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Buela died three days after The Night of the Great Humiliation. Her death had been unexpected. The doctors said it was a heart attack, but it had taken Allie a long time to come to grips with that diagnosis.
A part of her wanted to shove Tom in the chest. To knock him off her brother’s front porch. But that was silly. Buela’s death hadn’t been his fault. Just like she knew it hadn’t been hers, either.
In the immortal words of the Beatles, Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da. Life goes on. The lyrics to the song began playing in her head. Quiet and warm and oddly familiar.
Allie frowned.
Where had that come from?
Allie had never in her life quoted the Beatles. Either out loud or in her head. She rubbed her arms up and down.
Tom frowned. “You cold?”
“No?
??I just…”
Weird.
He looked concerned, so she straightened back her shoulders and tried to sound normal.
“No worries about Buela’s funeral. That was twelve years ago, and yeah, you were right. It was best you stayed away.” Allie didn’t think she could have handled seeing Tom at the funeral. And Zeke? He would have punched Tom’s lights out. “It’s nice that you remembered her, though. After all this time,” she added.
Neither of them said anything for a few long seconds. Oh God. They were having a moment. She didn’t expect to ever get an apology from Tom for leading her on that summer after high school. What happened was twelve years ago, for God’s sake. She was a grown woman. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t hate Tom Donalan.
“About your car. You’ll have to move it before nine. Because—”
“Yeah, I know. The building is coming down. Don’t worry. I’ll get Mimi to help.”
He looked distracted, but he nodded. “So long, Allie. It was really good seeing you again.”
Strangely, she realized that a part of her (a very tiny part, maybe) thought it was good to see him again, too.
The Beatles were right. Life does go on.
Running into Tom Donalan hadn’t been as terrible (or as satisfying) as she’d always envisioned. She hadn’t fallen into a puddle at his feet. Or thrown a grenade at his head (another fantasy courtesy of Chunky Monkey).
Maybe this was the closure she’d subconsciously needed all these years.
He walked to his truck and turned around one last time, pausing before he got inside. Like he was trying to memorize what had just happened. Like it was good-bye forever.
Did he think she’d give up that easily?
If he did, then he never really knew her, because despite the fact that she didn’t think either one of them was particularly eager for a repeat meeting, Tom Donalan would be seeing her again a lot sooner than he could ever imagine.
Other than her brother Zeke, and her niece and nephew, Mary Margaret Grant (known to everyone who was anybody, as Mimi) was the one person in the world Allie loved best. Mimi married Zeke at the tender age of eighteen after discovering she was pregnant. Allie was fourteen at the time and although Mimi was only four years older she seemed so sophisticated and beautiful. Mimi had always been incredibly kind to her and there wasn’t anything in the world Allie wouldn’t do for her sister-in-law.
“Sorry to show up so late.” Allie pulled out the pale blue sheets with the faded polka dots from the hall closet. She held them up to her nose. Sachet of roses, with a little fabric softener for good measure. She gingerly laid them on the foldout couch in the den.
Mimi picked up a worn out pillow case and frowned. “There’s a set of new sheets on the top shelf.”
“I don’t want new sheets. I want these. And in case you’re getting any ideas, don’t you dare throw these out. They’re my favorite.”
Mimi yanked on the mattress to smooth down a corner and asked in a deceptively mild voice, “Was that Tom Donalan who dropped you off?”
“You were looking through the window, so you know it was.”
“Where’s your car? And how on earth did you run into him of all people?”
