Nuts Page 25

  And so we sat, watching the fireflies dance lazily through the backyard, chatting about this and that and everything. I was convinced she’d forgotten about the text when she suddenly said, “Leo Maxwell is exactly the kind of man I can see you with. See this through, Roxie.”

  I was so taken aback that I remained on the porch, sitting stone straight, thinking about what she’d said long after she went inside.

  Chapter 22

  The next morning, my mom told me that Wayne Tuesday was arriving today; he was driving up from DC to spend the week with her. Aunt Cheryl had left for home early the next morning, telling my mother to never, ever call her again for any kind of reality show. Or any traveling of any kind.

  My mother was pleased as punch that I’d be staying around for a bit, but it was going to make for close quarters around the house. I was used to my her having her boyfriends over, but it’d been years since I’d actually had to see it. I shuddered as I pressed down on a burger patty, thinking about what I might have to endure once Wayne arrived.

  Mom and I had driven into work together today. She was eager to see the books and see how things had run while she’d been away. I was anxious, now that she was back and settled in, to see how what I’d done would be received.

  Though it shouldn’t have mattered. I was leaving . . . right?

  Perhaps? Perhaps not? If Chad Bowman were in my head right now, he’d have done a cartwheel. I was entertaining the idea of . . . staying? It seemed so.

  I pondered this as I cooked up some cheesesteaks and got ready to throw a new kielbasa on the griddle. The butcher shop I’d gotten the pastrami from had a new line of German sausages, and I’d been steadily working my way through them. The kielbasa was fantastic, perfectly spiced and a little squeaky with good fat here and there. I was mentally working on a recipe with grilled onions and a splash of apple cider vinegar when I heard Maxine call out that I had a visitor.

  Looking at the ancient clock over the hood, I saw it was just about lunchtime, which could only mean one very specific visitor. I grinned, setting the cover down on the cheesesteaks to let the cheese get nice and gooey, wiped my hands on my apron, and pushed through the swinging doors.

  I immediately spied Polly sitting at the counter, her menu in front of her, looking very grown up.

  “Drinking soda isn’t illegal. That’s just silly, Daddy,” she argued, giving Leo one helluva a sideways glance.

  I leaned against the doorframe and smiled as Leo calmly took the menu and closed it, setting it down between them.

  Behind them I saw my mother with the coffeepot, bopping from table to table, chatting it up, making sure everyone had what they needed.

  And a flash forward suddenly struck me—or maybe just a daydream. Clear as day, I had the sharpest vision of a slightly older Polly helping me at the diner. She snapped gum and took an order from a boy who wasn’t much older than she was.

  I gazed out at the scene before me: happy people, in a happy town. All the hap-hap-happy—could it be real? Could this be real for me?

  Just then Leo noticed me, and as always, his eyes traveled over my entire body, heat flaring in his eyes before he gave me a wink.

  I grinned instantly. Maybe this could be real. I waded into the argument with that same grin.

  “Pork Chop, you can’t have soda. White milk or apple juice are your choices. Take it or leave it,” Leo said, in a firm voice.

  “Grandmother, please,” she whined.

  Grandwhat? I stopped so fast I left skid marks.

  Sure enough, there sat Mrs. Maxwell. And she looked so profoundly out of place I had no idea how I hadn’t seen her.

  Maybe I was distracted by the little family fantasy of me and my very own Almanzo raising Polly on the farm.

  Her severely chopped bob was so silvery it would glow in the moonlight. And she had green eyes like Leo and Polly, though hers were the color of money and power.

  She was dressed sharply in cream colored trousers that were tailored within an inch of their life, and I silently applauded her for having the balls to wear them into a place that served chili seven days a week. The crisply pressed navy blouse was capped off with pearls that probably cost what I’d paid for culinary school. Or more.

  Mentally cataloging my outfit, I cursed, thinking about the rice pudding that had splotched onto my capris earlier. Not to mention the smear of cranberry on my apron.

