A year and a half ago, when Dylan had turned sixteen, Mom had sent two thousand dollars to him for a car. They’d bought a small blue pickup truck.
“Oh, sure!” Rudy pretended he hadn’t forgotten. As was typical, he responded to Tess’s scolding like an amiable golden retriever. “But if it breaks down or something, I want him to know he can call me.”
This was a second marriage for both Tess and Rudy. Tess and her first husband had divorced. Rudy’s first wife had died. They’d married each other twenty-five years ago, when Tess was fifty-six and Rudy fifty-eight. Shortly after, they’d bought a vacation cabin in Misty River.
When Leah decided that she needed to move Dylan out of Gainesville, Tess and Rudy had encouraged them to move here. Leah had done so, and now the older couple spent the bulk of their year in Misty River, too. Tess had one son, and Rudy had two daughters. Combined, they had several granddaughters, but all their children and grandchildren lived out of state.
“Is the truck running well?” Rudy asked Dylan.
“Yeah.”
“How’s everything with your friends?” Leah asked.
“Good.”
“Really? No drama?”
“No.”
“Are you being cyberbullied?” Leah asked, only half kidding.
He snorted. His liquid chocolate eyes blazed disbelief. “No.”
“Busy trying to order prescription painkillers through the mail?”
“You can order prescription painkillers though the mail?” Rudy asked excitedly.
“Rudy,” Tess chided. “Eat your meal.”
“But—” Rudy said.
“And put your napkin in your lap.”
“Are you interested in dating any of the girls in your grade?” Leah persisted. Dylan was polishing off his food and would bolt in seconds.
“No.”
Should she believe him? Or should she add “teenage love” to her list of fears, right before guns and right after bomb-making?
He picked an olive off his slice and took his final bite. He’d picked the olives off since he was small.
“I wonder if he’s being cyberbullied,” Leah said companionably to Tess.
“I don’t believe so,” Tess said back. “No.”
Moving as if wearing a body that wasn’t quite the right size for him, Dylan rose and carried his dishes toward the kitchen. “I’m not being cyberbullied.”
“Are you sure, O love of my life?” Leah called after him. “No one’s heckling you?”
“I don’t even know what that word means,” Dylan said.
“Heckling means tickling,” Rudy announced.
“No,” Tess instantly corrected. “Heckling is abusive speech.”
“No one’s heckling or tickling me,” Dylan said loudly from the kitchen.
“Truly?” Leah asked. “No girls are tickling you?”
“I’m leaving to go hang out at Jace’s,” Dylan said.
Leah had vetted Dylan’s evening plans with Jace’s mom earlier. “Leave us here if you must, pining for your presence.”
He appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and dining area. “Thanks for the dessert,” he said to Tess, lifting one of the cookies she’d brought. “These are awesome.”
“You’re welcome,” Tess told him indulgently, followed by a loving sigh.
Dylan skulked out of sight, and Leah could hear him gathering his keys and wallet. Their kitchen ended in a door that led to a small mudroom containing their washer and dryer. Leah had cajoled him into using the mudroom as a dumping ground for his backpack, athletic bag, water bottles, spare change, wallet, and keys. Thus, he always came and went through the back door.
“Be safe!” Leah yelled. “Love you!”
Muffled grunt. The door closed behind him.
When Dylan was younger, he’d been challenging because he’d been wounded by Mom’s abandonment, hungry for attention, in need of constant supervision, full of energy, and not in the least independent. But he’d been good company.
Now he didn’t want attention, didn’t require much supervision, had low energy, and was very independent. And Leah really, really missed his company.
Why was it so easy to focus on the difficulties that came with a specific phase of a relationship? As soon as that phase ended, you mourned the benefits.
“And you?” A roll in one hand, Rudy stretched his knife toward the butter dish. Tess moved the butter dish out of his reach. His attention swung to Leah. “Are you interested in dating any of the young men you know?”
“I’m not. No.”
“None of them has been tickling you?”
“Not a one.” Rudy wanted her to fall in love. Unsuccessfully, she’d explained to him that she was already married to her goal of achieving her PhD. That was the only thing she needed to keep her warm in bed on a cold night.
Tess and Rudy stayed for coffee, cookies (of which Tess allowed Rudy two), and a speed round of Scrabble (since Rudy’s bedtime was ten).
When they left, Leah waved them off from her dark front lawn, Rudy’s question echoing in her ears. “Are you interested in dating any of the young men you know?”
She’d thought about Sebastian Grant often over the past few days, because thinking about him caused delight to rumble within her like kernels of corn about to pop. At the Colemans’ party, he’d been very composed and controlled. Yet she’d felt the energy in him, pulsing under his skin. Behind his bland expressions, she sensed a tremendously sharp, alert mind. He was focused, but remote. Intelligent, but not open. Determined, but difficult for her to read.
There’d been a moment when he’d looked at her so directly that sensitivity had bloomed across her skin. When he’d told her about his mom’s death, she’d had a wayward, but powerful, urge to comfort him.
She’d been telling herself that the physical attraction she’d experienced for him when they’d met at the hospital coffee shop a week and a half ago was an outlier, a data point differing significantly from the rest of her responses to the opposite sex. But now that it had occurred again, she couldn’t classify it as such.
She returned to the house, picked up her laptop, and walked straight through to her miniature back patio. Exterior and interior light spilled illumination onto the pavers that formed a curving shape just large enough for an outdoor chair, footrest, and side table.
After lowering onto the chair, she hooked a toe beneath the footrest, pulled it into position, then settled her computer so that it formed a bridge between her thighs and abdomen.
Due to the waiver that Mom had finally submitted, Magnolia Avenue Hospital had gathered the files about her birth. She’d been born at a time when records were kept only on paper. However, she’d requested them in an electronic format, so the hospital had scanned the pages. Earlier today she’d begun reading them via an online portal.
She’d seen at once that doctors’ reputation for illegible handwriting wasn’t unfounded. For several hours she’d combed through the documents, slowly deciphering words, taking notes. Now she could revisit them and finish researching the oddities she’d found the first time through.
Immediately after birth in the delivery room, her weight had been listed as eight pounds, one ounce. Two days later, when she and her mom left the hospital, the log noted her weight as seven pounds, one ounce.