Page 10 of The True-Blue Romance

Reni would think that since she barely knows me. She’s ten years older than me and Sophie, and by the time we came along she was already tired of being an older sister. She’s single and lavishes Savannah with more gifts than she could ever use.

Savannah returns to the kitchen fresh and clean and sits her butt down at the table with a coloring book clutched in her hands. She looks expectantly at Lee. He smiles softly at me, then joins her at the table to color quietly.

“I have you marked as one of us when the werewolves come tonight,” Savannah points out, nose wrinkling at the idea of Lee not knowing this important fact. Although werewolves have been a thing for most of her life, and we have always had to protect Lee from them. She saw a kid show with a werewolf and latched on like you wouldn’t believe. “They can’t touch you because you’re a Rossi.”

Crimson splashes across Lee’s face. “I’m a Bradley, sweetheart. We’ve talked about this. I’m not a Rossi.” Lee’s voice is a soft murmur, and my eyebrows furrow. I return to cooking to give them some semblance of privacy because this conversation feels like it’s not mine to hear.

How many times has Savannah brought this up? My question is immediately answered.

“Can’t it change one day? Wouldn’t you rather be a Rossi?”

“Savi.” I glance over my shoulder to see Lee leaning close, whispering something to her that I can’t make out. Her eyes are downcast, but she nods at whatever Lee says to her. My heart is too tender to keep watching, so I finish plating the food and carry it over, pretending for their sake to have never heard a word.

“Hush puppies!” Savannah yells gleefully, sitting up on her knees to get a better view of the food. I chuckle at her antics and fix her kiddie plate with fish, hush puppies, and some microwaved green beans. She wrinkles her nose at the green beans but takes a small, dainty bite, surely to ensure she still gets a cookie after dinner.

Lee sends a smile my way before digging into his own plate. We eat quietly for a while, par for the course for most of our dinners. My phone buzzes on the table and I look down to see a text from Beau, saying they won’t make it for fish tonight but to save some hush puppies and bring them into the office tomorrow.

Dessert is cookies with a scoop of ice cream, and then suddenly it’s time for Savannah’s bedtime routine. Lee shoves me toward Savannah’s bedroom so that I can read her story. She’s sleepy and tired by the time I’m done, her eyes blinking slow, but she’s still wide awake enough to ask for a good-night kiss from Lee. I wander into the kitchen to find him doing the dishes, a dishrag slung over his shoulder. I feel that ache of familiarity in my chest again, of not wanting him to be anywhere but here. I don’t know what to do with that emotion. How to make it smaller, how to make it go away. So I do what I always do and gently touch him because I can. I rest my hand on the small of his back, soaking in the warmth of his body, close enough to touch.

He turns smiling eyes toward me and I return his smile. “Miss Princess wants a good-night kiss.”

“Of course,” Lee murmurs with a low chuckle. He tosses the rag over my shoulder so that I can finish the dishes, and he disappears toward her room. He reappears a moment later, hands tucked in his pockets. “She was already asleep, but I gave her a forehead kiss just in case.”

“Good job.”

Lee rubs his neck, his anxious tic that always says more than words ever possibly could. “I’m gonna take a shower, then head to bed. It’s been a long day, and I gotta be at the farm early tomorrow.”

“I’ll set the coffee machine to go off before you leave.”

Lee flushes. “Thanks. I’ll see you at the farm tomorrow.”

“Night, Drew.”

“Night, Joey.”

I watch him disappear down the hall toward the guest room. I quietly finish the dishes while humming “A Sunday Kind of Love” under my breath. When I flick the lights off and quietly pad toward his room, Lee is turned away from me on the bed, breathing gentle. I stare for a beat, unnerved at his proximity but unable to touch. I head to bed after checking on Savannah too, satisfied that both my loves are asleep.

3

LEE

Aweek later I’m sitting in the hospital lobby, anxiously waiting for a doctor to come out and speak to me. This isn’t the first time my father’s been taken to the emergency room by cops because he’s drunk and out of his mind. He’s always been an angry and mean drunk. Par for the course is them getting him mostly sober at the hospital, then sending him home with me to deal with the rest.

But this time something is different.

The nurses are giving me some very pitying looks that make me flush and squirm in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Like really, after all these years, the small county hospital can’t upgrade to something nicer? We’re rural, but we aren’t that rural.

Dr. Monroe comes out to greet me, but the aw-shucks familiarity he usually has is noticeably absent. He looks serious and even a little nervous. Oh my god, maybe my dad is dying. That sparks a flurry of emotions that I am not remotely ready to confront. Instead, I stand to greet Dr. Monroe and shake his hand in a firm grip.

“So?”

“Listen, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m pretty confident I can make a dementia diagnosis now.”

Everything stops.

Dementia.

I laugh because it’s the only way I can respond. “Are you serious?”