“A story inspired by a headstone.”
Cameron bent his arm and held it out so that I could link mine with it, and I did. “Walk there with me and I’ll tell you.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, the next walk I’m taking today is around an air-conditioned mall. But you be sure to tell your friends I said hello.”
Cameron shook his head and laughed as I slipped my arm from his. He held on to my hand for just a second. “See you around, Teddi Lerner.”
I had a feeling he would.
Chapter 12
I LOVED HAVING A car.
Me: I’m here.
Shay: Want to show you something. Back door open.
I stepped over the moss-grown cracks in the slate path that led around the house and toward the deck. Purple clematis climbed a wooden trellis we’d hung on the house before Shay was born, the new plantings offering hope, but a long-range plan that had not turned out as beautifully as the flowers.
I turned and stood in front of the trellis. I’d left my camera at Nettie’s but I could come back when the light would land on the flowers and make them sparkle without Photoshop. Maybe flowers that Celia and I had planted would be the right photo for the contest that I hadn’t yet decided if I’d enter. I watched my feet as I walked. Pro, con, pro, con, pro, con. I wasn’t sure why it mattered. I shook my shoulders and waggled my arms to reset my thoughts.
Then, I saw a worn brown leather duffel bag to the side of the back door—Beck’s duffel bag, the one he’d carried in and out of my apartment after dark and before dawn dozens of times. Where was his car?
I shoved my hands into my pockets and palmed my stone. I looked around the backyard as if I were a detective, looking for any unusual movement in the bushes or unlikely shadows on the ground. Nothing besides a squirrel kept me company, and even he hopped along the top of the fence and out of view. I hoped I’d maintain my balance so easily, if need be.
I stood outside the duffel bag’s force field. Clouds provided a shield from direct southern sun, so I saw inside the house without squinting. Shay’s back was to the door and she stood at the kitchen counter with Beck. She nodded and Beck stretched out his arm behind her and drew her in with a squeeze and kept her close. He nodded. Maybe they were talking about the wedding, or Celia, or me. Maybe she was trying to wrangle him out of a few shopping dollars. Then Beck kissed the top of Shay’s head.
I stepped back, almost onto the duffel, my fist releasing my stone, my heart pounding. I picked up the stone and shoved it back into place and breathed. The guy who hugged and nodded and pulled his niece in close—that was the Beck I knew. That was the Beck I missed. The Beck I’d forgotten about on purpose.
I turned and tiptoe-ran across the path, stepping on any moss or plants in my way. I needed to get around to the front of the house. I was panting but moving in slow motion, the small Cape Cod somehow reminding me of the new, sprawling Hester property in Scottsdale.
Made it.
I lifted my hand, kept it far from the doorknob, and knocked.
Shay opened the door right away. “Why are you all sweaty? And why didn’t you come in the back?”
“I’m just anxious to go, sweetie.”
“I want to show you my collage. It’s in the kitchen.”
She pulled me inside and through the house at a clip.
“You here alone?”
“I’m not a baby, Aunt Tee.” Shay’s voice was course, impatient.
“No, you’re not.” The collage lay on the counter. I pushed my hair off my forehead and behind my shoulders. There was no one else in the room. I looked outside. No Beck. No duffle bag. Shay lifted the paper and turned it around. She inhaled as if she were about to reveal a long-held secret.
“Hey, Aunt Tee! Look!”
I stared and as I blinked, shades of color and bits of paper morphed into one seamless and cohesive family portrait of Miles, Shay, and Celia. “That’s amazing.”
“Thanks.” Shay looked at her creation, and a tentative grin grew into a wide smile that rivaled Celia’s. I flinched to stop myself from looking for my best friend.
How I wished that bittersweet was still a term best left for chocolate.
“The collage is due tomorrow but I didn’t want to have to cancel our plans, so Uncle Beck stayed up late with me last night while I finished it.”
“That was nice of him. So, Uncle Beck went home?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He still lives in Columbus, right?” This was wrong. I should not be asking Shay about Beck. If that had been my MO, I would’ve been asking her about him when we FaceTimed and texted, but I never did. Maybe I should have.
“Most of the time he’s in Columbus. Sometimes he’s here.”
“He visits you and your dad and stays with you? That’s nice.”
Shay tipped her head back and laughed as if I had just told her the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “Why would he live here when he owns Nettie’s on Lark? He lives there.”
“Sure. Right. Of course. Silly me.”
My thoughts swirled.
The basket. The wine. The footsteps. The necklace!
A thoughtful and thought-provoking gesture, out of character for this Beck. I tried not to think of how he’d been upstairs as I paraded around my room in my underwear, bathed for an hour in the claw-foot tub, and when I’d snuck outside late at night in my robe with just a T-shirt underneath. He’d been there all night, right upstairs. So close but yet so far—and so cliché it backed up into my throat and made me queasy, yet my pulse quickened.
I’d managed to dodge him once again.
“No more about Uncle Beck, okay?” I focused my gaze on Shay, searching for her unique features. The ones that made her Shay, separated her from Celia.
“It’s time for our girls’ day out. You, me, and the mall. Ready? Aren’t you glad I have a car now?”
“Yep! And oh yeah—Daddy’s meeting us for lunch.”
*
We tried on feathers in our hair, rings on our toes, and scarves around our necks. I told Shay no, I could not give her permission for a second hole pierced in one of her ears.
“Do you remember when you had your ears pierced?”
“No, do you?”
“Of course I do. You were five, the summer before you started kindergarten. You wanted so badly to wear big-girl earrings and your mom and dad thought, fine, babies get their ears pierced. Shay’s five. It’s fine.”
“It was fine,” Shay said.
“You cried for three hours. Nonstop.”
“I did?”
“Yes. But you also couldn’t stop staring in the mirror, first at one ear, then the other, shrieking. But every time your mom asked if you wanted to take the earrings out, you screamed louder and said no, you loved your big-girl earrings.”
Shay laughed and touched her earlobes.
“C’mon,” I said. “We have time before your dad gets here. Let’s go buy you a new pair of big-girl earrings.”
I yearned to hug her but figured that was not what she’d want in the middle of the mall.
We headed toward Claire’s boutique and saw the same group of girls that had walked into the café. Or at least I thought so. I hadn’t realized how all tweens—teens—look the same to me.