by Amanda Tru
“No… I bought one to replace it so I could read it. Just my way of making it right, you know?”
Her mother’s expression hinted that no, she did not know.
“Well, anyway. I ordered one that looked a little like the one you got me, and it came in. Went to get it today. It, and the audiobook I rented, were already in that bag. Paid for.” Jordan reached over and opened the cover to reveal the note. “He wrote something.”
“Can I read it?”
“Yeah! That’s why I’m showing you. I can’t figure out how he knew about it. I think I told Alexa Hartfield about it a week or so ago. If that note hadn’t been there, I would have been sure she did it. It’s the kind of person she is.”
“I still think it’s weird that you go to church with a thriller-slash-horror mystery writer. And a famous one at that.”
And I still wonder if that fact isn’t what’ll finally get you to listen about this whole “religious kick” I’m on.
Mom’s voice broke into her thoughts. “This is kind of sweet…”
“Right?”
“I like the ‘sorta secret admirer.’ Sounds like you should be able to figure him out.” She read it again, her voice mumbling below her breath. “You don’t think he’s a creep, do you? I mean, did the bookstore guy know what he looked like or anything?”
She got orders to head to Ravenwood Grill, and waited to get onto Dreyfus Way, before answering. “Todd says the guy had a beard, but he didn’t get a name. I think it’s gotta be the same one, right?”
“Probably. How safe is Fairbury?”
“I—”
Mom broke in. “No, really. Like if he showed up at your door, would you be surprised or scared?”
That wasn’t something she’d considered. Still, fear didn’t fit the picture of what she’d seen. “No… I’d be surprised—maybe even alarmed for a minute, you know? Just because it’d be so unexpected. But half of Fairbury knows I’m house sitting for D.C. Why shouldn’t he?”
“You’ll be careful though, right?”
They were the exact words she’d expect her mother to say. The problem was, Mom didn’t sound concerned at all. It took most of the way to the restaurant to find the best description of what she’d heard. It sounded like an afterthought.
The ride up the elevator gave Heath time to check his phone. Almost midnight. Ann’s text messages still showed. From the first, We’re behind you. Don’t turn around, to the assurance that Jordan wouldn’t have been creeped out about him finding out where she lived, to the most recent, How are Tilly and Mosi?
Name’s official, then. Mosi—firstborn.
Heath shot back a reply now that he had a moment to do it.
Heath: Weakness subsided after a few feeds. We’re having him nurse first, then supplementing. Trying to build Tilly’s supply, too. Night. Thanks.
Selby lay asleep on the couch, her phone on the floor beside her, organic chemistry open on her chest. He managed to get her book set aside, her phone picked up, and a blanket over her before he banged his knee into the end table and knocked over a lamp. She jerked upright. “I know martial arts!”
“I know. You spent months practicing on my shins.”
“Heath?”
As he righted the lamp and turned it on, he grinned down at her. “That’s me.”
“How’s the baby?”
“Doing better. Why don’t you go to bed?” The suggestion—wasted. She pointed to the end of the couch, and the moment he sat, settled herself in beside him just as she had as a little girl who expected him to read her a story. For the 4329th time. “I take it you have to talk?”
A giggle escaped. “You need to train my future husband in all my quirks. It’ll save lots of frustration for him.”
“Or make him rethink his decision.”
“You love it, and you know it, big bro. You always have”
Being an only child for eight years did that to a kid. Heath just wrapped his arm around her, tucked the blanket in better, and waited. She’d tell him everything when she was ready and not a moment before.
The words flowed almost immediately. “I almost went to meet Kevin. I was so tempted, but you couldn’t leave if I needed you, and I promised…”
“Thank you.”
“They have that monitor on the app. They’ll send help to my GPS location if—”
“If you’re even there after that alert goes out. Remember, he knows it exists, too. And he’s probably a great guy, but still. I’d feel better being close the first couple of times.”
A sigh—exasperated or resigned. He couldn’t tell. Still, it was a sigh instead of a protest. That helped. “Well, he invited me to his church tomorr—or probably this morning, huh?”
“This. Yes.” His church. That would be an interesting thing after she’d settled herself into the Anglican church scene. Their more casual Dominican services were much more like the average seeker church than the ritualized Anglican. “So, are we going?”
“I love how you just asked instead of sounded put out. No. I’m not ready for that. Coffee tomorrow—I mean, tonight?”
“Sounds good.”
“How about as a kind of, sort of double date?”
Camille—the new girl. She’d probably sent messages that he’d ignored all day. “I don’t know. If she sent—”
“She did. I responded for you. I told her it was me and that you were dealing with a work emergency.”
His stomach rumbled just as Heath thanked her for that much at least. “I probably should get something to eat.”
“Did you eat at all today?”
That was the problem. He couldn’t remember. His gut told him that he’d been too nervous before he went to the bookstore, but had he afterward? The Diner had been too full, coffee hadn’t sounded appetizing, and nothing else came to mind. He’d gotten the call about Mosi and shot back to Rockland without a care about speed. A ticket for that would have been a reimbursable item.
“Nope.”
“Scrambled eggs or frozen pizza?”