  “Hi, Roxie!” Polly chirped. Smoothing her napkin over her denim shorts, she continued, “Grandmamma, this is Roxie. The girl I was telling you about. She makes the best pie! And we make a superfancy grown-up grilled cheese with fawnteeni cheese and apples and rye bread with these weird little sticks in it. It is soooooooo good!”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Roxie, is it?” she asked coolly.

  No handshake. She probably couldn’t even lift her hand, due to the weight of the diamond as big as a skating rink.

  “My Leo tells me that you have been helping out your mother here until you move back to . . . where is it?”

  “C-C-California,” I spluttered, seeing my mother heading toward the counter with two empty coffeepots and a wide grin. Oh boy. My mother and his, in the same place and time, could be the stuff of legend. It could also be the stuff of epic train wreck.

  “Hey there, Polly, you’re home from camp early, aren’t you?” my mother called out, scooting around the counter in a swoop of sandalwood and leather fringe to stand in front of Leo’s daughter, reaching out and tweaking her nose. Polly giggled, and answered my mom’s high-five offer with a resounding smack of her own.

  “Hi, Ms. Callahan! Camp was just okay, and Daddy missed me so much we decided I should come home early.”

  “We’re glad to have you home. And, Leo, you just get better looking every time I see you!” My mother moved down the counter. “How’ve you been this summer? It sounds like you and Roxie have had a grand old time! Goodness, look at you, turning as pink as a pig’s butt.”

  If you say the word butt in front of a seven-year-old, no matter how brainy they are, they will laugh until their head pops off. Hearing her father referred to as a pig’s butt sent Polly off into a gale of giggles that rolled on and on and on, no matter how Leo’s mother tried to kindly quiet her down. She giggled so hard she likely missed the comment about me spending the summer with her daddy, but his mother sure didn’t.

  “And this must be your mother, Mrs. Maxwell. You know, I think you’ve been coming here all these years and never once made it into my diner. Now, how is that possible?” My mother moved across from Leo’s mother.

  “You know how summers can be, so busy with guests and parties. I always mean to get into town when I visit, but Leo keeps me so busy back at the house,” she replied in that nasal, Northeast monied voice. A little bit Boston, little bit Hamptons, a lotta bit Upper East Side. “And I don’t think I quite caught your name, Mrs . . . ?”

  “Just call me Trudy.”

  Mrs. Maxwell smiled evenly, likely wondering how she’d suddenly become on a first-name basis with some hippie. She extended her hand across the Formica, a gesture that my mother ran away with.

  “Say, look at that lifeline!” she exclaimed, turning Mrs. Maxwell’s hand over and examining her palm. “Unbroken, but this curious line here . . . hmmm . . . were you in an accident when you were a child?”

  “Mom, lay off, huh?” I urged, placing my foot on top of hers behind the counter and pressing down. “Mrs. Maxwell, what can I get you? Cup of coffee? Cup of chili?” I’d just asked the equivalent of a modern-day Mrs. Rockefeller if she’d like a cup of chili?

  Before she could answer, my mother stepped in. “Roxie, go brew Mrs. Maxwell a cup of my special black tea. I’m going to read your tea leaves!” My mother moved around the counter and tucked her arm through Mrs. Maxwell’s. “Come take a look at our jukebox; I bet you’ll know all the old classics from your teenage years—which were hopefully misspent.”

  As Leo and I watched, our mouths ajar, my mo
ther led his mother off to the old Wurlitzer. And Mrs. Maxwell, with years of good breeding, went politely along, smiling and nodding and likely thinking she’d indulge the townie for a little while before beating a retreat.

  And as they were going one way, Chad and Logan came the other way, heading straight for the counter.

  “What is happening?” I asked as Polly played unconcernedly with the buttons on Leo’s sleeve. As I looked closer, I noticed he was wearing very un-Leo clothing. White polo shirt, long sleeves rolled up. Khaki shorts. I peered over the counter to get a look at his feet. Sperrys. “What’s up, preppy?”

  He grimaced. But before he could answer, Chad and Logan arrived.

  “We need ice cream sodas, stat,” Chad announced, sinking onto the stool next to Polly and offering her his fist. “Hey there, Pollster, what’s going on?”

  Polly bumped his fist. “Just hanging out with Roxie. Daddy, I also need an ice cream soda, splat.”

