Dillon removed the ice cream and firmly shut the freezer door. “Figures!” Grabbing a spoon, she took the carton to her room and changed into her “comfort jammies” before pulling her auburn hair back into a ponytail. Then, even though she disliked licorice, she plopped down on her bed and proceeded to consume every last drop of the gooey, sweet, charcoal-colored ice cream. As she plunked the soggy container into her wastebasket, she caught a shocking glimpse of herself in the closet door mirror. Her licorice-blackened lips and grayed teeth looked strangely stark against her pale skin, which hadn’t seen sunshine due to long work hours. And with her hair pulled tightly back, her dark blue eyes looked even larger than usual—resulting in an image that could easily land her a zombie role in a horror flick. Attractive. Hearing Reba and Jarrod out in the living room, Dillon didn’t want to frighten them by going to the hall bath to brush her teeth and wash her face, so she simply crawled into bed and turned out the light. Feeling pathetic and hopeless and lonely, she cried herself to sleep.
The sound of her phone’s jingle dragged her back into consciousness. Assuming it was the wee hours of the morning, she felt a jolt of concern as she grabbed up her phone—was it Brandon? Was he sorry? But seeing Margot’s name on caller ID, Dillon braced herself for bad news. The last time her mother had called late at night was to inform her that Grandma had passed away.
“Who died?” Dillon demanded without even saying hello.
“No one died, silly Dilly.” Margot’s tone was light. “Why would you even say such a thing?”
“Well, it’s the middle of the night and—”
“Middle of the night? Good grief, it’s not even nine o’clock yet.”
“Oh? Well, uh, I thought it was, uh, later.” Dillon turned on her bedside light.
“Don’t tell me you were already in bed. What are you—like, eighty?”
“Funny.” Dillon didn’t hide her irritation. “So why are you calling me? What’s up, Margot?” She’d called her mother Margot for as long as she could remember. She couldn’t even imagine calling her Mother. That would be just plain weird.
“Maybe I simply want to hear my little girl’s voice.”
“Right . . .” Dillon rolled her eyes. Margot rarely called for any reason—certainly not to hear Dillon’s voice. “How’s Grandpa doing?”
“As a matter of fact, that’s partly why I’m calling.”
Dillon sat up in bed, concerned. “Is he okay?”
“Well, I don’t know—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong exactly, Dilly. But I think he misses your grandma.”
“I’m sure he does. It’s only been about eight months. But I’d hoped he was getting over it.”
“I’m not so sure . . . I think he’s depressed and I’m worried about his health. His diet is atrocious, he’s letting the farm go and staying in bed too long.”
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
“Well, he is getting old. Do you realize he’ll be seventy-seven soon?”
“I know—I already got a birthday card for him. But he’s always been so active and energetic and young for his age. I can’t imagine him sleeping in when the sun is up.”
“You haven’t seen him lately, Dilly. Don’t forget, you didn’t even come home for Christmas.”
“That’s because I’d taken that time off for Grandma’s funeral in the fall. And I couldn’t get more time for Christmas—”
“I know, I know. I also know you’re a hopeless workaholic, Dillon. I just don’t understand how it happened, though. I certainly didn’t raise you that way.”
“That’s for sure.” Dillon was assaulted by an unwanted flashback from her childhood—a sad snapshot of herself and Margot living on child support, food stamps, and government handouts. It wasn’t until Dillon moved to her grandparents’ farm as a teen that she eventually quit worrying about her next meal.
“Well, there are things more important than work, Dilly. Like having a life. Do you ever think about that?”
“Yeah . . . right.” Dillon wanted an excuse to end this conversation.
“So how are things with Brandon? Any wedding bells yet?” Margot’s voice tinkled with sarcasm.
“For your information, we broke up.” Dillon instantly regretted disclosing her personal news.
“Broke up? But I thought he was your Mr. Right.”
“More like Mr. Not-Right-Now.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Dilly.”
Unwilling to continue down this path, Dillon inquired about her mother’s boyfriend. “Are you and Don still together?”
“Just getting ready to celebrate seven years.”
“Congratulations. And I can probably assume you’re not hearing any wedding bells either.” Dillon knew that Margot and Don had no intention of marrying—ever. Just one more irritating element of her mother’s nontraditional lifestyle.
“Don and I don’t need a piece of paper to prove our love for each other, Dilly. You know that.”
Dillon rolled her eyes again, but she’d asked for it, so why cringe over Margot’s worn-out answer? “Back to Grandpa—do you really think he’s depressed? Should he see a professional or something?”
“You mean like a shrink?” Margot laughed. “Can you imagine your stubborn grandfather talking to a shrink? Or taking antidepressants?”
“No . . . not really. But I hate hearing that he’s unhappy. I wish I could come out there to see him. Maybe for his birthday.” Even as she said this, Dillon knew it was unlikely. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford the airfare, but after recent layoffs and cutbacks, getting a few days off work was a major challenge.
“Oh, that’d be sweet, Dilly. He’d love to see you. He was just saying how much he misses you.”
“Tell him I miss him too. Give him my love.” Dillon felt close to tears again. So much for thinking she’d been cried out.
“I’ll be sure to tell him. And I hope you’re not feeling too miserable over Brandon. I never wanted to say anything, but based on what you’ve told me, he sounded too good to be true. I’m glad you found it out before it was too late.”
Even though Margot was partially right, Dillon wasn’t ready to hear those words just yet—especially from a woman who had never committed to a marital relationship. So Dillon told her goodbye and shut off the light. Lying there in the darkness with only the muffled noise of an action movie for company, she longed for an escape. But what exactly did she hope to escape? After all, she’d already jumped ship from a two-year relationship with Brandon. Shouldn’t that be enough for one day?
But she still longed for something more. Or maybe it was for something less. She wasn’t quite sure. Maybe she simply wanted to escape from herself and her dreary little life for a while. Thankfully it was the weekend, but even the thought of some time off brought no comfort. As she lay there, listening to the thumpity-thump of the film’s explosives in the living room, she realized she was stiff as a board, clenching her fists, and probably would be grinding her teeth before long. Her dentist had warned her this was problematic and had recommended a bite guard for sleeping. Although she promised to think about it, she’d also started to practice calming exercises before bedtime.