Although his rational, mature self insisted that scrambled eggs was a better choice, Heath opted for pizza. “I’ll take a shower.”
“Good. You smell like a barn.”
“You snuggled up…”
Selby grinned as she stood and offered him a hand up. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it… I just figured if you smelled like one, you might need a shower to sleep. I’ll get the food.”
He’d almost turned on the shower nozzle when Selby’s previous words registered. With his head sticking out of the bathroom door, he shouted across the apartment. “Do I have a date tomorrow?”
“Coming!” He repeated the question on her arrival, and she grinned. “Same time. Same place. Opposite sides of the restaurant.”
It could be worse… Heath shut the door. “Okay.”
The praying began the moment the first blast of hot water hit his back.
Eyeshadow—since when did she bother with it? Jordan couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened the palette of neutral-ish colors and attempted to swipe one on her right eyelid. “It’s not even about meeting me. This is ridiculous.”
The left eye got a semi-matching swipe. An attempt at a darker crease in the middle… it looked more like a color wash gone wrong. She tried the other side—better, but still a mess. A slow blink sealed the decision. With one motion, Jordan divested each eyelid of its unfortunate color. Eyeliner…
A groan escaped. “Why do I even own this stuff?”
As usual, the mascara wand ended up in one eye before she’d managed to get the job done, but mascara was a must. Without it, she didn’t have eyelashes. “There.” A hint of lip gloss of a pink so natural that it almost didn’t count followed and Jordan surveyed the results. “Maybe I should have worn scrubs—to look professional.
That idea tanked when she saw the time. “If I make it by six it’ll be a near miracle. Forget changing.”
More snow greeted her as she stepped ou
t the door. Just a couple of inches, but it annoyed her just the same. “I need to get that Cox kid to blow it for me. It’d be worth the money.”
With promises to herself that she’d stop by The Grind for coffee and one of the kid’s business cards, Jordan climbed into her car and did her best to make it to The Diner by six o’clock. Her phone read 6:01 the moment she parked. “Ugh.”
At this point, I can only hope he got slowed down by a plow on the way or something.
A nearly empty diner suggested she might get her wish. A text message three minutes later confirmed it.
Floyd: Accident on the highway. Just about to let my side through. I’ll be ten minutes late. Sorry.
Earlene met her at the coveted front corner booth with a menu. “Will this do, sweetie?”
“Sure. Thanks. I’ll just have some orange juice right now. I’m waiting for someone.”
“Hot date?”
Laughter bubbled out at the idea of a man her mother’s age—married with kids and grandkids, no less—being her date. “Not quite. Just on an interview of sorts.”
“Hope you get the job! I’ll be right back with that cocoa.”
A smile formed. “Um, Earlene?”
The woman pivoted and caught her gaze. “Hmm?”
“OJ.”
“Right. Want whipped cream on that?”
I should say yes. “You know how I love whipped cream.”
Creamer and a bottle of syrup appeared first. Still, Jordan didn’t know if she’d get orange juice, coffee, or just a mug of whipped cream. With Earlene, you never knew. The juice appeared just as a man burst through the door looking flustered—and nervous.
Floyd Brighton. You’ve got to be. This DNA test is a waste of time and anxiety. She stood and smiled. “Floyd?”
“Jordan?” The man stepped forward, offered his hand, and wrapped his other around theirs as they shook. “So glad you’re here.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” She decided to get right down to business. “I brought a DNA kit. You and Arnie will just swab your cheeks, I’ll send it to the lab, and in three-to-five days, we’ll know.”
“That fast?” Floyd looked skeptical as she passed the kit across the table. “I thought it took weeks.”
“It used to, and for court-ordered things, it has to go through all kinds of paperwork and channels. I asked around and got this lab as the best and the fastest. Arnie insisted on it. They do online lab results, so that’s part of the speediness.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Floyd faltered. “What if he’s not my father? And does he want to know me? I mean, really?”
“He didn’t want to see you adopted, but that’s how things worked back then. Your mother wouldn’t marry him, and they didn’t give babies to single fathers. He and his wife never had children, so yes. He’s eager to meet you. Cautious, but eager.”
Earlene took their orders and promised to rush back with his coffee. In her absence, Jordan decided to give him a heads-up. “Ever been here before?”
“A few times.”
“Ever had Earlene as your server?”
He shook his head. “Why?”
“Well, I’m going to predict a cup of whipped cream for you. And your eggs will be here, but it might take a while for the pancakes. I bet Officer Chad over there gets them instead.”
The incredulous look he gave her would have been funny, but the cup of whipped cream and her refill of orange juice—the one she hadn’t asked for—stopped it. He managed to stifle his laugh until Earlene made it back behind the counter. “How’d you do that?”
“She got fixated on whipped cream a few minutes ago. I almost guessed that it’d be on a plate or on your pancakes. Glad I didn’t.”
They discussed the weather, the accident he’d witnessed, and his new grandbaby. Only when their food, and all corrections to those orders, had arrived did she tell him her next concern. “You should know, Arnie’s only holding back by a thread. He wants this family connection as much or more as you do. He’s alone—so very alone.” That reminded her of something he’d asked. “How does your family feel about this?”