  “Can you make mine chocolate?” Logan asked. “You have no idea the day we’ve had!” He leaned across Chad to offer Polly his own fist bump. “What’s up, little miss?”

  “You have no idea the day I’ve had!” Polly echoed. “First, I almost flushed my Barbie down the toilet. Then, Grandmother and Daddy almost got in a fight about whether I should be allowed to try on her lipstick. And even though it’s probably not my color, it should be still my choice whether I get to try it on, right?”

  “I totally agree,” Chad said.

  “And then,” Polly said, knowing she had all eyes on her, “we get here, and Daddy says I can’t have a soda! And now the boys are getting ice cream sodas—how is that fair?”

  Seven years old, just to remind you.

  Polly, Chad, and Logan all looked at Leo.

  “Ice cream sodas all around, please, Roxie,” he said with a sigh. “You still have that bottle of scotch hidden back there?”

  “Roxie, how’s that black tea coming? Hop to it!” my mother called out from the front of the diner.

  I escaped to the kitchen, where I was greeted with smoke pouring from the grill, the cheesesteaks now fried, and a burned-beyond-belief kielbasa.

  “What is happening?” I asked the world one more time, and someone finally answered me.

  “Crazy has come to Bailey Falls,” Leo said in a deep movie announcer’s voice, peering around the swinging door, coughing slightly at the smoke.

  I nodded in agreement. “And its name is Mother.”

  Once the smoke cleared and the sausage was put out of its misery, Leo reached out and tilted my chin up toward him. “You doing okay with all this, Sugar Snap?”

  “I’m trying, Almanzo. I really am.” I sighed. I let him pull me into his arms, wrapping mine tightly around his waist, feeling his good strength seeping into me. Resting my chin on his chest, I gazed up at him, losing myself in the eyes I’d first looked into in this very kitchen, only two months before. I sighed, rising up onto my tiptoes. “A kiss would help.”

  “Coming right up.” His lips pressed against mine, hungry and hot.

  And when Maxine opened the door, asking where the black tea and ice cream sodas were, the entire world could see us.

  I heard a gasp and we both broke the kiss, turning to see my mother and his, one with a look of delight, the other with a look of distinct displeasure.

  Chad and Logan with big grins.

  And Polly. Her eyes widened. Then filled with tears. Her face crumpled. She climbed off her stool, ran to her grandmother, and hid her face in Chanel No 5.

  Leo’s hands fell from my skin like he’d been electrocuted. And the look on his face . . . oh.

  He left the kitchen without a word, running across the diner and scooping up his daughter, holding her close as she cried, as his mother tried to comfort her as well. He backed out of the diner, his arms full of his family, his eyes meeting mine.

  Now I knew.

  He mouthed, “I’m sorry.” His mother looked backed at me with absolute ice in her eyes.

  Now I knew.

  I stood in the kitchen doorway, dumbstruck.

  Now I knew why they called it falling in love.

  Because the fall was so very, very bad.

  Moments after the Maxwells left, while I was sitting quietly next to Chad and Logan, my mother handing me the tea I was supposed brew for Leo’s mother, the bell tinkled and we all turned at once, hoping to see . . . I couldn’t say it.

  A tall, good-looking man in his fifties came sailing through the front door, more salt than pepper in his hair. He held a bag in one hand and a map in the other. “I’m looking for Trudy Callahan? I’m Wayne Tuesday.”

  My mom patted my hand made her way over to Wayne, and he kissed her full on the mouth, right in front of everyone. Jesus, everyone was getting kissed stupid right out in the open today. Like no one in town had anything better to do than watch people smooch it up?

  As the kiss became two, then four, I felt that damn lump in my throat, and try as I might, it just wouldn’t swallow down.

  “You know what, I think I’m gonna get out of here.” Pushing off from my stool, I untied my apron, grabbed my bag from under the counter, and nodded to Chad and Logan.

  “You want some company? You can come over; we’ve got Beaches on Blu-ray,” Logan offered.

  “That does sound nice, but I think—” I looked over their shoulder and saw quickly where this was going with my mother and Wayne Tuesday. “Ugh. I just need to get out of here.”

