case you forgot. I got a summer job at the Pantry Quik, though. Night shift. I’m actually leaving in about five minutes.”
“The night shift?” I repeated. “Why’d you take those hours?”
“Didn’t have a choice,” Milo said. “It was that or nothing.”
“You reading anything good?” I tucked the phone between my shoulder and chin and reached for my sketch pad.
“The Tommyknockers,” Milo said. “It’s actually better than I thought it would be.”
“Is that another Steven King?”
“Yeah. He’s a suspense genius.”
“Is he another scary truth teller?” I started with his hair, sketching pieces of it this time in a thatched pattern to bring out the thickness of it, ending with a slight curl where the ear would be.
“A what?” Milo sounded startled. “Um…maybe. I never really thought about it that way. Stephen King, a scary truth teller. I guess he could be, if you can tell the truth while you’re writing fiction. I don’t know.” He paused. “Wow. I can’t believe you remembered that.”
Of course I remembered that. I remember everything about him. “I’m a nerd,” I said. “I remember everything, remember? It’s my job.”