Page 94 of Romeo

Then I’d thought about Fiona.

Was she going?

Had someone asked her?

That possibility had lasted about three seconds before I decided I hated whatever imaginary teenage bastard might be taking her.

Then reality stepped in.

Fiona didn’t talk about school dances. She rarely mentioned parties or football games. Most afternoons she went to the Creamery, and when she wasn’t working, she studied or spent time with Granny and her family.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want those things. It only meant she’d gotten used to living without them. I looked at her name on the screen and typed.

Me: What are you doing Saturday night?

Ma Belle: Probably working.

I frowned.

Me: Probably?

Ma Belle: Sugar said I could have the night off, but there isn’t much reason to take it.

Me: No plans?

Ma Belle: It’s prom.

There it was. Two words that somehow said a hell of a lot more than two words should.

Me: Ah.

Ma Belle: That sounded very interested

A smile tugged at my mouth. She’d caught me thinking.

Me: I’m trying to remember whether prom is supposed to be important.

Ma Belle: It isn’t.

The answer came fast. Way too fast.

Me: Good.

Ma Belle: Good?

Me: Means you’re not missing anything.

Ma Belle: Exactly.

I leaned back against the headboard.

I’d learned Fiona’s patterns by obsessively rereading her texts. Give her something light and she’d write paragraphs. Ask about something that mattered and suddenly the answers shrank.

Maybe I was reading too much into it.

Wouldn’t be the first time when it came to her.

Me: Expensive clothes. Bad music. Sweaty teenagers stepping on each other.