“If you don’t play anymore, though…” she says, letting her sentence trail off.
“I’d like to play with you sometime.” I put down the sandwich. “I don’t want it ending up on the internet.”
Bree pulls a face. “You think I’d postanythingright now? I’m in hiding. I haven’t really looked at my phone since I’ve gotten here.”
A kid skates by us on the sidewalk, but it doesn’t seem like he heard her. “Staying out here in my bubble is important to me.”
She nods. “I get it. You’ve got a life here. I promise I won’t disrupt it.”
Little does she know, she already has.
Grandma ishome when we pull into her driveway. The sun is setting, so we’re in full twilight mode, and I can see the blue light of her TV flashing through the window. Bree hops out of the truck without being asked and meets me at the back. It takes a minute to segment Grandma’s groceries from the rest of Bree’s junk food.
“You should probably wait in the car.”
Her head tilts to the side curiously, her long blonde waves falling over her shoulder. “Why?”
I glance at the TV lights glowing through the window. “My grandma is kind of a fan. If anyone’s going to see through your disguise, it’ll be her. Put your shades back on, maybe?”
The front door closes with a loud snap. There’s Grandma, standing on her cement front step in a flannel nightgown and afrown. She’s looking between us, and it’s a gamble whether she heard what I just said.
“What disguise?” she asks.
Okay, no gamble. She knows.
Bree looks at me for direction. Her eyes are pleading, but they’re quickly covered as she slides her sunglasses in place.
The problem is, I don’t know if Grandma can be trusted with this. She’s kept my secrets in an ironclad box for years, yes…but she isn’t just a fan ofThe Belacourts. She’s a Bree Superfan.
Like, if her health would let her, she’d go to a concert. The woman would probably sell her furniture to get a VIP pass and an opportunity to gush in person.
Gush to the woman walking up her stone pathway with her hand out right now to shake. “Hi, I’m Benny’s friend.”
So, that answers that.
Grandma shakes her hand, then eyes her up and down. Is she putting together that this is the person who was in my car when she called? “Friend?” she questions.
“We’ve known each other for a while,” I say dismissively. “Want to open your garage, Grandma? I’ll put your toilet paper in there.”
She eyes me a little longer. “Come inside, honey. I have fresh banana bread.”
They disappear, and I’m left standing outside with thirty rolls of toilet paper and rapidly disappearing sunlight.
9
BREE
If there isanyone in this small town I want to meet, it’s this woman. She’s sporting a flannel nightgown with no shame despite it only being…oh. I look at the sunny yellow clock in her aged teal kitchen and see that it’s almost eight already.
She hurries to another door, reaching out to hit the button for the garage door. The house rattles while the garage screeches open. “I’ll need to look at that,” she says to herself, letting the door swing closed.
“This place is adorable.” I scan her chipped teal cabinets and white ceramic tiled counters. Professional-looking portraits of rocky beaches hang on the wall above the small kitchen table, set before large glass sliding windows with a view of a grassy field that probably leads to the ocean. She has a tall clear cylinder in the center of her island holding all manner of shells, sand dollars, and sea glass.
“I put this house together over time,” she says easily, placing a loaf of steaming banana bread on the butcher board and cutting a slice. “Probably needs a fresh coat of paint.”
“I like the teal.”
“How can you even see it? You ought to take those sunglasses off. Let me get a proper look at you.”
