Page 122 of Sterling Stone

She’s given up so much. Her art. Her work. And she’s dedicated all her time to Trudy and Simon. I’m irritated that her sister blew into town only to upset Taxi.

Then again, sometimes it’s the people closest to us that hurt the most.

I would know.

“It’s so like Jolene to be missing for everything important and then waltz in at the nth hour and demand to be treated like she’s a fucking savior.”

“Taxi,” I whisper, tapping the back of my hand on the top of the table. She lowers her hands from her face, one of them falling flat against my palm. I squeeze.

“Jolene’s been to Africa to work with underprivileged young women. Jolene’s been to Honduras to assist in some Doctors Without Borders program. Jolene, Jolene, Jolene,” her voice sings.

I clear my throat, holding back from telling her how well she carries a tune.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually mumbles, acknowledging my hand holding hers with a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t ask me to lunch so I could lose my shit.”

“I asked you to lunch so you could definitely lose your shit, if you needed to.”

Taxi lifts her head and chuffs again. “What is wrong with you? Why do you have to be so amazing all the time? Can’t you have a fault?”

I chuckle. “I’m certain I have many.”

“Tell me one. Just one, so I can stop thinking you’re perfect.”

“Hey now . . .” I hold up my free hand, teasing her. “You can keep thinking I’m perfect all you’d like.”

Slowly, she leans forward again, her smile not quite full yet. “Families are so complicated.”

“Yes, they are,” I easily agree. Mine certainly has been. So has hers.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Curmudgeon Bakery. From this angle, it’s across the street, catty-corner to our position, and it reminds me of how very complicated families can get.

“Uh-oh. You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” I sling my attention back to her.

“A pensive one.”

“I’m not pensive,” I say, sounding a little too defensive.

The waitress suddenly appears and takes Taxi’s drink order, then asks if she knows what she’d like to eat.

“I haven’t even looked at the menu,” Taxi admits, rushing to reach for the plastic-covered card tucked behind the condiments.

“I recommend the grilled cheese and tomato soup special,” I state.

Taxi glances at me and then looks at the young waitress. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

For some reason, I chuckle. The waitress notes the order and walks away.

“Come here,” I say, stretching both hands across the table. Taxi slips her hands against my palms, holding on a little tighter than before.

“You cannot take on everyone,” I start.

Taxi snorts, tugging her hands back, but I catch her fingers with my thumbs, pinning her in place.

“For a long time, you’ve only had yourself to take care of,” I remind her. “And you’re doing amazing with Trudy and Simon.”

Taxi looks toward the window again, blinking a few times.