  Because the lump, I was discovering, was quickly followed by tears, and they were already stinging, preparing to march down my cheeks. The guys both looked at me sadly as I headed out the front door.

  My truck looked blurry through the tears now starting to spill. I jumped into the giant Wagoneer, which had carried me all the way across the country and back again, and as I started up the old familiar rumble, U2 came blaring out of the crackly old speakers, singing “One.”

  Is it getting better . . .

  Oh can it, Bono!

  I pulled over on the side of the road, threw the car into park, and pressed eject. I had no patience for U2 today, and the way their words never failed to highlight exactly what I was thinking, exactly what needed to be said. But still Bono sang, words about having someone to blame. I pressed eject again. Still nothing. I pressed eject a third time, and when nothing happened, I punched the stereo.

  Which still did nothing! Bono sang about asking me to enter but then making me crawl, and I slapped at the CD player, yelling and crying, trying to get the damn thing to stop.

  And then I heard a very familiar Wrangler pulling up behind me.

  Before Leo could get to my window, I grabbed my bag and slammed out of my car, walking up the road.

  “Hey, Roxie, where are you going?”

  “Leave me alone, Leo,” I said, not wanting him to see me crying, not wanting to see his face. He had a power over me that I’d never felt before, and I was weak with it. I was angry at myself for letting things get this far, but Leo was going to feel the brunt of my anger.

  “Stop, please—Jesus, Rox, would you stop already!” he shouted, his footsteps loud on the hot asphalt as he ran after me, because that’s what happens in a romantic comedy, right? She walks, he chases, she protests, then they kiss and all is well—ha.

  He caught up to me and I turned around, my face wet with tears.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Where’s Polly?”

  “She’s with my mom. I dropped them off at the house, and then I came back for you. Your mom told me you took off, and I guessed you’d gone this way. Polly’s fine. She’s—”

  “Polly’s not fine,” I countered. She’s not fine at all—she was crying.”

  “Rox, she’s had me all to herself for seven years. Don’t you think seeing me kissing a woman, especially one she just met, would be a bit weird for her?”

  “Are you crazy? It’s a lot weird! You have no idea what she’s fee
ling right now,” I snapped, wiping at my tears angrily. I stomped past him, heading back for the car.

  “What do you mean? How can you know what she’s— Hey, would you stop running away from me?” Leo called, hot on my heels.

  “She’s wondering if you’re going to marry me. She’s wondering if I’m going to kick her out of her house. She’s wondering if you’re going to stop paying attention to her. She’s wondering if I’m going to start making her eat boiled carrots every night. She’s wondering if you’re going to forget her one day, because you’ve got me now!”

  I reached the car and opened the door, but he slammed it shut before I could get in. I whirled around, sheer anger flowing out now. “And worst of all, she’s wondering if she’s going to love me and I’m not going to love her back!”

  He rocked backward as though I’d slapped him.

  The lump . . . oh, the lump. I was choking on it.

  “Don’t you see, Leo? You can’t just bring a girlfriend home when you’ve got a kid. It’s not fair to her, it’s not fair to you, and it’s sure as hell not fair to me.”

  “Oh come on,” Leo said, his voice angry. “That’s bullshit.” He advanced so that I was pressed back against my Jeep.

  I pressed back. “Don’t tell me what I feel is bullshit! Don’t you dare do that! I let you in, and I don’t do that with anyone! You give me this incredible summer, and then I find out you’ve been hiding a kid from me this whole time, and then you expect me to just become Miss Susie Homemaker and be exactly what you need, what she needs, what everyone needs? What about what I need?”

  “What do you need, Roxie? What exactly do you need? You say you let me in, but that’s not true. I still don’t know how you feel about me, how you feel about us. You think you know what I want? How the fuck could you know that, when I don’t even know what I want!”

  He dragged his hands down his face, scrubbing. “I want you. I know that. But how that happens and what that looks like, I have no idea. And if you’d stop fucking running away from me, and just let this happen—Christ, Roxie!” He stepped closer to me, reaching out across the divide, and caressed my cheek. How could a hand so rough and tumble be so gentle?