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“Poetry.”
More lies.
Josie hates public speaking, much less reading poetry to a room full of strangers.
She can’t meet my discerning stare now, and she hugs herself. But she’s clearly not ready to confess the reason she’s here.
Neither am I, I realize. If I tell her my dad is here, it’ll open up a conversation I’m not ready to have with her. Of course, it’s one that is long overdue, but the longer I wait, the harder it is to address.
Besides, she’s only in town for the reunion and then we’ll be out of each other’s lives again. No point bringing up old baggage. That’s not how I’m going to find closure.
I motion to the doors, “Well, I best not keep you.”
The whites of her eyes grow big. Then she sucks in a breath with a nervous laugh. “Right. Thanks…” She walks through the entrance and the doors roll back, but then she stops and gives me a look I can’t read.
Suspicion? Concern? Regret?
Now it’s my turn to feel nerves. I break eye contact with a bashful grin. She jerks her thumb toward the reception desk.
“What are you doing here? Visiting anyone?”
Before I know what I’m doing, my head is shaking. “No, I came to do some handy work.”
Her right brow arches. “Handy work, huh? I thought Rodney’s the town handyman.”
“Yeah, he is,” I shoot back, nodding along. “But he’s helping out at the school. You know, setting up displays for the reunion. So I’m—”
She’s not convinced. It looks like we’re both terrible liars.
We have a silent standoff, as if daring each other to back down and admit the truth. But no one wants to be the first.
Then I notice the nurse hovering nearby. “Logan,” she says, sheepish. “I’m sorry, I overheard your conversation. The light in the supply closet keeps flickering, do you think you can take a look before you see—?”
“Sure,” I cut in with a clenched jaw. The last thing I need is for Josie to find out I’m lying.
After an awkward smile, I move to walk in, but notice Josie is heading for the parking lot. “Are you not going in?” I ask.
Her eyes widen and a prickle of red flushes her cheeks. “Yes. That’s right…”
“Did I hear that you’re here to read to the residents?” The nurse asks Josie while she signs the logbook. Josie’s jaw juts out and she tenses. I can almost hear her grumbling about the nurse eavesdropping.
It’s obvious she’s not here to read. She didn’t even want to come in after she saw me. But seeing her squirm like this is too entertaining to do the right thing and let her go.
We walk side by side along the narrow hall leading to the main sitting room.
“So, what are you reading today?”
“Huh?” She looks at me like I just spoke in a foreign language.
I nod to the elderly people seated in armchairs scattered about the room. She follows my line of sight, and her mouth makes an o.
“Something original.”
I lift my brows in surprise. Now I’m half-buying the lie. More than anything, I want to believe that she’s writing again. She used to scribble short stories during History class, and they were funny.
She never shared them with anyone.
The idea that she makes up stories and reads them to the old folks does something funny to my insides.
