Instead of a rain check at the car wash, they should have a messy kid policy. You can come back if your kid messes up your car on the same day you had it washed.
“Where’s the fire, Tuck? You’re making a mess. Sit up and put on your seat belt, so I can leave.”
“Hold on,” he said and kept digging through his bag.
Mrs. Gunderson knocked on the passenger-side window and tried to usher me forward. I held up my finger and shrugged. “Come on, Tuck. You’re going to get me in trouble with Mrs. Gunderson. Again.”
I shuddered. Mrs. Gunderson was the head of the safety patrol at Tucker’s school. She issued “tickets” and “warnings” to parents at her discretion. The last time I’d been late dropping Tucker off and accidentally driven through the B-drop-off lane, instead of the C-drop-off lane, she’d taken away my drop-off privileges for two weeks. I’d had to park in the far parking lot and walk Tucker into school.
Mrs. Gunderson knocked on the door again and mimed the motion to roll down my window. “Sit up, Tuck.”
“Finally!” He sat up and buckled his seat belt. I took off and cringed when I looked in the rearview mirror to see Mrs. Gunderson, with her hands on her hips, watching me go.
“What were you looking for?”
“This! Look!”
I stopped at the light and took the paper from his hands. Written in bright-red marker, at the top, was an A+. I scanned down the page and looked up at him, hoping my excitement was shining through. His grin was stretched from ear to ear. “That’s totally worth whatever ticket Mrs. Gunderson is going to write you.”
“You’re right, kid. It is.”
Tucker was fantastic at math and science, but his reading comprehension and spelling had been lagging behind. He’d struggled to keep up with his class in those two areas, but my kid, ever determined, had sat with me as we worked through flashcards and a workbook. Slowly his grade had been rising, but this was his first A on a spelling test.
“I’m so proud of you.” I leaned over the console to lay a smacking kiss on his cheek.
“Ugh. Yuck.” He grinned and wiped his hand across his cheek. “You can’t do that, Mom. I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Sorry, kid. The Mom Rulebook says I can do that any time I want.”
The light turned green, and I shrugged as I drove through the intersection. I slowed and angled into a spot along Main Street. “Where are we going?”
I finished parking before getting out of the car and ushering him to do the same. I stood in front of him, tucking my hands in my jacket pockets to keep the chill in the air at bay. “This isn’t going to happen all the time, but just for today, for your good job. How do you feel about a brownie sundae as a treat?”
“What about dinner?”
I had never let Tuck have something huge like a brownie sundae before dinner so his appetite wouldn’t be ruined. “We’ll figure it out. I mean, if you don’t want a brownie topped with ice cream and chocolatey fudge syrup, pecans, and a cherry, then I guess we can just go home and have some brussels sprouts for dinner.” I turned toward the car, opening his door.
“No! I want a sundae, but you forgot the whipped cream.”
I closed the door. “Come on, Tuck.”
Sweet Tooth Haven was warm compared to the chilly weather. The yellow walls and teal table and chairs added to the warmth, but in a completely different way. “How’re y’all doin’?” Bobby said as we walked in.
Bobby and Martha had fallen in love at a little diner a few towns over as they’d eaten a slice of pie. She’d promised him that she could make a better one, and she’d kept that promise for the last fifty years. They’d opened this shop after they married and, since then, it had been a staple in the town. While they mostly sold sweets, they also sold paninis and drinks.
“We’re celebrating today, Bobby. We’re going to need two of the biggest brownies you have back there.”
“What’re you celebrating?” Martha asked as she came from the back with two huge brownies. “Do y’all want to make these into a sundae?”
Tuck nodded and I pulled his test from my purse. “This is what we’re celebrating.” I held up the test with the huge A+ on the front.
“Mom,” Tucker groaned.
“Hush. I’m proud of you. This is totally going on the fridge.”
He smiled so wide I could see his missing molar. “Okay.”
Bobby placed each brownie in a wide-bottomed bowl, and we went down the line adding exactly what we wanted. Mine stayed pretty traditional, with ice cream, nuts, and fudge sauce, while Tuck’s was a towering mess of ice cream, whipped cream, Oreo crumbles, and gummy worms.
We sat at the table by the window facing Main Street. I unrolled our silverware, handing Tuck a fork, as my phone rang in my pocket. I didn’t even glance at my screen. “Hello?”
“Is that him?” Shayla’s voice caused every ounce of warmth I had to flood out, and a cold, terrifying feeling filled every part of me, from my veins to my heart.
I looked at Tuck. His face was an inch away from the treat he was inhaling in front of him, but he was facing the window. My back was to it. I slowly turned in my seat, looking over my shoulder. The sidewalk outside was empty. I scanned everywhere I could see from my seated position.
“That’s him, isn’t it, Delilah?”
I gulped, still scanning the street looking for any sign of my cousin. “Yes,” I answered, half expecting her to pop out from behind a bush like the boogeyman.
After an extended silence, I pulled the phone away from my ear to look at the blank screen. She’d hung up after I’d answered her. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what she wanted, but I did know one thing. She was in town.
I leaned across the table, wiping a spot of whipped cream off of Tucker’s nose. “I bet I can finish before you.”
We inhaled the mountains of sugar in front of us until we were done. I grabbed Tuck’s hand as we headed out the door, and I kept him close to my side as I put him safely in the car.
I glanced up and down Main Street one last time before speeding home.
Chapter 8
Gunner
I grabbed my beanie off the kitchen counter as I headed outside. My eyes zeroed in on Delilah’s pert ass sticking up in the air as she bent over, stacking Tupperware. She finished one stack and turned toward the other Tupperware containers lying on the ground. She quickly put one on top of the other and lifted the pile, but her hand hit the other stack. It swayed and fell to the ground. Her face turned toward the sky, and she closed her eyes. “Shit,” she hissed.
“Need help?” I called out across the lane separating us. One of her eyes popped open, and she regarded me with a frown on her face.
“Did those just fall over? Please tell me they didn’t.”
I scrubbed a hand over the beanie, pulling it from my head, and yanked on the ends of my hair. “It doesn’t look like anything spilled.”
I walked across to her yard and crouched down, picking up each of the Tupperware boxes. I looked through the clear glass. “It all looks fine. Good even.” I brought a sheet of lasagna close to my face and inhaled. “Damn. That smells good.”