I was in no way fit for company. So after I killed my growling engine, I just stayed behind the wheel, listening to the engine cool. I wouldn’t go inside. But just sitting here wasn’t a terrible idea. I was safe from myself right here. There weren’t any drugs on the premises. And I’d been clean every single day that I’d stayed here. This little spot on the map was proof that I could do it.
Maybe only a crazy man drives twenty miles to sit in someone’s driveway. But at that moment, it made all the sense in the world to me. Tipping my head back against the headrest, I tried to calm down.
After a couple minutes, the kitchen door opened. I thought I’d escaped detection, but apparently not.
May Shipley’s shoes crunched across the driveway toward my car. She opened the passenger door and sat down, shifting my uneaten sandwich into her lap. “Hi Eeyore.”
“Hi, Pooh Bear,” I said, relieving her of the sandwich. I shoved it into the bag and tossed it onto the back seat.
I could feel her eyes on me. We were just about the same age. Of all the Shipleys, she was the one I’d felt closest to during my months here. May and I had worked a lot of farmers’ markets together. Back in July, when I’d mentioned that I was supposed to be attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings, she found one for me and drove me there once or twice a week, knitting her way through the hour in the back row.
“You okay?” she asked now.
I shrugged, because I didn’t want to lie to May. But a shrug wasn’t a lie. And I really had no clue how this night would end.
“Forget your toothbrush?” she teased.
My voice was flat. “Forgot how to get through the day without heroin.”
Her eyes were deep pools of empathy. “Did you use?” she asked me calmly.
I shook my head. “Nope. Came close, though. Swear to God, if the neighborhood pusher hadn’t been on a piss break, I’d be off the wagon right now.”
She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. What she didn’t do was spout any wisdom. May was as solid as they came.
Another door on my shithole car opened, and May’s brother Griffin Shipley climbed into the back seat. “This where the party is?” he asked, closing the door against the chill.
I grunted.
“Is there a reason you’re not coming into the house?” he asked, bumping the back of the driver’s seat with his big knees. Griffin was built like a Mack truck. Farming gave you muscle, but he’d be a huge guy even if he sat at a desk all day.
“I just drove out of town because I needed an hour away from my place,” I said. “Didn’t realize it was Thursday Dinner.”
“You just have naturally good timing,” May said, nudging my elbow with hers.
“Yeah.” I chuckled. “I excel at timing.” You have to have impeccable timing to kill your girlfriend’s brother the only time the two of you ever got into a car together.
“Is this a sandwich?” Griffin asked. I heard a rustle, and then he said, “Mmm. Chicken Caesar.”
“Don’t eat Jude’s food!” May yelped, spinning around to glare at her brother.
“Why not? Mom and Audrey are slicing up a giant ham right now. This is just a warm-up. Bite?” He offered the wrap to the front seat.
“You keep it, man,” I said. Food didn’t appeal to me when I was feeling twitchy.
“We’d better go inside,” May said, reaching for the door. “Heads will roll if dinner doesn’t start on time.”
“I should go home,” I muttered.
She turned to pinch me on the arm. “No freaking way. You’re here already.”
“Didn’t mean to invite myself to dinner.”
“Get out of the car, Jude. There’s apple-cranberry pie.” She knew it was my favorite.
My empty stomach picked that moment to growl, which made her laugh. “Come on. Out.” She gave me a shove.
Caving, I got out and followed the two of them through the kitchen door, because I really could not go back to Colebury right now. Mrs. Shipley stood at her worktable, slicing ham into slabs. “Good evening, Jude,” she said. “It’s lovely to see you.”
Lovely of you to show up empty-handed for dinner. I was such an asshole. “I’m sorry to just drive up without calling.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I specifically invited you back for Thursday Dinner. This is Thursday Dinner. You are only allowed to apologize for arriving late. Now wash your hands and find yourself a beverage.” Then, having no more time for discussion, she set down her knife and hefted the platter of ham.
The Shipleys were good at dealing with strays, that was for sure. I found a water glass in one of Mrs. Shipley’s cabinets, and filled it. Then I carried my drink of choice through the double doors and into the crowded dining room.