“Wendy’s all about it. Seth and Angela have both bugged me about it for years.”
“But you have three children,” she countered.
Floyd had the grace to look sheepish. “Our oldest isn’t so keen. He’ll come around, though.”
“That’s almost a relief.” At his confused expression, she clarified. “It’s just that things can be too picture perfect sometimes. Someone not happy hints that it’s normal. You know?”
An hour to the minute from the time she walked through the doors of The Diner, Jordan walked out with Floyd. She promised to text him the website information and took off toward The Grind. The chances of her mystery man knowing she was out and about—slim. Still, despite the twinge of guilt that came when she thought of the money expended to play cat and mouse games, she almost hoped he’d have been there when she stepped up to the counter and gave her order.
“Four sixty-three. Do you have a punch card?”
Oh, well… next time, maybe.
Clinks, murmurs, laughter, phones ringing, names called, gurgles and squirts—the symphony of a coffee shop. The scents were nearly as overpowering, but something about them comforted as well. The familiar has a way of doing that.
Why Selby thought them arriving together, early, was a good idea, she didn’t know. Across the shop, hands twiddling, Heath looked more miserable with every passing second. She slid her phone toward her and after only half a second’s thought, tapped out a message.
Selby: Read an article, play a game. Do SOMETHING. You’re making me nervous.
His reply? Predictable.
Heath: You’re nervous? I’m the one meeting someone we both know won’t like me.
The worst part of all was that she couldn’t argue. A flash in the window amended that. No, the worst part of all, for him anyway, was that her match showed up first. Just as he opened the door, panic set in. She zipped a text to Heath.
Selby: I don’t know what to do? Shake hands? Hug? Just stay seated and smile? Run?
Heath had no time to answer. As she rose to greet Kevin, who offered an awkward hug that suddenly felt adorable rather than miserable, Heath made exaggerated, cartoon-like chuckling motions. You are so dead, she mouthed.
“I was right, you know.” He inched toward the counter. “What can I get you?”
“I—” Selby frowned. “What were you right about?”
“Your picture doesn’t do you justice. Coffee?”
As much as a nice hot cup sounded, she’d have a hard enough time sleeping without adding caffeine to the mix. “I was thinking cocoa, but I can get it.”
“Don’t get me in trouble with my mama.” Kevin scowled at her and winked. “She taught me right. If you don’t believe me, ask her.”
“It’s kind of hard to ask someone you’ve never met…” A movie line popped into mind and Selby ran with it. “My mom agrees with Forrest Gump’s mama.”
In her peripheral vision, Selby saw Heath rise just as Kevin said, “We can fix that.”
“Sure. I’d like that.” A warning bell went off with a not-so-subtle hint, but what about, she didn’t know. She only saw Heath.
Camille—gorgeous. Stunning, actually. And by the way her brother looked panic-stricken, she probably had one or two freckles, artfully placed by the hand of a loving God. She’d never seen Heath’s process of “miseration” happen with a stranger. Already it was worse than anything she could have imagined.
Desperate, she zipped him a text.
Selby: Ask her if she enjoyed today’s sermon.
At that moment, he stood and moved to the counter.
Coffee. Well, you got that far, anyway. Now read the text.
He did. A reply shot back.
Heath: She’s got freckles. And she can tell I’m nervous. She thinks it’s “cute.” Get me out of here.
Wasn’t going to happen.
Nope. Selby gave waiting Kevin a smile before constructing a new message.
Selby: Remember. You are calm. You know how to make people feel comfortable. You’re GOOD with mammals. She’s a mammal. Just think of her as one of your charges at the zoo.
His reply prompted a snicker—just as Kevin returned, no less.
Heath: Did you really just call my date an animal?
“Care to share?
“I hear when you share you get friends, but…”
He passed her a napkin with her cup and seated himself. “Look, the way to my heart—totally through movie quotes. But the way to move in and stay forever? Veggie Tales. Don’t torment a guy like that on the first date.”
Her face had to have turned some shade of red or pink… Selby prayed for the latter and decided to risk running him off for good. “Warning: That guy in the corner with the blonde who is too gorgeous to be fair to the rest of womankind? That’s my brother. Heath.” She scrolled up the messages to her first and passed the phone. “Remember, he has… issues with dates.”
“Are you saying I’m going to see that in action?”
It happened in horrific, mesmerizing slow-motion before Selby could hope to explain. Though she couldn’t hear Heath, she could see his mouth moving non-stop. The woman grew stiffer, sat up straighter, and then planted her palms on the table with enough force to rattle their cups. If they’d been ceramic, the whole room could have heard them.
“Uh oh.”
The stool squeaked as she pushed herself off it. “If you think,” Camille the no-longer-a-viable-option screeched, “that I care about the lifetime relationship habits of barn owls, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
His lips moved, and Selby didn’t need to know how to read lips to know what he’d said. Think. It’s think. Another think coming.
“What’s wrong?”
Heartsore, Selby turned her attention to Kevin. “If you didn’t hear that, it’s probably a good thing. Look, can I trust you? Tell me I can trust you.”
“Of course—”
“Will you take me home when we’re done?”
